Chapter 4; Blood Orange

As I stepped into the mansion, its exterior charm melted seamlessly into a captivating interior. Beyond the sun-kissed facade lay a mysterious labyrinth of stony corridors and cavernous chambers adorned with glistening chandeliers.

My eyes trailed Calia's graceful figure as she navigated the grand halls with effortless poise, blending seamlessly into the grandeur. Yet, despite the lavish surroundings, an eerie emptiness pervaded the air, accentuated by the absence of any attending staff. Our footfalls reverberated through the silence, amplifying the sense of solitude.

According to Calia, he's in his study, I reminded myself, my mind grappling with the surreal reality of sharing space with the Dark Lord—the very figure of dread from my childhood nightmares. Curiosity gnawed at me, wondering about the face behind the legend. Would he resemble the monstrous tales, or would he defy expectation, appearing as deceptively human as Rhaenan was?

Breaking the silence like a shard of light through shadow, Calia's voice pierced the quiet, drawing my attention back to the present. "So, you're a daughter of Talerion?" she inquired, her words resonating with a subtle tension.

"Well, my father's name is Ingrid, so..."

In a flash, Calia whirled around to face me, a frown creasing her pretty bony face. "Don't play clever with me, human. You know exactly what I mean. You hail from a lineage of thieves."

I raised an eyebrow. "It was just one stone."

Calia scoffed in disbelief, her hands flitting from her waist to her head in frustration. "Just a stone? You have no idea of the havoc you've wreaked. You're clueless about the magnitude of your actions, yet you speak as if ignorance is a virtue."

Her words struck a chord, stirring a long-dormant feeling of guilt within me. But I pushed it aside, straightening my shoulders defiantly. I had nothing to feel guilty about. "I didn't steal the stone, so don't unleash your anger on me. Why didn't you take it up with Talerion himself?"

"Oh, I tried," she replied, a wicked grin spreading across her lips.

As the weight of Calia's revelation settled upon me, a whirlwind of disbelief swept through my mind. Hundreds of years ago? Could she truly have lived through such a span of time? "You tried?"

Calia nodded, her gaze distant. "Indeed. But before I could descend upon the village, Talerion, that treacherous serpent, offered up his own daughter as tribute."

My eyes widened in astonishment. "But that was centuries ago...how could you..."

"Faeries and elves are immortal, you ignorant human," Calia interrupted, flicking her silver hair disdainfully in my direction before striding away, her pointed ears and green skin marking her unmistakably as an elf.

As we reached the end of the hallway, a tall glass window caught my eye, offering a breathtaking view of the mountainous terrain below. My stomach churned at the dizzying height, realizing we must be on the top floor of the mansion. Calia pointed towards a door at the far end.

"That's your prison. And don't even think about attempting to escape through the windows; you'd be dashed to pieces long before reaching the ground."

She was right. The mansion perched precariously on the edge of a cliff, offering no hope of escape. Besides, even if I could flee, they would only retaliate against my village, perhaps even taking my sister, Edina, as retribution.

Pushing open the wooden door, Calia revealed a room that defied all my expectations of a prison. It was furnished lavishly, with a grand bed draped in luxurious fabrics, a chandelier hanging from the rocky ceiling, and wooden dressers adorned with gleaming jewels.

As I approached the mirror, I caught sight of my disheveled appearance. My hair was tangled and unkempt, a bruise marred my neck, and my attire was a far cry from the elegance of Calia's regal attire.

Was this truly to be my prison? It felt more like a royal chamber fit for a princess. But why would they lavish such luxury upon me, considering the crimes of my ancestors? Shouldn't I be languishing in a dank cell, left to rot away in obscurity?

"Don't revel too soon in your escape from the dungeons," Calia's voice sliced through the silence, dripping with malice. "This is only the beginning of your descent into hell."

Why did everyone keep referring to this place as hell? Even Rhaenan had spoken of it in such terms. Yet, here I stood in one of the most opulent mansions I had ever seen.

"Rest well, Maerwynn," Calia spat before exiting the room, leaving the door unlocked behind her.

As Calia's footsteps faded into the distance, leaving me alone in the lavish chamber, a sense of unease settled over me. This was to be my first night away from home, from the safety of Ferngrove, and now I found myself trapped in enemy territory.

I wandered aimlessly around the room, my fingers trailing over the fine fabrics of the bed canopy and the smooth surface of the wooden dressers. The room seemed to mock me with its opulence, a stark reminder of the contrast of my home back in the village.

Opening the wardrobe, I was met with a dazzling array of attire fit for royalty. Gowns of silk and velvet hung from golden hangers, each more exquisite than the last. Jeweled accessories adorned the shelves, sparkling in the dim light of the room.

For a moment, I was tempted to indulge in the fantasy of dressing up like a princess, to lose myself in the illusion of luxury. But the reality of my situation soon came crashing down upon me, extinguishing any fleeting thoughts of frivolity.

