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I force my chin a little higher, refusing to play the part of a startled animal facing the den of a hungry beast. This king cannot be worse than anything I have faced in my life already.
A beast he may be.
But I am a far cry from being anyone’s prey.
Chapter Two
“Lady Zaina.” The man's voice is more unnerving than the imposing castle in front of us. “Welcome to Castle Alfhild.”
He is covered from head-to-toe in black and grey, and his hands are gloved under his dark, hooded cloak. But what stands out most is the mask he wears with dark rounded lenses over the spaces for his eyes, punctuated in the middle by a long, sharp beak. A silver wolf’s head is stitched into the side.
Do all of the servants here wear masks, or is this a personal quirk?
I give a small dip of my head.
“I apologize again for this necessity,” the man says.
Somewhere through the formal tone and the hissing syllables in his voice, I can detect sincerity, but that could mean nothing. I’ve heard Damian apologize in that same tone right before he takes a man’s life.
It does pique my curiosity, though. Why would it be a necessity for a bride to have not a single friend at her own wedding?
Another group of servants joins us. Those with more feminine forms under their black and gray clothing wear veils, too thick for me to make out their features. The men all wear the beaked masks.
A northern wedding custom? Or something else?
Damian hands off my trunks to them with more force than necessary.
“I’ll miss you.” He winks.
His words creep up my spine as surely as the mountain air does.
Then he returns to the carriage, and I am almost relieved before I remember what faces me on the other side of the imposing doors.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, at last. My name is Leif, and I am at your service.” The man offers his arm, and I hesitantly reach up my hand to wrap around it.
At nearly five-and-a-half feet, I am considered tall for my people, but these servants make me look like a child. Leif is no exception. His proffered elbow nearly reaches my shoulder.
Taking a deep breath, I put one frozen foot in front of the other.
The doors open with a groan, and Leif leads the way. The other servants aren’t far behind, but they veer off to take my trunks to another part of the castle.
Earlier, I had thought of this place as a prison, and it’s an apt description for the dark stone walls we wind our way through. I try to focus on the rooms we pass, making mental notes of the places I see and every possible exit, anything to differentiate these castle walls from the dungeons I grew so familiar with at the château.
A small breeze whistles past, and I shiver, more from the memories it stirs than the cold.
Endless nights in a darkness so thick, it was more like a physical blindfold. The shadows would close in around me, suffocating me, shutting me off from reality.
Why are there no windows here?
The hallways are lit by sconces on the wall, and it’s too similar to the walkways down to the dungeons. I half expect to hear the clinking of my own chains, the scurrying of creatures staying just out of sight.
How many times had Madame dragged me down there on a whim? To teach me a lesson. To make me stronger.
She always had a reason.
During the wan light of day, I would stare at the sea water trickling in through the cracks and wonder if it would keep coming in, faster and faster until it covered over me and I surrendered myself to an inevitable watery grave.
That’s what happened to most of her enemies. Why not me?
