Page 5

I slam back into consciousness on the table, eyes flaring wide. My breath hitches.

“You saw something. Where is it?” Redhead says.

“I got closer, but I wasn’t able to find anything yet. There are so many stars. They see all; I can’t possibly find all of your answers in one sitting. It’s going to take time to sift through all those memories.” I have power, I realize with a start. They cannot kill me. Not when I am their sole source of information. “I need to rest. I don’t have enough energy to properly execute my pow—”

“Liar!” Redhead bellows and lowers his knife to my stomach once more. This time he doesn’t poke, but rather drags the blade shallowly across my skin. Blood pebbles from the cut.

I scream until my voice cracks.

“STOP AT ONCE!”

“M-My lord.” Redhead bows slightly as Lord Rollo approaches.

“Release the Starwatcher,” he commands. He reaches forward and wipes the blood from my stomach with his pinky finger then licks it clean.

Bile rises in my throat. I’d rather take a hundred more cuts to the stomach than spend time with this beast.

“I am the only one who can mark her. No more blades, Earljook,” he scolds the red-haired Oksvakt, who promptly nods. “Now send her back to her cell and have the maids help her get ready. She is to dine with me tonight… as my future bride.”

2

Cling to the Flame

Blood pulses in my ears as the two guards escort me back to my cell. Surely he couldn’t have said what I think he just said. Future Bride.

There is no fucking way I will be here long enough to see that to fruition. I would rather die than be chained to the Jord Lord—or to a table, for that matter—for a lifetime.

My vision tunnels, darkening around the corners and making the smooth, red stone walls blend together. I’m dragged along by the two guards flanking either side, trudging forward regardless of if I lose my footing. After my sixth misstep, the guards give up and drag me.

Pebbles wedge their way into my boots, cutting my toes. Yet I can barely feel it.

It was one nightmare to be taken by the Jord Underlings to unwillingly serve in their court; it’s another story completely to be his… his… bride.

My insides roil, and the contents of my stomach spew out of my mouth onto the front of my tunic, catching in strands of my hair. The stench of the dungeons was already a mixture of urine and blood. The bile makes it all worse, solidifying this horrorscape into reality.

Eventually, like a mouse being dragged through a maze, I reach my cell.

“In you go.” The red haired guard opens the iron latch and throws me in. “Maids should be around soon to prepare you for dinner.”

“If they can get all this filth off of you,” the other guard adds.

Fuck you.

I try again, out loud this time.

“Fuck you.” My vocal cords scrape like needles in my throat.

I curl up in the corner on the pile of hay, hugging my knees to my chest. My heart picks up a relentless rhythm, and yet my mind is still. I should be trying to come up with a plan, an escape route. Anything.

No actual thoughts. All I can do is cry. A mind full of cotton. Endless clouds on a cool autumn day. Fields of tall grasses swishing in the wind as a storm rolls in. The silence after lightning, knowing that something is coming but unable to place it.

Eventually, my senses return to me, and I breathe. Fast at first, then slower. I count my heartbeats and bend a piece of hay between my fingers when a light knock sounds at the door.

Not sure why someone would think they need to knock on the door to a prisoner’s cell. I don’t turn around or answer. What would I say anyway? “Come in” would signal that this is my place. That I have ownership over this space. Dungeon, cell, or castle, I will never call this place home.

The iron bolt shifts, and the hinges swing.

“Miss?” a light, feminine voice says.