Running. They're running. From something or towards something, I don't know. Still, I want to find out, but there's this background hum of fear that's telling me to stay put until all the footsteps are gone. Either way, I can't move. I'm petrified in fear, and all I can do is sit here and listen as the heavy footsteps go away.There's complete silence now, apart from the rustling leaves being caressed by the wind. I hold my breath, waiting for a big sound, something that will shock me into moving, but nothing comes. The absence of sound is starting to creep towards me like a cold hand under the blankets. It's getting more and more intense, to the point that it's unbearable.I have to get out of here. Not just in Jossie's quarters, but this place entirely.I jump to my feet, my heart still racing inside my chest. I look around as my eyes start to adjust to the dark room, and immediately I find a discarded knife in a scabbard, thrown carelessly at the side
Jossie’s hands tighten around my head, her sharp fingernails digging into my scalp. My eyes begin to water in pain. She pulls my hair back and makes me look up at her, smiling as she goes. “Let me go!” I grab her wrists and try to pry her hand off my head. “I said let go!” “I don’t take orders from you,” she says blandly, pushing the top of my head until I lose balance and collapse on my knees. “You think we’re idiots? You think we won’t keep an eye on you after you act all suspicious? I knew you were up to something.” She drags me forward. My knees scrape on the ground, bumping against the small rocks protruding from the dried leaves. A sharp pain sears my kneecaps, combined with the immense pressure on my scalp as she uses my hair to steer me along the path towards the clearing. I can feel strands of my hair getting plucked, uprooted, and the pain and the sheer panic it’s giving me is almost too much to bear. But of course, it’s nothing compared to
My muscles seize up in fright, almost causing me to stumble on one of the roots protruding from the forest floor. Alistair is just standing as I stay rooted in my spot. He’s not so far behind me, but I’m pretty sure that I got a decent headstart from the clearing. I’m sure that yes, he could be much faster than I am, but something tells me that his advantage is not just speed. When he sees that I stopped, he takes a step forward. “Lora, don’t go any further!” I know it’s just a fair warning, but my brain immediately interprets it as a threat. My body reacts immediately and propels me to run again. At this point I don’t care what kind of monsters await me if I go further. Wolves, big or not, magical or not, I’d rather face than listen to Alistair and come back into his messed up group. My feet land hard on the ground with every step, some of the rocks causing a jolt of pain to jump from my soles to my entire legs. My breath is fogging up before me, but
I'm paralyzed, and for the first time in a long time, it's not out of fear. The world disappeared. All the trees in our surroundings, once blurred and hazy, are now melting right into each other like a soaked fresh painting. All I can see is his face, particularly his eyes. The specks of dark gray surrounding his pupils, the curve of his thick lashes, the unreadable emotion in them, and the sense of familiarity that it’s igniting from me. I feel hot and cold at the same time, blushing and shivering as his hands slowly trace the upward curve of my spine. Parting my lips for him is like a release and a buildup, an attack and a surrender, bliss and torture. Polar opposites, swirling inside me to get locked into this eternal dance that’s as old as time itself. All of this—the crash and burn of the opposites—spiral down into one single second, a fleeting moment when I stand on the tips of my toes and reach his lips with mine. But Alistair pulls away at the
The sheer shock of feeling the cold blade dig into my skin is enough to make me gasp, but it’s nothing compared to the pain that attacks my senses the moment it sinks into my arm. As rough as I can, I push away Jossie, who stumbles back and watches me with a slight smile on her lips. I want nothing more than to kick her teeth in, but I have immediate problems. My brain is panicking. I clutch my bleeding arm, watching my thick, crimson blood seep through my fingers. Oh, I’m going to pass out. I don’t want to look at my own blood but I can’t avert my gaze out of horror. Why the hell is no one bothered that some crazy bitch stabbed me? I turn to Alistair to yell at him, but he’s already pushing past Jossie to get to me. I thought he’ll just sweet-talk me into believing that all of this is normal, but to my surprise, he snatches the knife from her. Then he runs the blade on his arm, the same exact spot as mine. “Alistair,” I begin to say,
I wake with a gasp. The shock of hearing Father’s voice, even in a dream, after so many days is making my heart pump so fast in my chest that I’m losing breath. My hands are clenched around the sheets, so tightly that my fingers have gone numb. What the hell was all that? I sit up, not wanting to move my head too abruptly in fear of losing the images I can remember from the dream. Sadly, it’s disappearing from my mind like a handful of sand cascading through my parted fingers. All I can remember is Father hurting my mom, who’s pushing a basket onto the pond under the full moon. . . . “Hey, you okay?” The sudden question makes me jolt. I forgot that I’m not alone here. I wheel around to see Gynith in the corner, tying her hair into a ponytail in front of the mirror. “You okay?” she repeats, her lips curling into a smile. “You should have seen the way you woke up. You looked like a zombie, just sitting up so stiffly like that.” “
A cold hand seems to be gripping my throat. Tears begin to leak out from the corners of my eyes. Seeing the ruins of the carriage, the very same one that I was in on the way out of the Palace, brings back so many memories of that day. Crossing the walls. Seeing the poverty stricken people. Rebels attacking our carriage. Uncle Osman telling me to save myself. . . . I stare at the blood, the way it’s pooled and congealed on the dry leaves. The possibility of it being Uncle Osman’s blood is high, but it’s not something I want to believe. Not ever. Not while I’m still alive. Perhaps I can still find a way to search for him, to save him from those rebels. Suddenly numb, I get down from the horse and walk closer to the remains of the carriage, running down a finger on the velvet lining of the seat.
“What?” I stammer, looking behind me and turning to Alistair. “What did he say?” “The princess of Acantha just died,” he tells me, leaning towards my ear to speak more clearly. “This man said she died in her sleep. I think she was supposed to be coronated before fall? I don’t really know. But that’s one less tyrant for us.” His words remain in my ears and in my head just as he pulls away, and they’re sticking to every corner in my head like settling dust. The procession here in the town hall is for me. The dead princess. But why did they say I died in my sleep? I would get it if they mentioned the fact that I was sent on The Hunt and got attacked along the way. But why would they lie and say something completely different? “Huh,” the old woman says. “No name?” “No name,” Alistair confirms before her friend can answer. “They don’t disclose the names until coronation, remember? We only get news about Heirs being born, and after t