Chapter 8
Verity
Altair is infuriating. He’s vile, sadistic, and a bully. I endure dinners with him because I’m meant to, because I don’t know what they’ll do to me if I don’t. But every time he opens that perfectly shaped mouth, I want to slap him. And then kiss him.
God, he’s driving me insane.
I sweep down the halls, nearly tripping over the long skirts of my gown. The castle may be large, but I’m feeling claustrophobic knowing that Altair is under the same roof. I just need fresh air. I shake my head, trying to forget the tingling sensation that swept through me when he bent over me. He was just trying to intimidate me; I tell myself as I push out into the night air.
It meant nothing. Whatever he wants from me, he isn’t getting it. And that frustrates him. It frustrates him enough to imprison me in his arms to keep me close to him. I take a deep gulp of the night air; it smells faintly of jasmine. My core heats at the memory of his eyes on my lips. I could read his intentions in those eyes. Why did I want it so badly?
Stockholm syndrome, I realize. Of course. I’ve been kept here so long and treated well enough that I don’t see my captors as my captors anymore. Unconsciously. I furrow my brows, considering this. I don’t feel like I have Stockholm syndrome—but then again, what does it feel like?
The gravel of the main drive crunches under my shoes, the only sound on the grounds. The only sound. I stop, a few yards from the guardhouse and the main gate. It’s oddly quiet. No murmurings of the guards by the gate, no night birds singing, or even crickets chirping. A cold sense of dread settles over me, and the hairs on my arms stand on end.
Something is wrong.
Suddenly, a woman materializes beside me, dressed in a blood red cloak. Beneath her deep hood, her eyes glimmer wickedly. On instinct, I step backwards, but I stumble over my dress. Her hand snakes out from the cloak and snatches my wrist before I fall.
“Let me go, who are you?” I try wrench away from her.
A second woman appears on my other side, she lifts a hand. Her nails are long and pointed, curling inwards. I open my mouth to scream as she brings her hand down and strikes me. Pain lances through my temple, and then shadows cloud my vision, the scream lodged in my throat.
When I wake, I’m on cold, hard stone. But not the stone of the castle, it’s too rough for that. And too dirty. I lift my cheek from the ground, groaning as pain throbs through my skull. Bits of dirt and dust cling to my cheek, I don’t bother wiping them off as I try to rise into a sitting position. I manage it, after a few tries. I shiver, cold wind from behind me rushing past me towards a light in the distance.
Where am I? There’s a fire nearby, illuminating my prison. Rough stone walls arch above me with crude drawings of animals and Fae. A cave, I realize. I’m in a cave. I scoot backwards until my back is pressed against the wall, my dress snags on a rock and tears. It’s a mess of dirt and rips anyway. I wrap my arms around my bare shoulders, holding myself for comfort and warmth.
There’s no sign of the two women I saw before I blacked out. The light in the distance must be the entrance to the cave, is it already day? I must have been out for hours. The situation gives me a strong sense of déja vu. Though I suppose I was lucky I ended up in a castle the first time. I frown, staring into the flames of the fire, how many more times will I be kidnapped? I’m practically an expert now.
I hear footsteps echoing in the darkness of the cave, from deeper within. I turn my head sharply, heart pounding. Somehow, I’m more frightened than I was when I woke up in the castle. More frightened even than when Acubens snatched me from the hillside on my wedding day.
A woman melts out of the shadows, her hood drawn down. From her eyes, I can sense that it’s the first woman I saw. She smiles sinisterly, and I imagine that all of her teeth have been sharpened into points. She moves closer to the fire, and I see it was a trick of the light. Her blonde hair is matted considerably, as if she hasn’t washed in weeks, but there are no dirt smears on her pale skin. She watches me, leering, while another woman joins her.
The two of them are silent, their eyes raking over me. It sends shivers trailing up and down my spine. I feel like an animal in a slaughterhouse. Finally, one of the women speaks, “She doesn’t look a thing like Maaz, does she?”
Her companion cackles. Cackles like a witch in the stories. I flinch back at the sound. “Doesn’t have her courage either. Look how frightened she is, like a little mouse in a trap.”
“Maaz will certainly be pleased though,” the first one quips. “She’ll be crowing when she sees we’ve brought her that stupid Fae’s prized possession.”
I listen as the two of them congratulate each other, eyes darting between them. It’s as if they don’t know I can hear them. Or they simply don’t care. Whatever they are, they aren’t Fae. Their ears aren’t pointed, and they lack the elegance of the Fae. Whatever these women are, they remind me of spiders.
“You would think the beast would have kept watch over her more carefully,” one snorts. “It was too easy to snatch her up.”
The other laughs. “The key to saving himself and his kingdom and he just lets her wander the ground alone? If that’s how seriously he’s taking the curse, then he deserved to lose her!”
Curse? Key? My