With a heavy heart, I closed the wardrobe and turned my attention to the door. Despite Calia's assurance that it was unlocked, a gnawing fear crept into my mind. What if someone were to sneak in during the night, seeking to do me harm?

Calia for example. She seemed to have a growing hate in her heart for me. What would stop her from bouncing back in here and sticking her dagger right through my heart and ending my pitiful human life.

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I approached the door and slid the bolt into place with trembling fingers. The soft click of the lock echoing in the silent room sent a shiver down my spine, but it also brought a small measure of comfort.

The room felt eerily silent as I surveyed my surroundings, my eyes landing on the tantalizing fruit bowl atop the dresser. However, my instincts screamed caution, and I resisted the temptation, leaving the knife I found next to it tucked safely beneath my pillow. Who knew what treachery lay hidden in those innocent-looking fruits?

With a flicker of hesitation, I extinguished the candles, plunging the room into darkness. Slipping beneath the covers, I shivered against the cold and the weight of impending doom that seemed to hang in the air. Sleep danced just beyond my reach, taunting me with its elusive embrace, while fears and uncertainties gnawed at the edges of my consciousness.

Dawn broke with a whisper, the first tendrils of light creeping through the window. Startled awake by the howling wind outside, I tensed at the sound of hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor. Instinctively, my hand sought the comfort of the knife hidden beneath my pillow, poised for defense against any intruder.

But the intruder never came, leaving me to settle back against the pillows with a weary sigh. The realization dawned that if I remained sequestered in this room, I could avoid the dangers lurking beyond its walls. 

As I lay in bed a little while more, memories of a distant past resurfaced, reminding me of a time before our wealth and security had crumbled away. It had been eighteen years since I last slept alone in a bed this grand, before poverty and misfortune had forced us from our ancestral home.

A timid knock shattered the silence, jolting me from my reverie. Heart pounding, I snatched up the knife once more, poised for confrontation. "Who's there?" I called out, bracing for a response.

The muffled voices of unfamiliar intruders filtered through the door, sending a shiver down my spine. With cautious steps, I approached the door, straining to discern their words.

To my surprise, the door swung open to reveal two female figures, their presence calming the storm raging within me. Their luminous green eyes held a glimmer of mischief as they introduced themselves as Asterin and Astrea, sisters tasked with attending to my needs. They were the women from the dungeon. I could see them better now, no more shadowy figures that could slip through iron bars but flesh beings. Dark skin, pointy ears and short hairs.

"Have you come to disrobe me again?" I demanded.

The one on the left, Astrea, smiled warily. " Not exactly so but to prepare you for the day" 

With a wary smile, I allowed them entry, watching as they busied themselves with the preparations for the day ahead. But as Astrea's delicate fingers grazed a jar, a sudden sneeze erupted, unfurling a pair of translucent wings from her back.

 "Astrea! Stop sniffing the dust," her sister scolds, a note of exasperation in her voice.

"It smells like blood orange," Astrea protests with a shy smile, glancing in my direction.

"You're both faeries too? And you have wings, but I don't see any wings on Rhaenan," I blurt out, unable to conceal my surprise.

Asterin shakes her head, a patient smile gracing her features. "We're not fairies. We're pixies. And yes, faeries do have wings, but they're only summoned when needed," she explains, deftly adding the blood orange dust to the bathwater before turning to me. "Your bath is ready."

I relish the warmth of the water, sinking into its soothing embrace for a few precious moments. But Asterin's urgent tone pulls me back to reality, reminding me that time is of the essence. With a reluctant sigh, I heed her call to hurry, pondering what the hurry was about.

Astrea sifted through the wardrobe's bounty, extracting a dress that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly allure. It was a sleek black ensemble, adorned with intricate swirls of crimson and ivory that danced along its edges. A daring black corset cinched at my waist, accented by a bold metal embellishment that gleamed in the dim light.

With graceful precision, Asterin adorned me with accessories, the weight of rings settling upon my fingers and delicate necklaces draping across my collarbone. Each piece just as precious looking as the next.

"All this finery for a morning indoors?" I questioned, bewildered by the extravagance.

"You're to meet High Lord Valen at breakfast," Asterin explained, her expression inscrutable. No hint of amusement or apprehension graced her features, leaving me to ponder the significance of the impending encounter. Only Astrea betrayed a flicker of concern, her gaze darting between us with unspoken worry.

"And then what?" I pressed, a sense of unease prickling at the edges of my consciousness. "What comes after I meet the High Lord?"

Astrea's shrug was nonchalant, but her eyes betrayed a glimmer of uncertainty. "We don't know. Our duty is to attend to your needs. If you require anything," she added, passing me a small bell, "ring for us. Especially something to eat. You look like skin and bones"

What did she expect? I come from a destitute home in a famine-stricken village, where we're all akin to hungry beasts fighting over a carcass.

With a silent exchange, Asterin swung the bedroom door open, "Shall we? The Master awaits."