The scar across my back was still raw, pink and angry. It was my first time seeing the mess Riley had made of my skin, and I winced at the memory.
“It wasn’t him, Alex,” I told myself, somewhat comforted by my own voice. I forced myself to look elsewhere, turning my hands so my palms were face up and seeing that my other scars had changed.
They shimmered faintly now, catching the light with a subtle glow I hadn’t seen before. The marks on my wrists glimmered like I had been tattooed by some fantasy starlight ink. Something had changed. The Rift, the Badlands, the magic of this world had left its mark on me in ways I didn’t yet understand.
I dressed again in my own clothes, grimacing at the feel of dirt against clean skin, but resolute in my decision.
I would not wear his things, no matter how tempting.
As the light outside began to darken, a knock sounded at the door. I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat as I span to face it just as the lock clicked and the door swung open.
Moments later, a woman stepped inside.
She looked human, mostly, though her skin had a faint greenish tint, like jade beneath pale light, and her eyes gleamed gold rather than white. Her hair was dark and braided intricately around her head, small ornaments woven through it. She also moved with a lightness that reminded me of leaves stirred by the wind, as if she were dancing across the space rather than walking.
She smiled warmly, setting a fresh tray of food down on the table.
“My name is Lysira,” she said gently. “I am here to tend to you.”
Questions spilled from me immediately.
“Where am I? Why am I here? Who is keeping me locked up? Is it the Gorgon King?”
She raised a hand kindly, shaking her head.
“Unfortunately, I cannot answer your questions,” she said. “But I can tell you this. The King will receive you soon and will no doubt grant you all the answers you seek… so eat. Rest. And please…” She paused and her smile turned a little nervous. “Dress for the occasion. He does not abide disrespect…ever.”Her warning rang loud and clear as she gestured toward the wardrobe and then stepped back, the door closing softly behind her.
I stood there, heart racing, before finally exhaling.
Time stretched strangely after that, as it always seemed to do in Theïkós. As for the tray of food she had brought in, I found that my appetite had waned, and not just because my stomach was still full from the earlier meal. But now I had anxiety of meeting the king to add to it.
So, I only picked at the food this time, mainly out of curiosity, but as for the wine, now that I didn’t ignore. The glass held something pale and inviting, and when I tasted it, reliefwashed through me, thankful it tasted delicious. The flavor was somewhere between a sweet rosé and crisp apple cider, lightly effervescent, bright on my tongue and dangerously easy to drink. I finished more of it than I intended before setting the glass aside and turning, at last, to the wardrobe she had gestured toward. When I opened it, heat crept into my cheeks almost immediately. My gaze skimmed once more along dress after dress, most with plunging necklines and soft, flowing fabrics. Dresses clearly designed for the wearer to be admired rather than worn for comfort and practicality. I continued looking until I found one that felt almost sensible by comparison.
It was still undeniably beautiful, the forest green material smooth as water against my skin, fitting to my body with an intimacy that made me pause once it was on, very acutely aware of how it traced every curve. The bodice was structured but not stiff, and the skirt was long and elegant, with subtle golden scrollwork embroidered along the hem. A design that matched the one at the neckline.
The sleeves clung to my arms before flaring gently at the wrists. I studied my reflection longer than I meant to in the floor-length mirror fitted to the back of the wardrobe door. Unease tightened in my chest as I was pulled back to the last time I had worn a dress. Back to Atlas’s quiet confession when he told me he thought I looked beautiful in it. And the way my heart had tripped over itself in response.
Of course, now the realization hit me that I would be standing before another king entirely, one I did not know and could not read. The thoughts sent a nervous flutter through me that the wine had not quite dulled. Thankfully, I found the boots and socks that had been removed, sitting neatly at the end of the bed, half hidden under the fall of the sheets. With a small, stubborn breath, I bent to pull them on, choosing the familiar weight of my battered shit kickers over the delicate slipperswithout hesitation. And as for whether they went with the dress or not, it didn’t matter because they would be hidden beneath the skirt anyway. Besides, I preferred to be comforted by the thought that if I needed to run or fight, I would not be doing it barefoot in borrowed silk.
When the knock came again later, heavier this time, it was accompanied by the sound of metal shifting. I knew without looking who waited on the other side as I straightened, smoothing my borrowed dress with trembling hands. Then I faced the door as it opened, revealing armed guards standing at attention.
“It is time,” one of them said.
And with that, they stepped aside, ready to escort me to…
The Gorgon King.
The guards did not speak as they led me from the room.
The door closed behind me with a sound that felt like this could be my final moment. A deep, resonant echo that seemed to travel through every stone of the fortress, and every cell of my being.
I soon realized, as I followed them down the corridor, that the warmth and softness of the chamber I had woken in had been an illusion. A carefully curated pocket of comfort set apart from the rest of the fortress. The air beyond it was cold and sharp, carrying the faint mineral scent of stone that had never known sunlight.
My hands twisted again in the sleeves of the dress as we walked, fingers worrying at the fabric, betraying my nerves no matter how hard I tried to still them. I kept my gaze forward, my boots whispering softly against the smooth stone beneath my feet as the corridor opened into something far grander.
High vaulted ceilings stretched overhead, carved from pale grey stone. There were no tapestries here, no softening fabrics or woven scenes of beauty and indulgence. Instead, simple banners hung from iron mounts along the walls, each bearing sigils I did not recognize. I also noticed symbols carved in sharp, angular lines like runes etched deep into stone, their meanings lost on me, but their intent unmistakable.
Power. Sovereignty. Warning.
