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Jackson's gaze lifted to the photo on the wall. His parents, forever smiling, forever youthful, seemed to watch over them. They would thankfully never know the danger their legacy was in. It fueled his resolve to keep the farm that had been his family's pride for centuries.
Marie's voice broke through his thoughts. "You thought any more about the Miller's offer for the back forty acres?"
Jackson shook his head, chasing a pea with his fork. "No, I can't do it. That's the heart of the farm, Marie."
"But the money, Jack?—"
He looked up, a small, wry smile on his face. "We'll find another way. I didn't haul hay before I could walk just to sell off the best of what we got."
Marie reached over, placing her hand on his. "I know you'll figure it out. You always do."
The night crept fully in as dinner ended. Jackson offering to clean up as Marie retreated to her knitting. Alone in the kitchen, he watched the steam rise from the sink, ghost-like in appearance, and allowed himself a moment to close his eyes, to find that quiet center of grit within him.
Outside, the crickets began their nightly serenade, the stars blinked into existence, and somewhere in the distance, a coyote cried—a wild, lonely sound that resonated with the ache he felt. The serenity of nature stood in stark contrast to the storm within.
But tomorrow was a new day. And Jackson would rise with the sun, just as he always did. Resilient. Unyielding. Because it wasn't just a farm he was fighting for—it was a legacy.
And legacies don't die easy.
CHAPTER
TWO
Agroan echoed through the cavernous chamber as Barrett sloshed the sudsy water, scrubbing the stained floors of his stepfather's hall. Each sweep of the brush over helplessly dirty stone was punctuated by the sighing of the wind, as if even the air shared in his weariness.
Barrett stood alone in the great hall of the giant's castle - though it more often felt like a damn villain's lair. His chest heaved as he tried to force himself to work through the dense humidity that sat on his chest like a boulder.
He could practically taste the fear and despair that permeated every corner of this dark domain. It coated his tongue like bitterness at the back of his throat. Even the smallest movements felt laborious under the watchful gaze of grotesque tapestries depicting giants' triumphs and humans' plights. It didn't matter that they sat as high in the sky as his own true kingdom, the giant's domain was cloaked with death and darkness.
This was his punishment for not accepting the marriage proposal his captor shoved at him. He would never marry a woman – giant or otherwise, but especially not a giant. It didn’t matter that his magic allowed him to grow items at will.
With trembling fingers, Barrett lifted a brush to continue his chores, determined not to give the man who stole him another reason to torment him further.
Dust motes danced in shafts of sunlight filtering through grimy windows and cast eerie shadows across the marble floor—a stark contrast to the warmth and light he remembered from his childhood home. Unbidden memories flashed before his eyes.
Sumptuous feasts.
Royal pageantry.
Laughter echoing through the halls.
It pained him to think about what could have been if not for the fateful night when his kingdom was invaded by giants. Giants who, for some reason, did nothing more than destroy some land and steal him away to this godforsaken palace.
When he closed his eyes, the memories always came to haunt him. Of giants stomping across the land, shaking it with more force than should have been possible. The burnt umber of fire would fill his nose in the dream, and then nothingness swallowed him whole because he'd not been awake by the time the giants stole him.
Every day he woke up with the same vision in his mind only to be disappointed— his old bedchamber in his father's castle, the scent of lavender and roses from his mother's rose garden seeping through the silk sheets. Now all he had was straw and stone, and the rancid breath of his stepfather lingering in the air.
The routine was wearing thin. Like a piece of rough fabric rubbing against raw skin, the day to day as a servant prince of a land he didn't belong in hurt. He longed for something more—something wild and untamed that would set him free from this dreary life.
A memory tugged at him—a memory of home—and he couldn't help but wonder what lay beyond those clouds hovering just beyond his grasp. Couldn’t help but think just how far his home would be if he started to run. But even as he dreamt, he knew he couldn't ignore reality for long. The giant who called himself his father was watching him like a hawk, always ready to pounce on any signs of rebellion or resistance.
The giant never gave a reason for what he did. He treated Barrett like a possession, a gift he received not stole.
Setting the mop back in the bucket, Barrett held it tight as he bent to grab the metal handle.
"Next room," he grumbled.
The rhythm of Barrett's footsteps echoed through the dank and dreary cell he called home, his heart heavy with frustration for yet another day spent trapped.
