He groans again, keeling over behind me. I turn to find him with his head in his hands, his face twisted in agony as he pulls his hair at the roots.
“Get out of here. Now!” he yells.
I can hear my prince’s voice again, fighting with whatever has a hold over him. My hand shakes as I place it on his shoulder.
“Daedalus,” I mutter. “Husband.”
Suddenly, his head jerks back and his mouth opens, sharp fangs emerging from his canine teeth, his solid black eyes wider and rounder, horrifyingly distorted.
“Leave! Now, Amara!” he roars.
I do not hesitate. I run past him, snatching up the hem of nightgown and holding it around my knees to keep it free from my sprinting feet. I throw open the door, skipping stairs and slamming into the tower walls as I race down the staircase. My bare feet scrape against the stone, my toes crushed on every corner, but I do not stop. Not even when I reach the bottom, not even when I’m down the hall, not even when I burst through the secret door and barrel through the passageway.
Not until I emerge in my chambers do I stop to take a breath, but only long enough to get behind my dresser and lean into it with all my might, pushing it in front of the secret door. When it slams into place, I collapse on the cold wooden floor, struggling to remember the rhythm to breathing, the air rushing in and out of my lungs so quickly and coarsely it stings my chest.
As my heart beat settles, I slump against the dresser, exhaustion taking hold as my adrenalin wanes. As my senses return, so does the pain, and I hiss, holding up my hand to see fresh blood seeping through the bandage. Suddenly the room starts spinning around me and I stagger to my feet, reaching for the bed. I just need to lie down, just for a minute, just until everything stays still.
When my fingers find the mattress, I dig my nails in and drag myself onto the bed before collapsing. I manage to fling myself onto my back, staring up at the rolling ocean carved into the wood above me. For the first time, I’m grateful I cannot dream. If Daed finds me there, in a place where I can be someone else—free from my duties and responsibilities, free from sense and resolve—everything changes.
In that dream, my body would respond to his scent, to his touch, to the vile words that drip from his beautiful mouth. If we were in that dreamscape, and he looked at me with those piercing eyes and told me I was his, I wouldn’t run. I would let him grab my hair, grip my throat, and do all the things I know his body was capable of, and I would never want him to stop.
As my eyelids grow heavy, my breaths become shallow, and my heart beats loudly in my ears, I find myself teetering on the edge of consciousness, caught between desire and reality. In this moment of vulnerability, I surrender to the seductive pull of my thoughts, longing for a world where freedom and submission intertwine, even if just for a heartbeat.
Then my eyes close, and I brace myself for the long, empty dark of a dreamless sleep. But it is not dark, and it is not dreamless. Daedalus is not here, but something else is… and it whispers my name.
Chapter 12
Ahollow thrum of voices in unison floods my slumbering head. Am I dreaming? Impossible. I do not dream.
That is the only way I know that all these nightmares are real. That means the voices are real too. The language is old Fae. No doubt the same tongue as the runes on Daed’s body that I do not understand, and when spoken, the words are a string of guttural hisses and whispers that send chills down my spine.
My eyes flutter open, only barely, just enough to see the world around me through a thin, blurry haze. Faceless figures draped in garments of stars and midnight surround me, their heavy hoods keeping any features hidden in shadow. They chant their solemn, haunting tune, the same words hard and monotone, over and over again. The stone floor is ice cold beneath me, its uneven surface prodding at the softest parts of my skin. My head falls to the side and my gaze falls upon a luminous blue line drawn on the ground, its brilliant color dimming and brightening with a hypnotic pulse. I take a moment to realize it is not just a straight line. It curves around my splayed arms and legs. A circle, and I am trapped within its boundaries.
My throat burns dry, and I gulp as my senses slowly return. I can barely feel my body. It takes all my strength for my fingers to respond when I try to move them, and when they weakly twitch, I’m immediately struck with a slice of pain. My bandage is gone and the blood from the wound that refuses to heal drips onto the stone floor, seeping through the cracks in the stone like veins.
Fear takes root in my gut, rushing over me in waves and ensnaring my heart with a vice grip. I struggle against my paralysis, panic escaping my lips in murmurs, but the chanting continues. My head flops back, and now I stare at the ceiling with its wooden rafters. I can not move. I can not scream.
What is this place? Who are these people?
Suddenly, a speck of black appears on the ceiling. An imperfection in the wood, or something in my foggy vision. But it grows, spreading across the ceiling, and I realize it is not a speck. It is smoke. A pool of smoke expanding above me, and inside is an endless, black void that feels like staring into eternity. The void continues to grow, swallowing up the stone and wood until it fills the room, bringing the darkness of the night sky within these four walls.
Something is coming.
From the dark abyss, I see a shape, a mass with dozens of thick, writhing tentacles propelling the creature forward. I gulp back my fear, powerless, hopeless, with no choice but to lie and wait for the monster to reach me. Its mouth is the first thing I see clearly. A gigantic maw with row after row of pointed, razor-sharp teeth that seem to go all the way down its throat and a long, red forked tongue that whips and thrashes and reaches for me.
The chant that has rung in my ears changes. It has been a continuous, emotionless vibration, but now a single word rises above the rest, spoken with such passion and reverence, that I have no doubt it is the creature’s name.
Gygarth. Gygarth. Gygarth.
I grit my teeth, forcing my fingers to fold into fists, ignoring the pain searing through my hand. My body tightens and I clench every muscle, desperate to wrestle myself free from the invisible bonds that pin me to the stone floor. Very few could say they have been here before. Looking into the darkness and watching as a beast whose eyes scream with hunger tear towards you. But I have already defeated a monster with plans to devour me, and I will survive this too.
I will not die in Baev’kalath.
No voice passes my lips, but inside me it screams. Screams at my bones, my blood, my limbs and demands they obey me. This is my body. I decide what is done with it and I alone.
Move!
My arms spasm as if awoken by my plea. I close my eyes tight, my face twisted in a desperate effort to fight my fate. My arms are heavy as sacks of grain, but I pull them to my chest, and when I hold them out towards Gygarth, it feels as if they hold the weight of the world. I have to find my strength. Shut out the noise and hear only the voices of the Souls of the Forest. I have to raise the power buried deep inside me. I feel it, a flicker of warmth amidst the cold dread, a tiny spark that grows stronger the more I focus on it.
