“Oh, no, no, no, no,” I mutter, my hands touching the wall in front of me.
A familiar knot forms in my stomach, causing a wave of nausea. I frantically feel along the wall, my palms become clammy and a cold sweat breaks out across my forehead. The fear that once haunted my childhood memories resurface, gripping me tightly in its icy grasp.
“Shit!” I gasp.
Even though I can’t see a thing, white dots dance across my vision as my breathing rapidly increases. I need to get myself together. I lean over, resting my hands on my knees, and take deep breaths.
“You’ve got this, Everly,” I chide myself.
This is a passage, a tunnel, and that means it leads somewhere. I’m not trapped.
Gathering myself, I stand upright, and using the wall as a guide, the fingers of one hand trace the rough surface as I grip my long skirt in the other. Navigating the steps in this dress is awkward, and the absence of sight makes it even more challenging. The only sound to be heard is my breathing as I descend further into the darkness. I take the stairs slowly, and though relief consumes me when my feet hit the bottom and I see light, it takes a conscious effort to control my emotions and not run ahead.
I step out into the sunshine and gulp down the fresh air. The soft breeze envelops me in its comforting embrace, and I savor the way it caresses through my hair and across my skin, cooling me in an instant. Unable to stand on my shaky legs a moment longer, I fall to my knees on the soft grass, my tulle skirt puffing around me like a pillow.
Oh my god, never again.
The passage behind me is partially concealed by plants, and as I study it, my gaze shifts upward to the intricate ironwork on the balconies above me, but I'm unsure which one is mine.
I’m fine. Everything’s fine.
The garden is filled with the sounds of chirping birds, which somehow calms my mind. Pushing myself up from the ground, I notice the dirt that has collected on my skirt and give it a shake, dislodging the bulk of it.
Satisfied I’m alone, I step out from my hidden spot and look around the garden. My breath catches in my throat as I stand here mesmerized. Though my balcony has a view, the true beauty of the surroundings is lost from that height. The colors are so bright and vivid. Making my way across the grass to the stone path, I take in the various flowers. Some I recognize, some I don't.
As I walk through the garden, I trail my fingers over the velvety petals and leaves, taking in their different textures and scents. A sense of lightness washes over me, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. Nature has always brought me peace and comfort, especially under the warm sun and in the crisp, fresh air. Being inside and confined always feels like a heavy blanket being draped over my shoulders, suffocating me.
Suddenly, the silence is shattered by the sound of voices, followed by boisterous shouts and cheers.
What on earth?
I pick up my pace, my heart racing with anticipation as I head toward the source of the voices. A large Victorian-style wrought iron gate at the edge of the garden reveals a crowd of people. As I draw closer, the sound of metal-on-metal rings through the air, piquing my curiosity.
Slipping through the gate unnoticed, I walk around the outskirts of the crowd, trying to get a view of what they’re looking at. I stomp my foot in frustration, not able to see over the mass of people. Glancing around, I see some wooden crates next to a cart and make my way over. I'm spurred on by the round of cheers as I hastily make my way over to them and climb up.
Looking over the crowd I see a large arena with two men inside, both in fierce combat. I’m completely transfixed as their swords clash. One man loses his sword and I gasp as the other man sweeps him off his feet before pointing the sword at his neck. The crowd's roar is deafening, but my eyes are trained on the two men. My chest tightens as I watch and wait, unsure of what I’m about to witness. The swift relief I feel causes my shoulders to slump as the victor sheaths his sword and assists the other man to his feet.
Finally able to breathe again, my eyes wander over the crowd. They all vary in shapes and forms, most resembling regular men, but all have the pointed ears that mark them as Fae.
My breath catches in my throat when I see a dark figure step into the arena, drawing everyone’s attention. A rhythmic stomping starts, the crowd's feet echoing through the air as Maxon strides confidently toward the center of the arena, his cape billowing behind him.My heartbeat keeps time with thestomping as the vibrations send a thrill through me. The feeling is electrifying. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.
Maxon's face remains impassive as he removes his cape and hands it to a young boy who swiftly dashes toward the arena's edge. Sometime since he left my room, he secured his long hair into a bun, highlighting the defined structure of his jawline. I stare transfixed as he draws his sword, swinging it around, his movements strong, powerful, direct.
He reminds me of the god of war.
Dark and formidable.
Another fae makes his way to the center of the arena, and he is huge. My pulse kicks up in fear when a grin spreads across the fae’s face while he strips off his shirt. The crowd roars with excitement as the man's muscles bulge, and the stomping comes to a stop. Maxon stands there, his features carefully neutral, giving away nothing.
Both fae ready their swords, and I hold my breath. My body is pulsating with nerves, making me feel dizzy, but the thrill of excitement keeps me transfixed on the scene ahead. A horn blares, and in an instant, the two men are off, their bodies a blur of motion.
The hulk fae swings his sword in a wide arc, and a gasp falls from my lips. My hands fly to cover my mouth. Maxon swiftly sidesteps to avoid the swing, pivoting quickly on his feet, and unleashes a series of blows that cause the bigger fae to stumble backward.
Maxon’s movements are fluid and practiced. Every strike is swift, precise, and calculated to perfection as he swings the sword, his gaze fixed on his challenger. I watch with bated breath forseveral moments. Their swords clash and dance in a lethal battle of skill and strength, his opponent fighting back with equal ferocity.
The crowd erupts again, their thunderous applause reverberating through the arena. Maxon’s face remains stoic, focus unwavering. His challenger is struggling to keep up as Maxon surges ahead, with an unrelenting pace.
My understanding of sword fighting is minimal, but Maxon is clearly winning.
