That, in itself, was wrong.
I opened my eyes.
Light spilled across my vision in a way that made me blink as what happened started to come back to me, piece by piece. Above me stretched a ceiling so high and ornate that my brain struggled to place it. Pale stone carved into sweeping patterns that curved like vines frozen mid-growth. Sunlight filtered down from tall, arched windows set far above my reach, the glass tinted faintly green and gold so the light that touched the room felt almost enchanted.
I sucked in a sharp breath and pushed myself upright.
The bed shifted beneath me, not hard ground, or rough furs or even the sturdy but simple bedding I’d grown used to in the base. But something lavish and impossibly soft. Layers of fabric pooled around my legs as I moved, silk and linen over a heavier fabric that seemed to wrap me in comfort. All in deep jewel tones that caught the light with a subtle sheen. The mattress yielded under my weight and then supported me again, cradlingmy body rather than resisting, and I had the fleeting, ridiculous thought that I had never slept on anything like this in my life.
But then my heart began to race.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, my bare feet sinking into a thick, woven rug that caressed my toes. Someone had removed my shoes, but thankfully, nothing else. The room around me came into focus in slow, disbelieving detail.
It was beautiful.
Not beautiful in the clean, modern way of the hotel, but something older, steeped in indulgence and history. The walls were stone, but polished smooth and etched with intricate designs that reminded me of climbing ivy and curling serpents. Their forms were so subtle they almost disappeared unless you looked closely. Tapestries hung between tall pillars, woven in rich greens and deep golds, depicting scenes I didn’t recognize. Forests dense with shadow and light, figures half hidden among the trees, eyes gleaming with something that made my skin prickle.
Furniture carved from dark wood filled the space, elegant and curved, inlaid with pale stone and metal that gleamed softly in the light. A low table sat near one of the windows, set carefully with a silver tray laden with food, steam curling faintly from covered dishes. The scent reached me a heartbeat later, warm and rich and mouth-watering, and my stomach twisted sharply in response.
This wasn’t a cell.
This wasn’t a dungeon.
This was a bedroom.
A fairy tale bedroom at that. My mind spiraled helplessly, like I had stepped into the wrong side of some fantasy movie. The kind where the heroine wakes in a tower she never meant to find. Dressed in silk and surrounded by sunlight, with just a hintof danger in the mix, too. Okay, so no silk, just dirty jeans and an even dirtier grey sweater, but the fantasy room was still very real.
And suddenly I knew who must have taken me…
The Gorgon King.
My chest tightened when I realized this, and I wrapped my arms around myself as if that would ground me. I had been taken. Not dragged, not thrown into darkness, not shackled or bound, but carried. Brought here and placed somewhere soft, and elegant, and undeniably royal.
My gaze dropped instinctively to my hips.
My knives were gone.
The breath tore from my lungs before I could stop it, a soft, broken sound that escaped my throat as panic flared through me. I spun in place, scanning the room frantically, my pulse pounding in my ears, hands patting uselessly at my sides as if the weapons might reappear if I just checked enough times.
They were gone. Both daggers. Including the gift from Atlas. The one filled with Bronte’s lightning.
“No,”I whispered, the word trembling as it left me, and my fear continued to grow. My chest tightened more, to the point of pain, as my thoughts crashed over one another in a chaotic rush. That dagger was everything. It was my last line of defense, my only real weapon against what waited ahead. Without it, I was just a mortal girl in a land that ate mortals alive.
Aster.
The thought of him hit me even harder, guilt and dread tangling viciously in my stomach. He would be frantic by now, tearing through the forest looking for me, following my trail, but in a place like that, my trail would probably vanish into nothing. He would blame himself. Gods, he would never forgive himself. I forced myself to breathe, pressing a hand to my sternum until my pulse slowed just enough that I could think.
If the Gorgon King wanted me dead, I would already be dead.
If he wanted the dagger, he had it, and if that were all he wanted, then he would have just killed me by now… wouldn’t he?
To be honest, I was at a disadvantage here because I couldn't really presume to know anything that the Gorgon king would want. I only knew what he had, and right now it was the one thing that I had to do everything in my power to get back.
If he wanted information there were easier ways to get it than this. Which, as I said, meant I was alive for a reason. I didn’t know whether that thought was comforting or terrifying.
My gaze drifted back to the tray of food, my stomach betraying me with a low, traitorous growl. I hadn’t realized just how hungry I was until that moment. My body apparently far more pragmatic than my mind. I took a cautious step toward it, then another, every sense alert for danger even as the smell made my mouth water.
The dishes were unfamiliar, arranged neatly on fine ceramic plates, colors and textures unlike anything I recognized. There was bread, warm and dark-crusted, sliced thickly. Alongside something that looked like roasted fruit glazed with honey, its surface glistening. A small bowl held what appeared to be a grain of some kind, flecked with herbs and seeds, steam still rising lazily from it. Another dish contained meat, tender and pale, surrounded by a sauce that smelled rich and savory, threaded through with spices that made my nose tingle.
