Every inch of my body buzzed with adrenaline—my shoulders trembling, my stomach knotting so tight it hurt, and astrange vibration rumbling under my skin, like my nerves were trying to climb out.
My eyes burned, and I blinked until the sting faded.
“Okay. Hannah. You’re fine. You’ve handled worse.” I couldn’t think of anything worse than this, but still. I didn’t want to ruin the illusion.
I forced one breath, then another. I needed to snap out of this drug-induced haze. I’d wake beneath the freaky-ass tree, and I felt so cold only because of the nighttime temperature. Pinching myself hadn’t worked. Neither had that cut on my hand, but it looked fully healed now, further proof I was hallucinating. At least, I wasn’t bleeding out.
The guards’ footsteps faded into the distance, and the silence rushed in all thick, icy, and suffocating. My chest tightened like a too-small band had been snapped around my ribs. I wrapped my arms around myself and forced slow breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth.
Okay. Think. Even if this was just a bad drug trip, I needed to get out of this place.
The cold wasn’t the first threat. The panic was. If I didn’t keep it on a leash, I was going to spiral into something worthless.
I moved in front of the door and crouched low enough to peer through the keyhole. It looked like an old lock with a heavy tumbler, not too complicated, if I had a strong enough lever or hook. If I’d still had my keyring, maybe I could have made something out of it. My earrings weren’t going to be much good, but I pulled one out anyway, just in case. The thin silver fishhook wire didn’t even budge the tumbler inside.
“Great.” I shoved it into my pocket.
There had to be something I could do. I paced in the small square of the floor. In twelve steps, I reached the back, turned, and strode to the front, then back again. Movement helped keep the cold from sinking too far into my bones.
My gaze landed on the stone bench. Maybe I could break it and use it as a lever. I braced my hands on the edge and pulled upward with all the strength my shaking arms had left.
It didn’t budge.
Not an inch.
Refusing to give up, I knelt beside it and felt along the underside. My fingertips brushed something metal—large screws, driven straight into the stone wall.
I wanted to yank my hair out. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I moved closer to the door and examined the hinges closely. Thick metal plates bolted to the stone frame. But the bolts were exposed, with four large ones on top and three below. If I could wedge something sturdy under them, I could loosen them and attempt to take the door off the frame.
Not elegant, but desperate times called for rock-bottom creativity.
I patted myself down, just in case there was some bit of metal in my clothing that I could use. My bra didn’t even have an underwire. That bastard king couldn’t let me keep my keychain, could he?
“Dammit!”
My breath plumed around me like smoke. I leaned my forehead against the cold metal bars, letting the chill anchor me.
Okay. So that was a no. I needed something stronger, so I kept searching. Nothing. Nothing at all. There was no give in anything in the cell.
Time started to blur, and the cold made everything sting and burn more.
Footsteps approached, sounding less heavy than those of the guards.
I stepped back, body coiled tight with wariness. My heart thudded harder as a shadow appeared in front of the cell.
A young woman stepped into view, her movements precise, careful, as if she’d mastered the art of being unobtrusive. She appeared to be Japanese and in her mid-twenties, with soft features, porcelain skin, and shoulder-length ginger hair falling in soft layers around her face. The warm hue contrasted with the elegant sapphire-blue gown she wore. The dress looked warm, with layers to protect against the cold and embroidered cuffs and gloves to match.
As soon as she saw me, a soft smile pulled at her lips, as if she were just greeting me in a normal situation. The flash of her dark-amber eyes reminded me of Aunt Maureen.
She carried a folded navy coat lined in something gray, along with a pair of gloves.
Her gaze swept over me with professional detachment, but something softened in her eyes when she spotted the way I shook.
“Hannah of Tennessee?” Her voice was soft, melodic, but still carried the crisp enunciation of someone trained to speak formally. “I am Thea. I serve the royal household, and I saw your arrival from the window and heard your conversation.”
My spine straightened, and I lifted my chin, ignoring the cold dread inside me. “If you’re here to interrogate me, I really don’t know anything about anything in this world, and all I want to do is go home.”
