Page 4

I let out a breath, continuing my exploration. In the corner of the room stands a small table with a few chairs, a cupboard with faded linens, and a narrow shelf stacked with books I can’t reach from where I stand. On the opposite wall hangs a mirror, its frame old but well-kept. I hesitate only a moment before curiosity drives me forward.

What do I look like now?

I can't recall the last time I saw my reflection in a mirror, rather than in a puddle on the cold, hard floor or in the battered armor worn by the guards. Certainly not since they tore through me, used me. Since they made me feel like I was nothing. Not since the chains were wrapped around my soul as much as my body.

My hands tremble as I approach the mirror, my heart pounding in my chest. I avoid looking for a moment, afraid of what I might see, of the damage that might still be lingering beneath the surface.

When I do finally look, I don’t recognize the face staring back at me.

It’s still me, of course it is. There is no mistaking my unflattering, dull hazel eyes, the same ones passed down from my mother. There is a faint pallor to my skin, as though life itself has slipped through my fingers, a hollowness in my cheeks, the sharpness of my bones more pronounced. My hair, once long and sleek, is now a ragged, tangled mess of dark curls that falls just past my shoulders. My eyes are too wide, too haunted, a reminder that I’ve seen and lost too much to ever return to what I once was.

But something far more disturbing catches my attention, my scars, or rather, the lack of them. They were the marks I bore, ragged silver lines that had stretched across my skin from years of abuse, and memories burned into my mind as much as my flesh. I had carried them with me like a brand, a reminder of everything I had endured, but now, they are gone.

I run my fingers over the smooth surface of my face, unable to tear my eyes away from the person staring back at me, a stranger.

The wood creaks softly from behind, tearing me from my thoughts. My skin prickles with panic as I spin around, desperate to find the source, but there is no one. I’m still alone.

I exhale sharply, forcing myself to calm down. I can't afford to let my fear get the best of me.

As I glance around the room again, my eyes find something new. On the table near the fire, a neatly folded set of clothes lay freshly folded. The fabric is simple and of better quality than anything I’ve worn in years. The dark fabric feels soft beneath my fingers.

Why am I being treated like this?

The questions tumble over one another in my mind as the confusion turns bitter. I want to tear the room apart. I want to scream at the walls, at the cabin, at the male who brought me here. I want to lash out, to inflict even a fraction of the pain I have endured, but I’m powerless to do any of it, just as weak and powerless now as I have been my entire life, unable to stop anything, to change anything.

Even with my magic, it wouldn’t be enough to get through the wards or to change the past.

I take one last glance at the broken girl staring back at me before turning away, forcing myself to focus on something else, anything other than my own thoughts. I move toward the window again, the tips of my fingers trace lazy circles in the condensation, the cool glass easing the burning in my chest as I glance out at the endless forest.

Suddenly, the shadows around me grow darker, accompanied by a sharp sound that sends a shiver down my spine. My heart pounds painfully in my chest, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin as fear floods my veins.

A low, rich voice comes from behind me, making the hair on my arms stand. “You look better,” the voice remarks, my body turns instinctively to find his eyes scanning me from head to toe. “Quite the upgrade from the battered and bruised state I found you in.”

My pulse thrums frantically, my eyes widening at the sight of him. His tall frame is taking up the entire doorway.

“Oberon.” The sound is barely above a breath, intended more for myself.

Shadows cling to him, swirling at his feet like living things bound to him, answering to his every will. “I wondered if you'd ever wake up,” he muses, his face unreadable, a half-smile playing on his lips.

My body freezes.

My heart pounds frantically against my ribs. He watches me a moment, unbothered, his rugged, sharp features giving him an undeniably dangerous appearance. His eyes glow faintly with an eerie light, as his dark hair falls untamed and impossibly perfect around his face in effortless waves. Every inch of him looks as if he were crafted with careful precision, wild yet controlled. The tousled mess seems deliberate, the kind of chaos that only someone like him can pull off with such raw, magnetic allure. Tattoos spiral up his arms, their intricate designs peeking just beneath the fabric of his shirt, hinting at hidden stories etched into his skin.

I can’t seem to tear my gaze away, my eyes tracing the dark lines, each one more mysterious than the last, wondering what untold meaning lies behind them and what it will take to uncover their story. So dangerous, yet strangely beautiful. Simple dark clothing covers most of his body, but the way the fabric clings to his muscular frame only seems to highlight the tension in his presence, no weapons, no cloak, just him. My breath hitches, my muscles coiling instinctively.

“Do you know who I am?” he asks finally, his smooth voice cutting through my thoughts, sounding almost amused, as if this is some sort of game to him.

I steel my expression, forcing it into something unimpressed despite the way my pulse races at his presence.

“Yes.” The word comes out firmer than I feel as I tilt my head, challenging him. “The infamous Prince with an overinflated ego.”

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

“Why am I here? What do you want from me?” I growl, mustering every ounce of strength and courage I didn’t know I had.

He chuckles softly, a dark glint in his eyes. “Oh, I assure you. You will find out soon enough.” He pauses as if considering his next words. “But for now, let's just say you’re here to make things . . . interesting.”

His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before he speaks again, his tone dripping with playful mockery.