nd noticed the cat first before anything else in the room because you never really expected a cat to grace a throne.

The luxurious-looking feline was curled up on the silk pillow and was certainly dressed well enough to be in that position, too. The black tabby wore a magnificent golden harness covered in jewels that, the rogue didn’t doubt, was probably worth more than anything he’d ever stolen. The tiny creature also didn’t seem particularly perturbed by the heat, but it made him question how long it could stand to be in this furnace.

For a moment, he thought he might have been ushered into the wrong room. Beneath the tall, stained-glass windows, several inconspicuous tieflings stood around a series of mannequins adorned in garish outfits — like the ones in the paintings outside. They were stood to attention as another tiefling, much older and taller than the rest, walked confidently along them.

If Love Ravenpeak was amongst this group, she was the easiest to tell apart. The matriarch wore a flashy, glittery ensemble with an exaggerated skirt that trailed far behind her. The ladyship’s silver hair was up in a tight bun over her sparkling horns, and her red eyeliner popped against her blue skin.

‘This one requires more work.’ Roland overheard her say to one of the mannequins. ‘It’s dated, darling. Overused. This style went out seasons ago, and you’ve done little to refresh it. Increase the neckline, bring in the skirt, and remove these tacky baubles.’

A tiefling to the mannequin’s left bowed sheepishly and remained with her head lowered.

Kythos cleared his throat.

With a certain reluctance, Love turned to note the intrusion with disgust written across her features. She glared at him with black pupilless eyes and lips so thin they threatened to cut her cheeks. The woman was ancient, though she wore her wrinkles youthfully. It was in the way she presented herself. She wasn’t hobbled over and weak but stood up straight and proud.

‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’ It was said simply but was certainly cutting.

Kythos stole a half-step back when she wasn’t looking. Roland didn’t miss that.

‘Now, we must address a more serious issue.’ Love turned to the eight fashionable tieflings in front of her. She stepped to one of them, who instinctively cowered beneath her towering figure. The girl, Roland thought, was suddenly on the verge of tears. ‘You’ve stolen from me, haven’t you, Larrais?’

‘No?’ Larrais sniffed.

It was a terrible lie. Roland could tell it immediately and he barely had an idea what was happening.

‘Twenty thousand gold crowns,’ Love said calmly. ‘That’s how much you stole in magical jewellery. Twenty. Thousand. Crowns.’

‘I didn’t,’ Larrais begged. ‘Please, your Ladyship.’

‘You don’t intend to pay me back, do you?’ Love sneered. ‘You thought you’d get away with it. How arrogant, girl. I suppose you thought it might compensate you for your lack of talent.’

Two tieflings house guards appeared from nowhere and grabbed Larrais by the arms. She struggled against them but was a tiny thing with barely any strength. Tears stung her eyes now, making her red skin even redder. She begged further, but any chance at sympathy was not forthcoming.

There was a flash on Love’s index finger, and when she revealed her hand, Roland saw it was covered in rings. Fanciful rings with large gems. Larrais struggled for her life as Love reached out to touch her with one of them.

When the tip of Love’s ring finger met the woman’s forehead, a terrific transformation took hold.

Cold, hard stone spread across her face like a rash — solidifying her horrified expression forever. Her skin became rigid, grey, and sleek like marble. Her horns cracked and split, the strands of her hair paused in time, and finally, her eyes lost any sense of life. Even her scream, which, up to this point, had been loud and piercing, ceased as the stone rash spread from her cheeks and down her throat.

It didn’t go any further than that.

Roland watched, heart beating like thunder, as the tiefling collapsed, clutching desperately at her stone head. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, yet somehow continued to live. She writhed like a worm while her legs kicked out frantically. He thought it would end, but it didn’t. She continued to struggle, turning the moment into an agonising minute.

‘One hour,’ Love spat the command to her guards. ‘Then the dungeons. I don’t know how long for that one. Until I remember she’s there, I suppose.’

This had been done for him. Roland wasn’t stupid. Love had performed this little trick to show what fate befalls those who cross her. It had worked, too. Roland stared at the tiefling’s body for a moment longer as she continued to struggle. With a gulp, he became aware he was dealing with an opponent on another level.

‘Leave us.’ Love hissed at the other tieflings, and they left the room without even a glance at their former colleague.

That meant it happened too often, and they were well-trained to ignore it.

