I kept trying to match the other children. Climbing playground equipment meant for able-bodied kids. When a boy mocked me for sitting out during recess, I challenged him to a race.
I lost spectacularly, of course. I’d just gotten my first crutches and hadn’t mastered them yet. But I still raced around that track as fast as I could manage.
“What were you like as a child?” I ask suddenly as we descend. Humanize your captor, isn’t that what they always advise?
Tall windows punctuate the stairwell walls at regular intervals—narrow archer’s slits that speak to this castle’s defensive origins. Each opening frames a vista of endless white wilderness beyond, but they’re just holes in the stone with no glass to block the elements. Frigid mountain air pours throughthem in constant streams, carrying ice crystals that swirl and dance in the pale light. Snow has drifted onto the stone steps in small white mounds that crunch under my bare feet, sending shocks of cold straight to my bones.
I touch the decorative metal at my throat as I attempt casual conversation. I can’t believe something so archaic still exists—much less that I’m wearing it while being led around by this... whatever he is.
“Never was a child,” he rumbles over his shoulder. I catch a glimpse of his strong jaw between his folded wings. “Always existed as I am.”
I blink. “Well, what was it like when you first... began existing?”
The silence stretches so long I think he won’t answer.
Finally, we finish the seemingly endless staircase and emerge into a vast, great hall that takes my breath away. The space soars at least forty feet overhead, supported by massive stone arches that disappear into shadows above. A colossal wooden table dominates the center—easily twenty feet long and carved from what looks like a single enormous tree trunk, its surface worn smooth by centuries of use. The wood is so dark it’s almost black, inlaid with intricate metalwork that catches what little light filters down from high windows.
A single place setting waits at the table’s head—a pewter plate polished to mirror brightness, a heavy goblet that might be silver, and what looks like fresh bread still steaming beside winter fruit that shouldn’t exist in this climate. Someone prepared this recently.
The hall feels simultaneously grand and abandoned. A massive fireplace dominates the far wall; large enough to roast an entire ox, its blackened interior speaks of countless fires over the centuries. The mantel above is carved with scenes of winged creatures in flight, their stone eyes seeming to watch my everymove. But no fire burns now, leaving the space feeling like a beautiful tomb.
Heavy timber beams stretch across the soaring ceiling like the ribs of some great beast, darkened with age and carved with symbols I can’t decipher. Banners hang between them—once-rich fabrics now faded to ghostly remnants of their former glory.
The real problem is the windows. They’re magnificent—tall Gothic arches that would be stunning with stained glass—but they’re just gaping holes in the stone. Snow drifts freely through them, accumulating in white drifts across the flagstone floor. Ice crystals coat the ancient stones, and my breath fogs the air in visible puffs. It’s like standing inside a beautiful, frozen cathedral.
My teeth chatter in my naked state, and I wrap my free arm across my chest.
“Charming,” I whisper.
The beast turns toward me with something almost like vulnerability in his strange eyes. “First existence was... difficult. Creator-Father was harsh. He would strike me when I failed to meet his expectations. I was not what he had envisioned.”
I study his features—still unnerving but undeniably containing something essentially human beneath the leonine aspects. “The only peace,” he continues, surprising me with his openness, “came when Creator-Father had a consort. She was gentle and cared for me. She would bring me food and comfort when he was... displeased.”
“Oh,” I breathe, actually feeling sorry for him despite everything.
“Now you are my consort. But I will not be as he was.” The way he says it—like a promise rather than a demand—makes something shift in my chest.
I nod slowly. “I’m beginning to understand.”
Or at least I think I do, until the next words come out of his mouth:
“You fuck me well now,” he adds matter-of-factly.
It takes everything I have not to snort-laugh. Especially at the way his terrifying mouth turns up at the edges in what I think passes for his version of a smile. And staring at him now in all his towering, magnificent weirdness as morning light streams through four massive eastern windows...
Dear God, what happened last night has to have been a fever dream.
Some kind of altitude sickness hallucination. Maybe that cave was full of psychedelic mushrooms, and that’s why hikers don’t return—we all get exposed to toxic fungal gases that make us imagine wild, impossible scenarios involving occasional shrieking orgasms and....
Tree-trunk-sized anatomy?
I press my lips together to stop a hysterical giggle. What else am I supposed to do? Because this is all suddenly feeling like the world’s most elaborate prank show.
But then I’m tugged forward again by the decorative collar around my neck, which makes all laughter die in my throat.
Nope.This is all disturbingly real. And whatever romantic fantasy I might have indulged in last night during a moment of passion-induced insanity—this clearly isn’t that. He’s leading me around by jewelry and chains while I’m freezing and naked.
“Look, about this whole consort arrangement,” I try, as he guides me forward until I’m only a couple of feet from his imposing frame. I’m surprisingly nimble on these new legs and able to keep pace. Moving faster helps fight the bone-deep cold, too. My feet are already ice blocks.
