I’m weightless, tied to nothing, being nothing. Only my essence remains, and it’s floating above everything. It’s bliss. It's completely dark. If this is death, then I would have no issue with it.
But it's not death. The darkness soon gives in to light, which turns to different colors and shapes until I find myself looking at the image of the palace gardens, close to the thirty-foot tall walls. There's a woman in white robes standing next to a tree, pointing at the tall iron gates.
A dream. I'm dreaming, and this one is too familiar. I've had this dream so many times as a kid, enough for me to know immediately that that woman is my mother.
"Elora," she says, her voice echoing even though she's close to me. "Look."
Like she always does in these dreams, she points at the moon, which is high above in the night sky. Abnormally large as always in this dream. Dominating the sky, creating some kind of a pull that renders everything silent. But still, I don't look at it for long. My eyes are fixed on my mom.
My mom, who I only saw in the pictures that Father tried to burn.
"Mom," I try to say, but I have no voice. I never had, not in these dreams. "Mom, please."
I want to touch her. I want to hug her. I want to feel her, the love that I'm supposed to receive from her. I just want to know who she is, how it feels like to have a mother.
But of course, she disappears just after pointing at the moon.
I never knew what this meant, and I have tried to debunk it many times. Still, nothing compares to how much I want to figure it out right now. I want to stay in the dream until I arrive at a conclusion, but I get pulled out of it in one quick go.
My eyelids snap open. I find myself in a small room with wooden walls and a wooden floor. The small window beside me is covered by a thin white curtain, and there’s only darkness beyond it. Only the orange light from a gas lamp sitting on a stool by the window illuminates the place, casting almost half the room in shadows.
I try to stand, but ropes are holding me to the chair, wound tight around my chest and my lower belly. The same thick ropes are tied around my wrists and ankles. The wounds around my middle are dry now, the clotted blood visible under my tattered shirt. There’s a strip of cloth around my mouth, preventing me from screaming as I see the silhouette of a man sitting in front of me.
“You’re awake,” he says, emerging from the shadows. “Finally.”
His form gets bathed in the orange light, and I have to stifle a gasp. It’s the man from the forest. The man who saved me. . . .
Suddenly all the events come flooding into my head. The carriage, the rebels, the forest, the wolves, and the man. This man. The man who looks like an angel or a statue carved for the gods, all fine angles and smooth lines, sharp features and alluring mystique. He’s tall and lean, looking like the grim reaper himself in that black coat, coming to take me or watching me suffer.
He brushes locks of his curly black hair from his forehead, allowing me to look at his eyes. Even in the orange light, his irises look cold. Gray and freezing, like the lake in the palace in the middle of a harsh snowstorm. His gaze locks with mine, and I immediately get flashes in my head, vague emotions that flick by like sceneries from a fast-moving carriage.
I see the stars, the moon, all the celestials. I see a sky brewing thunderclouds, a flash of lightning, the eye of the storm. I see snow, the first specks that fall from the sky in the beginning of winter.
Good and bad. Beauty and danger. Life and death.
It’s all in him.
The man reaches out and pulls my gag down. “You’re a reckless one, aren’t you? I would say you are gutsy, but guts without brains is just stupidity. Now tell me, who’s with you?”
The question reaches my head with extra slowness. “What?”
“I said, who’s with you?” he repeats, stepping back. “Who was with you when you barged into my forest and made a mess of things?”
“I. . . .” I can barely think. I can only look at him. “I don’t know. I just—"
“Answer me properly.” His tone becomes stern. When I don’t speak, he sighs and says loudly, “Answer me!”
“No one!” I splutter. Tears flow down my cheeks. I don’t want to cry, but I’m so scared. He must be one of the rebels that Uncle Osman told me about. Not the same ones that hunted us, but definitely one of them. “I was alone. I’m alone.”
He crouches down and stares at me. Then he begins to pace. “How did you find my forest?”
My body begins to shake. “This is not your—"
"I only have one question for you," he interrupts, his pacing as slow and as controlled as his voice. "Why are you in my forest?"
I take a deep breath to steady myself. I can’t just sit here and look pathetic. "It's not your forest. It's not your land."
That makes him laugh, and his laugh is as cold as the room. "But it is. You just have no idea, princess."
Princess. This has to be a coincidence. He doesn't know who I am. If he did, he would have killed me already.
"Let me go," I tell him. "I didn't do anything wrong!"