Everyone left inside the room held their breath as Love marched across it. The matriarch ascended the stone steps one at a time and stepped towards her throne. She took the cat, still lazing on the chair, and placed it in her lap. Then, before anyone dared to speak, she retrieved a wooden box and carefully withdrew little chocolates that she delicately placed in her mouth.

‘You should consider yourself very fortunate to be so interesting, darling,’ she said, chewing thoughtfully and wiping her fingertips on a napkin. ‘I rarely find anyone interesting these days.’

‘Uh.’ Roland didn’t know what to say.

‘Here’s what I know about you, Roland Darrow.’ Love handed the box off to one of her houseguards. ‘You’re either very good at resisting torture, or my son is very bad at performing it. Honestly, both seem as likely as one another, but I don’t need to torture you to know that you have an interesting piece of knowledge rolling around in that head of yours.’

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Roland just stared at her. He didn’t know what kind of game she was playing, but surely, he’d win if he refused to play.

‘My wizard uncovered the origins of your ruby, thanks primarily to some markings etched along its surface. They discovered, interestingly enough, that it is one of the three gems of Yorn.’ Roland held his breath as she continued, but she gave him a small smile to see it, and he realised he might have given something away. ‘As I am sure you are aware, the three gems of Yorn were stolen quite some time ago by an infamous pirate calling himself Dlyn Whitmore. This means you may know where his very impressive and very stolen hoard of treasure is.’

‘I don’t know anything,’ Roland said confidently, but it still sounded like a blatant lie.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, darling,’ Love cooed. ‘If you didn’t have anything worth sharing, surely you would have shared it by now.’

An agonising moment passed. She didn’t say a word, clearly wanting him to speak first. The room felt suddenly hotter, and it wasn’t his imagination either. Somehow, she was making it warmer, bringing up the heat to get him to spill his secrets. Love could sit in here all day. All the tieflings could. Roland, however, would eventually burn if the sweat didn’t drown him first.

He remained silent.

Love smiled. ‘Here’s a question that I doubt anyone has asked before now. What is it you want, Roland? What could I give you in return for your answers?’

She probably expected him to say something like freedom, food, or money. Roland didn’t want any of that. He’d have all of it and more without any of the dignity loss that came attached to such bargains.

‘I don’t want anything.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not going to tell you anything.’

‘Formidable, darling.’ She licked her grinning lips. ‘You don’t disappoint, do you?’

‘What do you want treasure for anyway?’ Roland narrowed his eyes — he’d gesture to the lavish room if his hands weren’t firmly affixed to his sides. ‘Haven’t you got enough gold already?’

‘No, I don’t.’ Love’s face took on a stoic demeanour. ‘Close to three hundred years ago, I was charged with keeping Tressa safe. Since the last war, this city has fallen into disrepair and poverty. I’m sure you’ve noticed, darling. You grew up here, after all. With a treasure like Dlyn Whitmore’s, I could rebuild the city, root out the corruption, and prepare us for an inevitable war with the dwarves.’

‘Are you sure you’re not going to put it all into your dresses?’

A bony finger was thrust in his direction. It was adorned with a ring that curled about the length of the appendage. Love spoke dark words in a language he didn’t recognise. Suddenly, without warning, his mind felt like a blunted dagger was stabbing it. Speak the truth, a voice inside his head commanded. Answer the questions honestly.

NO! he shouted at it internally.

‘You stole the rapier and the ruby from Berry Kellam, didn’t you? Witnesses, several witnesses, saw you as part of her crew.’ Love leaned forward slowly, never lowering her finger. ‘She found his treasure, but you wanted it for yourself. So, you stole a rowboat in the middle of some ocean, took those items, and your lack of navigation accidentally brought you here. Is that the truth, or isn’t it, dear?’

Roland fought against the voice in his head. Tell her everything. It was magic. She was using magic. Some kind of truth spell or something? Roland wasn’t sure, but he was sure as heck going to resist it. DO IT!

‘I’m not telling you anything.’ Roland forced the words out through his clenched teeth. It hurt to lie. ‘Not a damned thing!’

‘What about the rapier?’ Love continued regardless. Distantly, he heard her fingers click. Without warning, two members of what appeared to be kitchen staff brought in a table from behind the guards.

