"I don't care." The words came out flat.
They chose the pale blue, perhaps thinking it most appropriate for day wear. Their hands dressed her like a doll, layer after layer—chemise, corset that they mercifully didn't tighten too much given her injuries, the gown itself with its impossible softness. They braided her hair in a style she didn't recognize, weaving white ribbons through it that caught the light like fresh snow.
When they finished, she looked in the mirror they held up and saw a stranger. A winter lady, pale and ethereal, nothing of the forest left on her. Nothing of Eliam's marks visible beneath the high neckline. Even the warmth in her chest seemed muted, struggling against the wrongness of everything she wore.
"Lord Malachar wishes you to know he'll visit this evening," the sympathy-servant said quietly as the others gathered their things. "To ensure you're... settling in comfortably."
The words sent ice through her veins that had nothing to do with winter magic.
They left the food, the fire still crackling, everything arranged as if she were an honored guest. But the door still locked behind them. The windows, she'd already checked, were sealed with magic that made her fingers burn when she touched the latches.
Three days, he'd said. Three days of this mockery of hospitality before Malus came to claim his "gift."
She sat back down by the fire, finding what little solace she could in its warmth, and wondered if Karse and Thaine were even still alive. If anyone knew where she was.
If it mattered either way.
The hours stretched, marked only by the slow crawl of shadows across the floor. The food grew cold on its trays, untouched. Briar couldn't bring herself to eat anything he'd provided, her stomach twisted too tight with dread.
The sky beyond the windows had long since grown dark when the lock turned with a soft click. Briar held her breath, hoping, praying, that it was a servant come to check on her.
It wasn’t.
Malachar entered without waiting for permission, closing the door behind him with deliberate care. He'd changed from his earlier clothing into something darker, midnight blue that made his platinum hair seem to glow in the firelight. The ornate eye patch caught the light as he turned to study her.
"I hope you’re finding your stay satisfactory?" His voice carried that same cultured tone, as if this were a social call. "I see you haven't eaten. That won't do at all."
He moved further into the room, gliding casually past where she was sitting to pause at the window and gaze out at the darkening sky. "Beautiful evening. The storms that come through these mountains at night are quite spectacular."
She watched him warily, not trusting his casual demeanor.
"Nothing to say?" He turned towards her, their eyes meeting from across the room. "You were far more talkative the last time we met."
The reference to that night, to what he'd tried to do, made her grip the chair arms tighter.
"Oh, how thoughtless of me. I brought you something," he said, producing a box from his jacket. It was made of carved wood, beautiful and intricate. He set it on the small table between them, then stepped back. "A gift. To commemorate your stay."
"I don't want anything from you."
"No? Not even curious?" He settled into the chair across from her, the fire between them. "Your Forest Lord enjoyed giving you gifts, didn't he? That dress you wore to dinner—exquisite work. Though I notice you're no longer wearing his marks so proudly."
Her hand went unconsciously to her throat, where the high neckline hid Eliam's thorns.
"Ah, they're still there then." His satisfaction was evident. "How loyal. Even after he threw you away. No matter, you’re here now and I am not so foolish as to let you slip away."
"Open the gift," he said, his tone shifting from conversational to commanding.
She didn't move.
He sighed, standing with fluid grace. "Very well."
He crossed to the table and opened the box himself, revealing what lay inside. It was a collar. Silver, delicate, decorated with etched patterns that looked like frost spreading across metal. Beautiful enough to be a necklace if not for the unmistakable latch, the way it was clearly meant to close around a throat and stay there.
"No." She stood, backing toward the door.
"Where do you think you're going?" He didn't move, just watched her with amusement. "The door is locked. The windows are sealed. There's nowhere to run."
She tried the door handle anyway, pulling at it uselessly.