He narrows his eyes, a trace of his laughter lingering on his lips as a sly smile. "Oh, didn't you now.”
I can tell that he knows I’m afraid, and that he likes it. I can almost feel him thriving off my fear. His smile widens, baring his teeth, his noticeably pointy canines. This reminds me of the Shadow Wolves, and that makes my dread spike up. My fake bravado melts away in a single second.
“I was lost,” I say in a rush as he leans closer to me. "I swear, I did nothing wrong and I. . . ."
"Nothing wrong?" he echoes, amused. He puts his hand on the backrest of the chair. "Don't worry, I'll give you one chance to prove it to me."
"And how can I do that?"
His hand trails down to my shirt. He hooks a finger on the neckline and looks me in the eye. "I think you know how."
I do. I’m completely aware of what he’s implying, and for some reason the idea of it fills my body with heat. Whether from shame or something else, I have no idea. All I know is that it’s enough to make my brain and my mouth to work.
“Please, let me explain,” I say quickly as he opens his mouth to speak again. “I’m not a bad person. I really don’t know where I am. I didn’t know this was your land. I didn’t know it was owned by anybody! Please, sir, I’m from the Capital. I ran away from the Nobleman I was serving since I was a child. I just rode a random carriage out of the state and wound up here. I have been wandering for days and I have no idea. I’m just a servant, sir, please have mercy on me. . . .”
That story came from nowhere. It just slipped out of my lips, together with the tears that continue to flow down my cheeks. I know it sounds stupid and maybe even unbelievable, but it seems fitting.
This man is a rebel, which is why he’s protective over this land. I have a strong feeling that he’s hiding something important here. Hell, maybe this is a rebel headquarters. And aren’t the rebels wanted by the authorities, by the palace?
Maybe this is how I can prove myself. Maybe this is how I can be the princess.
I can surrender him and the other criminals to get the crown.
The man narrows his eyes, but this time I’m not afraid. Or at least, not that much. I’m calm enough to say, “I’m sorry, sir. I’m really sorry.”
He straightens up and withdraws something from his pocket. Something small and sharp. He lifts it to my level of sight. “This yours?”
I take a close look at it. The dagger that Hendrik gave me. I didn’t even know I kept that with me until now. Still, the man must have noticed it for a reason. I don’t know what it is yet, but I will find out. No matter what.
“A friend gave it to me,” I tell him softly. “He said it would protect me.”
The man stares at it, twirling it in his fingers, then he turns his attention back to me. I summon all my willpower to keep my eye contact steady, hoping against hope he won’t notice how bad I’m shaking both from fear and eagerness. It’s taking too long, way too long, and I’m getting nervous by the second. . . .
“Very well,” he says at last, leaning over to cut the ropes around my middle with the dagger. It’s sharp, severing the knots in a few effortless swipes until I can breathe freely again. “I believe you.”
“Thank you,” I sink into a bow even though I’m still sitting and he’s bent over, cutting the ropes on my wrists and ankles. “I am thankful, sir.”
“Me too.” There’s a sly hint in his voice. “So, I will give you shelter for now. But you must know it comes with a price.”
“Anything,” I say instantly as I flex my joints. “I’ll do anything.”
He smirks. “Take off your clothes.”
Heyo! It's the author here. Please leave a review or a comment so I'll know how to improve my writing. Thank you so much and enjoy reading!
Did I hear that correctly? "What?" I ask rather shakily. "What did you say?" The man shrugs and fiddles with a bundle of cloth below the stool where the gas lamp is. "Well, you heard what I said. Take off your clothes." My entire body freezes. I don't know what to do, but I do know what it means, from all the romance books that I used to "borrow" from Madame Mara. I think it's highly possible that this absolute stranger wants to do something with me that doesn't involve any kind of clothing, the sacred thing that I want to do with my husband and my husband alone. Not Governor Celso, but with someone I share love with. I can't do this with someone I don't know. I certainly won't do it with someone who I'm sure is a criminal.
