AUTHOR NOTE: TRIGGER WARNING — This chapter contains depictions of violence, captivity, and implied sexual assault impacting side characters. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
My eyes opened painfully as if sandpaper were scraping against them. My body felt foreign—too heavy, too hollow. Every breath trapped in my throat was dry and shallow as if I were dragging air through a sieve of ash. The stone beneath me leached warmth from my bones, and dampness clung to everything. My dress was soaked with sweat, clinging to my skin and stiff in places with a thicker substance. A dull, relentless throb pulsed in my head, and my tongue tasted of metal and dust.
How long had it been? There were no windows. The only light came from the faint echo of water dripping from somewhere unseen. Each drop landed with a sharp finality, louder than it should have been. Something scraped across the stone in the distance—metal on rock. I flexed my fingers, and a cold iron bit into my wrists: shackles. They were tight enough to remind me that I wasn't free but not so tight as to draw blood. Dim light flickered from a dying torch in the far corner, and shadows moved like smoke across the ceiling. Stone walls surrounded me—ancient, wet, and unforgiving. I wasn't alone; a shape huddled in the far corner.
Tessa.
She sat curled up into herself, her knees drawn to her chest and her head bowed. Her hair was a tangled mess, and grime streaked her dress. But her chest rose and fell. She was breathing. I hadn't protected her. I had promised her she wouldn't be alone—and now we were both here, caught in the same nightmare. Not because I failed her but because we were never meant to survive something like this. None of us were. There was someone else, a third figure lying crumpled near the opposite wall, barely distinguishable from the shadows. I squinted, forcing my aching eyes to focus.
Queen Alina
Her golden hair was matted and tangled, her gown torn and stained with blood and filth. Her body didn't move—not even a twitch. I stared, willing her chest to rise and wishing for her to breathe. Then, faintly, barely visible, her side shifted. She took a breath, shallow but real. Relief rushed in, dizzying and sharp. She was alive, but for how long? She wasn't built for this. None of us were. The court whispered that Queen Alina was cold and untouchable. But that wasn't the woman lying broken on the stone floor. That wasn't the woman who made sure I was fed, who sent someone to check on me when I couldn't get out of bed, who truly saw me. Now, we were all trapped in the dark, and fear pressed against my ribs like a second heartbeat. Would anyone be coming?
The silence cracked with a metallic clang—closer this time. My heart lurched. Footsteps followed, slow and deliberate, echoing off the stone like a death toll. A key turned. A bolt slid. The door opened. Light flooded in. Not warm and golden, but harsh and white, like it didn't belong in a place like this. I turned my face away. My eyes stung. Boots scraped against stone. Shadows shifted. Breathing that didn't belong to any of us. Two figures entered—one tall and broad-shouldered, the other thinner and more precise. I didn't recognize them. "Get the girl," one of them said, his voice gravelly and icy. "Which one?" the other asked. "The princess." Fear pressed against my ribs like a second heartbeat. Would anyone be coming?
Before I could scream, hands grabbed me. I fought and thrashed, but I couldn't stop them. I was powerless, a mere pawn in their cruel game.
They didn't care that I kicked. That I screamed. My voice was raw from disuse, scraping up my throat like broken glass. I twisted in their grasp, nails catching skin, but they barely reacted. One caught my wrists—still shackled—and dragged me forward as if I weighed nothing.
Tessa cried out, "Your Highness!" I tried to look back, but a hand shoved my head forward. The door yawned open ahead of us, spilling that sickening white light across the stones. I dug my heels into the floor, desperate and wild. "Leave her alone! She's a servant—she's no threat to you—" But they didn't stop. I heard movement behind me—Tessa struggling, her voice caught in a sob. Something shifted in their tone, low and leering. That's when I screamed. Not for myself. For her. "Don't touch her!" My voice cracked, sharp, and frantic. I couldn't see what they were doing—but I knew. I knew what that silence meant. What the scuffle behind me had become. I was desperate, my voice a weapon in the darkness.
"Tessa!"
The taller one hissed, "Shut her up." The world turned sideways as I was slammed into the wall. My teeth clacked together from the impact, and the breath fled my lungs. The shackles cut into my wrists again. Not enough to bleed—but enough to remind me that pain still meant I was alive. Behind me, Tessa's sobs broke through the cold. Queen Alina didn't move.
They dragged me down a narrow corridor, the air turning colder the farther we went. The walls were slick with moisture, and I slipped more than once, knees scraping against stone. I kept waiting for someone—anyone—to come. But no footsteps echoed behind us except the ones dragging me deeper into the dark.
We turned a corner, and the hall opened into a new space—narrower, darker. A single brazier burned at the far end, casting warped shadows across the walls. I caught the glint of metal. Chains. Hooks. A table that wasn't made for dining. Fear surged up my throat like bile. I knew what kind of place this was. Not for ransom. Not for a reason. A message is written in the flesh. "You'll get what you want without touching her face," the taller one muttered. "King still wants her pretty." The other man laughed, low and humorless. "Just enough to bleed."
My pulse pounded in my ears. Blood? For what? Proof of life? Leverage? Or just cruelty? They didn't need a reason. That was the worst part. I braced as they threw me to the ground. Stone bit into my knees again. My wrists burned where the shackles dragged against my skin. One of them crouched beside me, pulling something from the shadows. A blade—not long, but thin and curved. For precision. No mercy. "No one's coming," he said quietly.
And then the pain began. It was methodical and calculated. Like I was a canvas, they were instructed to ruin but not destroy. My dress tore as the blade kissed my skin, down my arms, my legs, and my back. Not deep. Not fatal. But sharp enough to make me scream. Sharp enough to remind me I was theirs. My tears burned, but I refused to beg. I wouldn't give them that. One of them muttered a warning—"No scars. King's orders." Another tossed a small clay jar onto the table. "Use the ointment after. She still has to be presentable." They left me on the floor, aching and trembling, breath shallow as I tried not to sob. The stone was cold beneath me, but the heat of pain still burned in every cut. I pressed my forehead to the ground and bit down hard on the scream that wanted to rise. I would not shatter here. Not yet. But deep inside, the cracks had already started to spread.