Page 25 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

“No, thank you.” My chin quivers.

“Take it!” His voice is harsh, feral, like the growl of a wolf. The overwhelming taste of ash returns, and my body responds to his command despite my best efforts not to. A whimper escapes me as I slide the cup closer.

“Have mercy. Please, I beg of you!” My eyes search his, but it’s of no use.

“Since you crave the taste of blood, why don’t you go ahead? Have a drink.” I look into the cup, relieved to find it empty, except for a small splash of amber liquid from his tea at the bottom.

His palm slides against the table, pushing toward me, and when he lifts it, there’s a black blade where his hand was. What’s left of the warmth in my face drains instantly as bile creeps up my throat. I try to stand, but I can’t. I’m bound to my chair, held in place by an invisible force. Nothing keeps me here but his command. No ropes, no shackles, nothing that I can escape from. I shake uncontrollably, making him smile as he leans against the backrest of his chair.

“Use my knife. It’s so much easier than teeth.” He flashes his sharp cuspids at me, and I wince. “Right along your wrist, palm to elbow.” He mutters his instruction while rolling up his sleeves, utterly bored with the order.

I slowly reach for his blade. He straightens to watch, raising a single brow. The taste of ash overwhelms me, and I wish it would suffocate me instead. Perhaps it would be an easier end.

The blade is heavy in my palm, heavier than it looks. “No! Please stop this!” I outright beg, watching as I slice into myself. The wound burns as blood pools around it, dripping onto the table below. The feeling is hot and cold all at once.

“Fill your cup and drink.” His eyes are as dark as night. Cold and lifeless. His face has no expression save for his look of wicked amusement. “Keep going until I tell you to stop.”

The ink drains from his eyes, and his sharp, elongated fingertips retract. Prince Odhran looks human when he stands, casually rolling up his sleeves.

“Please, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything!” I sob, bringing the warm cup to my lips. Crimson droplets run down the side, spilling over the golden rim. I gag with every sip I take, but my body is under his control, not my own.

“With every sip, I want you to say, I am sorry, Bryndis.” With that, he turns to the door, unlocking it before he ducks under its frame. I want to call out, but my mouth is still full. The taste is thick and metallic as it runs down my throat.

“I am sorry, Bryndis.” Tears stream down my face.

“I am sorry, Bryndis.” My hands tremble.

“I am sorry, Bryndis.” My limbs go cold.

“I am sorry, Bryndis…”

PART THREE

Be careful, for things are seldom what they seem.

Not in waking hours,

Nor in a dream.

They reward wickedness with cruelty,

And kindness with grace.

Though they do not lie,

They won’t tell what’s true to your face.

Of all the things to believe,

Believe this to be true,

If you offend them,

They will be coming for you.

—The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper

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