The first thing that struck me when I woke up was that I don't know where I am. I open my eyes to the unfamiliar brown ceiling, closed square window, and piled up chests in the corner of the room. I jolt upright with a scream stuck in my throat, scrambling to get up before everything comes rushing to me. Oh, yeah. Right. I'm with the rebels, particularly in Jossie's quarters. I turn to my side, expecting her to be there and watching me with disappointment like she did last night, but her bed is made up and empty. Releasing a breath of relief, I lie back down on my cot. I can't believe I'm here with an actual purpose, after all the things that happened. After thinking for the past days that I would die. Brief flashes of the carriage accident makes my heart const
Panic washes over my body like a splash of cold water. The stick of dynamite in my hand is getting warmer and warmer, only being intensified under the glare of the sun. In a rush, I stand and close the door, trying to keep the explosive from falling off my shaking hand. I put it back in its crate, my chest constricting with a mix of relief and increasing fear. "Fuck," I mumble, a profanity that I heard by never said, perfectly fitting for the situation. All of these crates around me are filled with dynamite. There has to be at least twenty crates in here, probably containing fifty sticks each. My stomach turns as I sigh and accidentally get a lungful of the dynamite smell. I want to leave right now, from this carriage and from this circus, but I don't know how. My knees are shaking and I feel so sick that the room is spinning before my eyes. What do these psychopaths want to do with this much explosives? What kind of circus—? Okay, the
I blink rapidly, waiting for the green scaly legs to turn normal. Maybe I’m just hallucinating, right? I rub my eyes for good measure as she begins to dry herself with a towel. When I stare at her legs again, they’re perfectly flesh-colored and ordinary. What’s happening to me? “Enemy, right.” I nod vigorously to hide my growing panic. My entire back is sweating. “Good thing I’m here as an ally.” Gynith smiles at me like she knows exactly what I think and it amuses her. “Welcome to Demika Circus, Lora.” “Thank you,” I croak after a pause. “It’s . . . nice to be welcomed after almost getting devoured by Shadow Wolves.” Gynith’s smile goes stiff. “By what?” “Shadow Wolves.” I point vaguely at the forest. “That’s how Alis
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
⇼ E L O R A ⇼ Days passed. Then weeks. Before I knew it, a whole month had passed, and when I woke up earlier with this realization, I just felt like a gigantic weight had been lifted off my chest. Life goes on, I realize. No matter how bad the situations were, my life still went on. And so did the lives of the others. The past month proved that. I open my eyes and look at the ceiling of the guest room, which we have designated among ourselves due to the renovation and the reconstruction that we’re doing for the palace. Some of the people from other city-states are going in and out of the Capital to help, also to take part in the planning process of our biggest project ever: tearing down the walls from the palace and the Capital. From outside the window of the room I share with Alistair, I can already see the shrine of the heroes in the courtyard. It’s a ten feet tall marble obelisk with all the names of the fallen. I didn’t include
⇼ E L O R A ⇼A scream builds up in my throat and escapes my mouth, ringing inside the chapel and out into the forest.With my entire body shaking, I scramble out of the dark building, my skin still covered in goosebumps. I slip and slide against the marble floor and almost fall more than three times, but I don’t care. All I want is to put as much space between me and the monstrosity that is my uncle’s dead body, which was missing just hours ago.How did it get there? What is it doing there? Why did it look at me? Why am I here? How did I get here?These questions all swirl in my head like a deadly mix, making me whimper all the way back around the lakeside. Small stones are digging into my soles and I’m just slipping everywhere, but I keep going like a wild prey getting away from its predator. No matter how many times I blink, I can’t get rid of the picture in my head, the picture of Uncle Osman’s glassy eyes staring at me.My feet keep sinking in
⇼ E L O R A ⇼I want to scream, but no sound escapes me. It’s as though my voice completely vanished, and now I’m left here staring at my dead uncle as he grabs my arm and forces me to walk with him.And the weird thing is, I can actually feel his hand clasping my ruined wrist. It’s almost as though he’s more solid than anything in here, more solid than me. It’s like I’m a dream but he’s in a higher form of reality that conquers mine. This notion only gets stronger when I try to struggle but he just doesn’t budge. He’s solid. He’s stronger than me.“Why do you want to leave so bad?” he asks me, his voice as gentle and as good-natured as I remember. He points at the chapel with his other hand, and as if on cue, the lights from inside glow brighter. I can actually see silhouettes of people from the windows, and they’re not moving. They’re all just standing there, completely still.
