Worse, almost, is when the fae are nice.
Ken lured me in with his niceties. And though I don’t believe it to be fake, it still managed to fool me into a false sense of safety.
Perhaps I can request an audience with the prince and appeal to him. Surely his rule will outrank that of the shifter and faerie. Except, Fern called him the Prince of Fear, and Rainer called him a cruel bastard. It seems unpromising.
I’m trapped.
For what must be the hundredth time this hour, I crash my fists against the invisible forcefield locking me in. My fists meet an invisible, solid wall each time. Once again, my hands roam the entire doorway, searching for a weak point or opening to push through, but there isn’t any.
“Let me out of here you pointy-eared arsehole!” I scream.
Oh gods, the lord would skin me alive for that attitude. My neck heats up and I instantly regret saying it. But when no one stalks toward me with a belt, ready to whip me, I grow emboldened.
Testing a theory I have, I scurry to the armoire and pull out a shoe, throwing it out the door. It lands with a thump in the hallway.
An incredulous laugh leaves me.
I throw a pillow next. It lands beside the shoe, confirming that it is only me who cannot cross the threshold.
It’s mind-altering, trying to understand magic and how it works, and the ridiculousness of the situation fuels me, giving me the confidence to act out. I have absolutely nothing left to lose. Everything has been taken from me—my body, Char, my freedom, hell, even my sanity.
With an ear-splitting shriek, I begin throwing anything I can get my hands on. One-by-one things fly out the door into the hallway.
Shoes.
Pillows.
Skirts.
Tunics.
When I run out of things to throw angrily, and my arms shake, lacking the strength to continue, I slump in a heap on the floor.
Throwing a fit has done nothing to help me. All it’s done is deplete my energy. I need to be smart, find a way out, or bide my time and strike back efficiently.
I gather myself together and snoop around the bathroom space. Various hygienic creams and fragrances sit scattered about by the vanity, but other than a clawfoot tub in the center of the space and a toilet, there isn’t anything useful in here.
Passing by a mirror, I catch a glimpse of myself. My eyes are wild, my hair even unrulier, like an untamed animal. I slowly trace the zigzag marking on my face and squeeze my eyes shut to prevent the welling tears from spilling over.
If only I could rip the tattoo from my skin, I could stand a chance at freedom in Dovenak.
Crossing back into the bedroom, I approach the windows and tug the tassel to part the heavy velvet drapes. Daylight bathes the room in a pale hue, the sun still tucked away in the colorless sky.
My eyes focus on the landscape beyond the window. I’m three floors up. Too high to think about escaping this way. Even worse, there’s a stone wall outlining the entire property, containing the expansive lawn and overflowing gardens within. The wall is massive, and I can’t help but wonder if its job is to keep things in or keep others out.
Red roses climb the wall, snaking around the strategically placed iron gates. With the gloomy, overcast sky, and drab colored stone everywhere, the roses are what give the property life.
Someone moves below my window, in the gardens, fussing with the flowers. I squint, making out Rainer. He’s a smudge of black, like a shadow tainting the garden. He holds a tool in his hands as he carefully snips at the buds.
Interesting.
I didn’t take him for a gardener. I thought perhaps a warrior or advisor.
When his eyes flit up to my window, I step back out of sight before he can spot me staring. Instead, I glance into the distance.
The castle is perched on a hill, with dense forest surrounding the wall in every direction I can see—a deadly forest, based on everyone’s reaction to it. The thick blanket of green slopes down toward a pale grey sea in the distance. Nestled by the water’s edge, a congregation of sprawling wooden rooftops merge together in bland streaks of brown. I wonder if the water glitters when the sun shines, or if it always appears so glum.
From up here, the buildings look like toys. They’re just large enough to be seen, but small enough to appear fake, unreachable.