Adonis caressed my thighs, raking his fingers into my skin as if he craved to own me, while I watched the chandeliers twirling, the crystals reflecting on the ceiling. He then whirled me around so our bodies could merge again. His fingers trailed over my cheek in a touch that was impure, unlike him. I used to compare his skin tone with the color of a rose, but now he was crimson. Even his scent was different, reddish and stronger with the sweat of the dancing, similar to the sour nuance of rhubarb. He sure reeked of alcohol, but there was something animal about it.
“I want to kiss you,” Adonis muttered.
The color of his eyes, usually a turquoise, calm ocean, was submerged by his dilated pupils. A thunderstorm was taking place inside of them.
“You’re drunk.” I pushed him away gently, dragging my eyes to the floor.
Adonis wasn’t used to being refused by women, but I’d never felt for him what I should feel. His scent didn’t procure excitement and want. Butterflies never danced inside my belly. Love—that wasn’t it.
I wasn’t a saint, but intimacy scared me. I’d once explored my body in research for pleasure, but a part of me felt ashamed. I wasn’t naive and knew what men awaited from me—my body, my first. However, the sweetness of a smile was all I could offer, because no one wanted to be inside the soul of a witch.
After all this time, I wanted to convince myself there was more to pure Lily. I had a feeling that a demon inside of me was flourishing, demanding only to reach ecstasy, craving what I’d been warned against.
“Does it matter?” Adonis brushed the strands of my hair away from my face. “You have to admit, we would fit well together. As a prince, I’ll make you my princess.”
Fairy tales were all about the prince getting his beloved. He fell in love with a glimpse, but did he truly know her soul? Princesses were perfect—a mix of beauty, docility, grace with kindness and courage. Who wouldn’t want to be one of them?
My uncle told me once, witches were striving for immortality. I believed they had the power to shake the boundaries of the world. They were the seductresses, lionesses, in control of their own fate, living countless adventures.
Perhaps it wasn’t that bad after all to be the villain of the fairy tale.
“You don’t know what you’re saying right now.” I was no longer dancing. A nervous smile crept across my face, and I crossed my arms. I didn’t know how to act, conflicted between my friendship with Adonis and a new questioning pondering—what if I was wrong? Adonis could be perfect for me.
“I do. It’s you who can’t see it.” He jerked his head backward and laughed before his cocky grin brought out his dimples. “Open your eyes, princess.”
My nose was my vision.
The music of the orchestra stopped abruptly, replaced immediately by the cheers of the crowd. Adonis and I parted. He already had forgotten we ever had that conversation, judging by the way he swallowed another champagne glass. I turned around, hearing someone’s heavy steps on the table in front of the imposing gothic windows and velvet curtains.
The man bowed, attracting the attention of everyone to him with a loud hello. He delivered a bright smile to the crowd. He was charismatic, in spite of that fake mole and the emerald wig on his hair. His skin was the color of brown boat orchids, glittering like topaz.
“Ladies and gentlemen, midnight is approaching. If you may follow me to the garden, it’s time for the hunt,” he exclaimed, taking the duty of the host of the night.
Glancing around the room, I observed Radcliff darting past the guests to escape the social gathering through a dim hallway. Each of his movements was smooth and controlled. I was the only one to see him leave. He was a shadow at his own party, having no problem letting another man have all the spotlight.
I searched for Adonis among the masks and wigs, but he was nowhere to be found. In a rush, everyone gathered at the entrance of the garden with excitement. The guest list smelled of depravation, their perfumes spicy and sugary. Pushed back by the cacophony of the crowd, I couldn’t fight my way against them. It was like swimming against the tide. I surrendered, letting myself be carried away until I crossed the elegant parterre and groves of cypress.
I was back at the gothic gates. They were open, leading to the abyss of the forest. Sparkling garlands of light illuminated the path of the night, but it was nonetheless a scary spectacle.
The only sign of life was miles away.
We were alone.
I was alone.
Fortunately—or so I thought—the crowd walked away from the somber forest to edge toward the back of the manor. I followed them, panic sending a stream of frozen air through my spine. With an abrupt halt, they all stopped, and I dared to look up.
I blinked twice.
The sight in front of me was terrifying and somehow cryptic.
A deathly stillness possessed me, wondering if Radcliff wasn’t a sorcerer with twisted tricks in his hat.
A maze.
The hedges of the yew trees formed a prison high enough that no one could dare to see what was over them. They were cut with a square top. In the center, as bait, a single light was attached to the top of an oak tree. It was a trap in the midst of darkness.
It looked bigger than any other maze. Dangerous. Unfriendly. It sent the clear message that once you entered, your fate was sealed.