⇼ A L I S T A I R ⇼“No,” I hear Elora whisper, and my heart just cracks for her. She sounds so broken and so lost that I forget just how confused and afraid I am. I go up to her side and put a hand on her shoulder, and she wheels around to face me. “Are you sure this is the place?”“Yes,” I say, my voice low. I point at the smear of blood scattered along the massive elevated platform in the middle of the circular room. “Kalem said that they gathered the remains of the King’s brother and put him in the catacombs behind the chapel, in the room at the end of the tunnel.”Even though I remember what Kalem said perfectly, I still look around just to make sure we are indeed in the right place. There’s no other room in the catacombs, just these hallways with cubby holes on the walls, each containing either porcelain jars or wooden boxes with peeling gold paint. Apart from the blood on the slab of rock, there
⇼ E L O R A ⇼Coldness creeps into my body, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Madam Mara’s eyes are filled with nothing but pure and cold fear, the kind that will petrify you on the spot. For a vague moment I wonder what she actually knew, what she has seen and heard that still makes her shake like this even though Uncle Osman is already dead.But when she said he’s not human . . . I felt that was true.It was in the way he fought Alistair and I. We’re both Supernaturals, and I know we’re not used to fighting, but we should have been able to overpower him in a second, no sweat. But no. He was prepared. He was resilient. He was fighting back. And at some point he was even winning. It really wasn’t normal, and I was definitely thinking about it, but I don’t think I truly considered the possibility of it until Madam Mara came to me.And now she’s staring at me intensely like she’s going to explode
⇼ A L I S T A I R ⇼The sheer shock that thundered inside my body is enough to make time seem to slow down. I watch numbly as the Queen’s hand, still clasping the fork, draws closer and closer to her swollen belly. . . .I sweep closer, landing on my knees in front of the prison cell. I slide my hand through the metal bars just in time to move my hand right between the fork and her pregnant belly. She ends up stabbing my hand with enough force to let the tines sink into my palm with an abrupt squelching sound.The pain makes me gasp, but I take this accident as an opportunity to grab the fork and take it away from her.With my hand dripping blood, I turn to Jossie and Kalem, who are both horrified at the scene. “Do you have the key? Let’s take her—”“NO!” Queen Zuri shrieks, ramming against the metal bars. “It’s evil! Evil, I tell you! Get me out of here, please . . . I am begging you. Just take
⇼ A L I S T A I R ⇼The way to the prison cells of the palace is steep, dark, and incredibly eerie. Jossie and Kalem are right beside me as we walk along the narrow hallways leading down, but I feel alone. I feel cold. It’s as though this part of the palace is full of invisible hands, slowly pulling me under a pool of freezing water.After my talk with Elora, Jossie found me and informed me that I must oversee what’s being done to the new prisoners.“We need to know how we’re going to do all these things and just . . . make a process,” she said, her confusion very apparent on her face. “I honestly don’t know what we’re going to do with all these people, Alistair. I don’t know if we can trust them to be here when there are still soldiers around. Even the soldiers of their own city-state are here too.”“I understand, and don’t worry, I will find a way,” I told her then, pretty con
⇼ A L I S T A I R ⇼The Queen holds out her arms for me to bind them, but I’m empty handed apart from the cannon I stole from a guard just moments ago. I look at Elora, and she cuts off a strip from the hem of her shirt and ties it around the Queen’s wrists before pulling her up to her feet.Around us, the handmaidens all get to their knees, touching the ground with their foreheads as they face us. For a brief second I have to wonder what they are doing exactly, but then it occurs to me that this is their sign of surrender. They are changing their allegiance. They are showing that they are now ready to serve us since we basically dethroned the Queen and invaded the whole palace.To be frank, I don’t know how to feel about all of this. I want to tell them that it’s alright, that they don’t need to bow, but I can’t find the right words to say.Would it even be alright to show some kind of consideration or sympathy after I
⇼ A L I S T A I R ⇼ The path down has absolutely no amount of illumination, not even the tiniest one. The light from the throne room isn’t sneaking into the hole, which makes me think that it’s nothing but a black hole gaping at the floor of the dais, with nothing inside it. But Elora is just making her way down as though this isn’t a problem. I want to stop her and ask if she is certain, but the determination on her face and her slow deliberate movements are the answer for me. I peek down and notice that she’s holding onto metal bars and not just floating down, but this does very little to assure me. The darkness reminds me of shadows. And shadows remind me of my magic. The magic that killed those innocent guards. The magic that poisoned them to death, blackened their veins, and mangled their bodies. . . . “Are you going to follow me or not?” Elora’s voice, thin and fragile and barely audible, snaps me out of my reverie. I quickly nod