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My mind urges me to run, to do something, anything. I yank against the chains when a thick tendril of magic whips out of Morana. She flings an arm toward me, chanting words I cannot comprehend. The magic speeds toward me, and I throw my head back, a wild primitive scream ripping from my throat as the magic works its way inside me.
The chains rattle along with my screams, my eyes feeling as if they’ll pop out of my head while the searing pain rips through my abdomen. “You think you’ll birth an heir, ensuring your crown?” she yells, her face distorted in anger. The magic rips into me even further, and I feel a gush of liquid spilling down my legs. My screams grow even louder, the pain more than I can bear.
“Please!” I beg, my body stiffening, trying desperately to get relief from the agony.
“You will be begging for death before I’m through with you.”
The magic leaves my body and I slump, my legs giving way. The chains save me from falling, my bare feet scraping against the harsh stone floor. I hang my head, desperately trying to force air into my lungs. Morana grabs my hair and rips my head back. I’ve never seen such cruelty on someone’s face. Her eyes are flashing in anger, her brows low and lips curled into a snarl.
“Fairest of them all?” she mutters, brandishing a knife in her free hand. I flinch when she raises the knife high, convinced she’s going to kill me. Instead, she hacks off a fistful of hair. She goes crazy, ranting and raving while she shears me like a sheep. Tears drip down my face in a never-ending stream while I do my best to hold still, fearful the knife will slip and end me.
After, she whips me mercilessly, demanding for me to scream. So I do, over and over until my voice deserts me.
My eyes fly open, my heart pounding with the leftover terror of the day Morana locked me down here. My throat is hoarse from screaming, as it is every morning. My mind refuses to let me forget and each night revisits the horrors on me.
The day after my imprisonment was my fourteenth birthday, which passed without fanfare or acknowledgment. My naïve self had thought I would be allowed back into my rooms, but I know now how foolish that was.
Pushing myself up, I unsteadily get to my feet, my back aching after lying on the moldy hay. I would give almost anything for the comfortable feather-filled mattress in my suite. After relieving myself in the bucket, I collect my small rock and carve another line into the wall.
Four months. It’s been four months since I’ve been locked in this cold cell. Four months since Cassian left me, and four months of loneliness and pain.
At first, Morana visited me daily, torturing me with both whips and words. As the days turned into weeks, her visits became more and more sporadic, until they mostly petered off. Last month, she only came once.
Alaric is the only light I have now. He is unable to come by often, for fear of one of Morana’s lackeys or ravens spotting him coming to the window. When he does, he brings little treats, like an apple or a book to read. I cherish the woolen blanket he was able to squeeze through.
The books are the only things that save my sanity. Without them, I would go quite mad. Inside them, I find adventure, love, and freedom, escaping the harsh reality of my prison sentence.
The huntsmen that drop off my daily meals and empty the bucket have been warned not to speak to me, so I go days, sometimes weeks, without a soul to speak to. I’ve taken to leaving a few crumbs at the window, hoping a bird or two might come and listen to me while pecking at my meager offerings.
My one hope is Cassian. He always keeps his promises, so I trust he’ll be back for me. I just have to hold on.
Cassian
Waves of exhaustion roll over me. Fire Heart’s steps are slow, his head hanging as we finally enter the Forbidden Forest. The journey here has been fraught with danger every step of the way and took twice as long as it should have. It’s been four months since I left Snow behind. I thought I would have been back by now. Fear for her overrides all else—hunger, thirst, and fatigue are all nothing compared to the constant worrying. Did she heal from her injuries? Has she gotten an infection? Is someone caring for her? Is she alive?
Knowing I’ll drive myself crazy if I keep at it, I do my best to bury the questions. I must do as Father asked if I have any hope of getting back to her.
Hearing a stream ahead, I urge Fire Heart on. The trees of the Forbidden Forest stretch their naked branches into the sky, the obsidian trunks hard and smooth like stone. I have never seen the like, and a shiver runs through me. Glancing up at the heavily clouded sky, the tops of the branches almost look like hands, desperately stretched out, begging for mercy that never comes. Pulling my cloak closer around me, I tear my gaze from the sight and focus on getting us to the water.
Fire Heart’s ears prick up when we finally spot the stream, and he picks up his pace, eager for a drink. My flask ran out miles ago, and both of us greedily drink our fill before I set up camp. We desperately need to rest before trying to locate the Beast’s castle in the morning. The map Father gave me, although good, is not as precise as it could be. I can’t tell if we’re right on top of the castle, or still miles from it.
After removing Fire Heart’s saddle and brushing him down, I turn him out to let him graze as he will. He’s well-trained and won’t wander far. After hunting a rabbit, I return to camp and start building a fire. Fire Heart neighs a warning and I freeze, listening.
The forest has gone silent as if it’s holding its breath. Nothing stirs, not even Fire Heart, every creature waiting for the perceived threat to pass by. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and goose bumps dot my arms. My chest grows cold, and premonition whispers to me that something very, very dangerous is standing behind me.
Swallowing down the lump of terror forming in my throat, I reach for my knife but stop when a deep growly voice speaks. “Who are you, and what do you do on my lands?” Fire Heart rears back at the sound of the voice, the whites of his eyes showing.
“I am Cassian, son of Alaric, from the kingdom of Valderán.” My voice rings out strong and sure, surprisingly enough. One must be thankful for small mercies.
“You’re late,” the voice grumbles, and I work up the courage to turn around. And inadvertently stumble back a step at the monstrously tall form. He steps closer, out of the shadows of the trees, and Fire Heart bolts in panic. “I seem to have spooked your horse.”
I nod, my eyes wide. The half-man, half-creature before me must be at least seven feet tall. He sports a mane like a lion, and two ram-like horns curve from his head. He’s almost twice as broad as I am, thickly corded with muscle, and razor-sharp claws tip the fingers on his massive hands. His human face is handsome, or would be if it wasn’t for the coldness in his eyes and the heavy scowl he wears.
“Have you looked your fill?” he demands, his tails whipping around him agitatedly. I gulp, tearing my eyes away from him.
“I apologize, my lord,” I murmur, realizing this must be the Beast of Granton. His fine clothes are a stark contrast with the—man? creature?—before me.
Beast gestures toward my things. “Come, my castle is not far. There is no point sleeping rough when you have a room waiting for you.” He eyes the rabbit hanging from a tree and raises a brow, but says nothing more.
