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Stomach acid bubbled up my throat, its acrid taste lingering, as I regained consciousness within the confines of an inky black dungeon.
Where am I? How long have I been here?
My pulse pounded in my ears, and I rolled over on the dirt-sodden floor, gagging on the old, rancid air, and stood up, crashing into the stone wall as my injured leg gave out from underneath me.
The pain. It was too much. I screamed, clenching my knee while images of the repulsive, reptilian creature flashed in my mind. As did the emerald-eyed faerie and his impenetrable glare.
Of all the illustrations I’d seen, nothing could have prepared me for the intensity that crackled in the air around him, the way it weakened my limbs. Or maybe it was the pounding headache chiseling away at my skull. My thoughts were lost in a labyrinth maze as I struggled to breathe.
Fear sunk its dark, unforgiving jaws into my bones, and a wave of hot terror ripped through my flesh. This couldn’t be happening. How was I going to get out of here? I couldn’t die. Not yet. And not like this.
But I couldn’t move.
I tried pulling myself back up the wall, but my body wouldn’t respond. Slamming my hands into the wall, I yelled in frustration until my lungs deflated. Until I had nothing left inside me. I was determined not to be consigned to an eternity of enslavement or compelled into a marriage with one of those repulsive and vile creatures—or any of the other punishments I’d read about.
My future wasn’t meant to be this. I needed to save her.
I pushed the heel of my palms into my temples, desperate for the pain in my head to subside so I could think, but the all-consuming terror still paralyzed me.
What if I couldn’t get back home?
My mother would die, and I wouldn’t be there to say goodbye. She’d spend her last days wondering what happened to me, riddled with guilt.
The room pulsated as I found my strength and limped over to the iron bars, digging my nails into the metal while a searing hot pain radiated up my leg. Torches lined the stone walls on the other side of the door, emitting faint embers of light along the endless corridor. I coughed as the damp, putrid air choked the flames.
“Help!” my shrill voice rang through the narrow chamber—the sound foreign to my ears, “Please somebody help me!”
Over and over and over again, I begged someone to save me until tears stained my cheeks and my voice went hoarse. Over and over until I had no breath left to spare.
Only silence replied.
My arms went numb, and I dropped to the ground with a thud, gripping the dirt as I prayed someone would come to my rescue. Begged the stars to hear my prayers through choked, angry cries.
I couldn’t live out the rest of my days in this dungeon—or enslaved to the faerie king.
Lilian had told me a story once about how he’d trap human souls inside a jar and keep them on his shelf as a collectible. In hindsight, it was a blessing Lilian had died, so she didn’t have to endure this suffering.
I winced.
The horror stories were endless—all of which concluded indentured servitude or death. I needed to get out of there.
My entire body teetered on the brink of collapse, the sensation of my ribcage cracking accompanying each labored breath. All I wanted was my mother; to go back to last night and heed her advice. When the creature attacked, I should’ve swum back to Wendover’s shore, not toward Faerway. It should’ve been the final warning.
Pulling my dress up, I examined my wound, hissing as the fabric lightly rubbed against it. I didn’t know what infection looked like, but I was pretty sure wounds weren’t supposed to ooze yellow pus.
I wiped at the lingering tears itching my cheeks, but it only created a trail of mud in its wake. Dirt clung to every inch of my body, every crevice. My white dress was painted black. I wanted to crawl out of my body—shed this skin like some reptile and slither between those bars. To go home. Scream. But my voice disappeared into the inky void I lay in.
A chill blanketed my body now that I’d stilled, so I hugged my arms around myself, desperate for warmth. It would’ve been easy to feel sorry for myself and blame the stars for this horrible twist of fate, but it was my fault. I knew the risks and did it, anyway. A suicide mission with willful ignorance.
A dry laugh stuck to my windpipe as I rocked back and forth, fighting to stay awake and find whatever semblance of strength remained when the heavy thread of boots against stone sounded from somewhere in the dungeon.
My neck snapped in its direction.
I attempted to scurry into the far corner of the cell to hide in the darkness, but my body turned to lead and refused to move. Instead, I lay there unmoving, holding my breath, the sound of my chattering teeth vibrating across my jaw.
The metal door opened with a whine, and the footfall grew louder, stopping inches away from my face. I wasn’t sure if I was playing dead or if I was slipping into it, but when a guttural laugh sounded above, I knew for a fact my heart stopped.
I’d read enough stories about the fae to know they had keen vision and impeccable hearing, so I knew I wasn’t fooling whoever entered my cell. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop me from trying. Not that I needed to. My body was limp. Cold. My breaths came and went in shallow gasps. If this person wasn’t there to kill me, whatever festered in my cut would.