They set it before Roland, complete with a silver dish. The smell of roasted chicken, swollen with stuffing, was intoxicating to an empty stomach, but the sight of it was paralysing. A full dinner with all the trimmings. It was enough to make a full belly moan. ‘Tell me about that. Just that. And this feast is yours. I bet you’re hungry, darling.’

‘I—’

‘My personal wizard studied the weapon. He knew it was magical, but he didn’t know what it could do,’ said Love. ‘What is it for? Does it have anything to do with Whitmore’s treasure?’

It was like a hand gripping his brain. Squeezing it. Roland had the sudden urge to vomit, but it wouldn’t be the contents of his stomach; it’d be the truth. He fought against it and looked about the room for something to focus on. Anything that would take his mind off her aggressive questioning.

It was so hard to do that with the mouthwatering food before him. She was assaulting his mind and his stomach at the same time, and what’s worse, it was working.

Any second now, all of his secrets would come spilling out.

His eyes rested on Love’s neck. Something was hanging on it. A piece of string that had been fashioned into a makeshift necklace. Everything about the woman seemed opulent and ravishing. Her clothes, her eyes, her attitude, but there was this one single blemish. Roland had to ask himself why someone would wear a string around their neck.

The hand around his mind receded, and the voice disappeared.

‘You have a firm will.’ Love watched Roland thoughtfully as he gasped for air — almost as if he had been holding his breath. ‘It comes, no doubt, from a hard life.’

It did.

‘I can save you from the noose. Quite frankly, dear, I’m the only one that can,’ she said flatly. ‘All you need to do is tell me everything.’

The smell of the roasted chicken was driving him mad. Roland licked his lips.

‘In exchange for the meal,’ he replied. ‘I’ll tell you about the rapier, but I can feed myself.’

Love’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t trust that but had nothing to lose in giving him a meal.

‘Undo his manacles,’ she spat towards the guards. ‘Now.’

‘Uh.’ Kythos stepped forward, self-consciously twiddling his fingers. ‘Mother, I don’t think that’s the best idea. Mr. Darrow is a right tricky grubber. There’s absolutely no doubt, not one, that he won’t try to escape if we remove his—’

‘Oh, don’t be stupid, Kythos.’ Love interrupted him. ‘Four walls, one door, and ten guards. Six of which are my guards. There is nowhere for him to run. Agreed?’

‘Of course, mother.’ Kythos bowed and then did as he was told — much to Roland’s relief. The manacles came off, which meant all his chains clanged to the ground, seeing as they were all wrapped about together, and the guards crowded around the room’s only exit. They had their hands on their maces’ hilts, but none moved closer.

Roland dug hungrily into the meal. He wouldn’t wait for cutlery or common decency to get his fill. He dove into the bird with two hands and shovelled what meat he could into his awaiting gob. It was rich and salty with crispy skin and tender meat. Cooked to perfection. Perhaps the best roast dinner he’d ever had if he had stopped to taste it.

Half the chicken was down his gullet before he looked up to regard Love. She was sitting there, waiting patiently.

‘Ready to talk, darling?’

Roland wiped the grease from his lips. ‘Nah.’

He was up in a flash and gone in the next.

The guards had been expecting him to run; they had even been preparing themselves for this eventuality, but they weren’t prepared for where he would run. Roland wasn’t heading for the door. He wasn’t heading for Love. No, he was heading for the window.

The tall stained-glass window depicted what very well must be Love herself. A half-body of her looking vigilant while a lambent crown danced above her head. It was really rather beautiful. A trained thief like him could tell. You did well as a thief if you knew what looked like good craftsmanship.

That’s why throwing one of the mannequins through it pained him.

The glass smashed easily. The picture became half complete in a second, ruining, no doubt, months of work. Roland didn’t care. All that went through his mind at that moment was how he’d prefer to die rather than let his secrets spill. How he had earned them through blood, sweat, and pain, and how now they belonged to him. Only him. Better he dies with some pride than hand it over to the likes of her.

Still, as he dove through the hole the mannequin had made in its wake, a large part of him hoped dearly that he wouldn’t. Death was the end. Roland wasn’t ready for the end. It all barely felt like the beginning. If he were destined for something more, then he would survive. That’s how it was and how he could afford to be a little reckless.

An arrow whizzed past his ear as the relentless force of gravity took hold of him and pulled him towards the ground.

He only hoped there would be at least one thing between him and it.