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"Come on, Thalia," I mutter to myself, my breath misting in the cool air. "Pull it together." A little independence never comes without its own set of thorns. But desperation has a peculiar way of sharpening a girl's resolve. I refuse to let mine dull on the blunt edge of fear.
I sway on my feet, stumbling into a massive pine. My dress snags on the bark, the shoulder ripping. I force myself upright, clutching at the sharp edges of anger to keep myself awake.
I have to stay awake. If I fall asleep out here, I might never wake up again at all. The curse won't simply last a lifetime. It'll be the death of me.
I don't know how much longer I stumble forward, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other. Every step grows more difficult. My vision fades in and out.
Hope begins to wane, replaced by desolation and regret. Maybe I shouldn't have run. Maybe I was never destined to find love like the women who came before me. Perhaps my lot in life is simply to do as I'm told—an obedient little princess.
I'm so tangled in my dark thoughts that it takes my mind a moment to process the sight before me—a hunting cabin veiled by an overgrown copse of trees.
Relief floods through me, warm and heady. The small cabin might as well be an oasis. It certainly feels like one in this moment.
I stumble toward it, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and triumph. It's not just shelter. It's a promise of respite, a chance to breathe, to plan, to survive.
"Thank you," I whisper, though there's no one to hear but the birds nestled in the trees. But if the universe listens to cursed runaway princesses, hopefully, it hears my appreciation. A girl could use a break.
The door resists at first, mocking my desperation. Or maybe that's the universe telling me to take my thanks and shove it. Either way, the door puts up a fight.
I refuse to let it deter me.
With a surge of rebellion, I shove as hard as I can. The lock gives way with a resentful groan.
"Ha!" I cry, triumph surging through me as I fall through the door into the cabin. I barely manage to stay on my feet, but I don't even care. I'm inside, out of the danger zone. As far as I'm concerned, I just won a war.
I kick the door shut behind me, taking a quick glance around.
For an old hunting cabin, the place is really nice. The walls are made of sturdy wood, the floor covered in a plush rug. The furniture is elegant and well-crafted, with a large sofa in one corner and a cozy armchair in another. A small kitchen takes up the far wall.
A narrow hallway leads deeper into the cabin. I stagger toward it, searching for the bedroom as my vision fades in and out again. I pass a bathroom before coming to the spacious bedroom. It's simple—a large oak dresser and a massive bed piled high with fluffy pillows and soft sheets.
I nearly cry with relief at the sight.
My hands tremble as I reach for the hem of my dress, the fabric torn and soiled from my frantic journey through the forest. It falls away, a cascade of cloth pooling at my feet. I strip out of my bra and panties too, leaving them littering the floor as I stumble eagerly toward the bed.
"I hate you," I whisper to the unseen force that chases me, my voice quivering with defiance and fear. My hands slide over my body, tracing the lines of my belly, my thick hips—proof of life and vitality. Not even the curse can take those from me. In these moments, stripped bare, I'm acutely aware of every breath, each beat of my heart an act of defiance against the curse's impending inevitability.
I stand alone for a long moment, the chill of the cabin air caressing my skin—a cruel lover's touch. It's a stark reminder of the solitude that grips me, the isolation as tangible as the shackles of sleep that await me.
Was running the right thing to do? Should I have stayed and accepted my fate?
No. No, I'll never believe that.
The chance of freedom is worth any price, even if it means I'm on the run forever.
The weight of the curse settles over me, a dark coronation for a princess forsaken by her own father.
As I collapse on the bed, surrendering to exhaustion, I am every inch a woman touched by enchantment, ensnared by the darkest of fairytales, and yet still fiercely her own.
"Find me," I plead as the darkness takes me—the same plea I issue every night to my one true love. "Please, find me."
Wherever he is—whoever he is—I need him to find me, or I'll never truly be free.
Chapter Two
Troy
"Iwon't bow to your wishes, Father," I snarl, glowering at the old man. His hand trembles as he reaches for his fork, but I'm no longer sure if his weakness is reality or a show. With him, it's impossible to tell. The old bastard is wily and conniving.
