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Every night was an onslaught of nightmares, vivid images of their tear-streaked faces, the fear and confusion etched deeply in their expressions.
Anthea curled up on her bed, her body trembling. Tears streaked her cheeks, soaking the sheets. Her eyes stung, the skin around them puffy and red. She clutched her blanket tightly, its familiar texture a feeble source of comfort.
She wanted to go home.
Would she ever get back? Was this her life now?
Isolated.
Alone.
A pawn in a world she didn’t understand?—
On the fourth day, a knock on the door roused her from her stupor, and she lifted her head from the pillow, squinting at the silhouette standing in the doorway.
“Your presence is required in Prince Endreth’s study this evening,” Miriel announced, her voice a neutral monotone that was neither comforting nor disapproving. Her eyes, however, were another story. They held a look of unspoken kindness, one that suggested she had noticed Anthea’s swollen eyes but chose not to say anything about it.
Anthea nodded, acknowledging the summons.
Forcing herself to rise from her bed, her muscles protesting from the lack of use, she made her way to the communal bathing space.
The moment she stepped into Endreth’s study, her pulse quickened.
The prince, seated behind his desk, looked up, his ocean gaze as impenetrable as ever. He was composed—detached even, as if the previous incident in this very same study had never happened.
“We shall begin testing magical barriers today, Anthea,” he began without preamble, his voice holding a business-like tone. The contrast between the dispassionate countenance before her and the furious persona she had witnessed days ago was stark. The unpredictability of his demeanor unnerved her. “We need to find out to what extent you can penetrate them without being affected?—”
“Did you know?” Anthea blurted out, her voice louder than she intended.
Endreth blinked, leaning back. His eyes flickered over her face, head cocked to the side?—
“Know what, Anthea?”
“That the library . . . the access to the unfiltered knowledge that you promised. That . . . it is virtually inaccessible to me. The arrangement is alien, the books themselves are written with an assumed familiarity I don’t have. The information in those books is as good as a cryptic puzzle without a key.” She was airing her frustrations. “Was it on purpose, Endreth? Did you give me access to the library knowing full well I won’t be able to make sense of it?” she asked, swallowing the lump in her throat, forcing back the tears threatening to overflow. She desperately wished she could see some emotion in his eyes, any indication of whether her words had any impact on him at all.
“I suspected it might be difficult for you.” His confession hung in the air between them like a dense fog, the cruel truth of it making it difficult for Anthea to breathe. Tears now flowed freely down her cheeks.
Every moment in Isluma was a constant struggle, a battle to gain any sense of control, to understand this land, to find a way back home. And the one person who had the power to make her journey easier seemed to be playing a game with her, leaving her to scramble in the dark. She took a few steps back. The thought of relying on him, on his scheming aloof demeanor, and his arrogant older brother in this world was unbearable.
She couldn’t trust them.
She was . . . alone.
She had no one.
Her knees buckled, and she fell to the cold stone floor, sobs wracking her body.
A moment passed, perhaps more; she couldn’t tell.
Then, she felt something: a gentle touch on her shoulder, a cautious whisper of contact. Too engrossed in her own sorrow to make sense of it immediately, she was startled by a low rumble in the quiet room.
“May I?” Endreth’s question hung in the air, hesitant and surprisingly tender, an offer rather than an imposition.
Anthea didn’t answer, couldn’t really. But she didn’t pull away either, didn’t reject him. It was acceptance in the only way she could manage at that moment.
And then the arms came, strong and cool, familiar, wrapping around her like a protective cocoon. He pulled her close, lending her a strength she didn’t have, supporting her trembling form. Anthea pressed her cheek against his chest. There was an undeniable comfort in his embrace, in the strength of his arms around her.
Then, she cried—all pretenses dropped as she held onto the Crimson prince, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. His arms around her tightened?—
