“Sit.”
Maris obeyed, wary.
Valea studied her for a moment, eyes as hard as stone.
"I understand your wish to know your purpose here,” she said finally, voice calm as a blade slipping between ribs.
“The King has his reasons, but it is best not to question them, for your own sake.”
Maris’s heart stuttered.
“I didn’t ask to be here,” she managed, tears threatening.
Valea tugged a little too hard on her hair, forcing her to meet those cold, ancient eyes.
“No one asks,” she said. “The nightbound do not give gifts freely, human. Remember that.”
The words landed heavy as a tombstone, pressing the last of Maris’s breath from her lungs.
Valea finished combing her hair and stepped back.
“You will stay within your rooms tonight. A meal will be brought. If you try to leave, you will be returned to this room by force.”
Maris’s throat closed. Returned by force.
Valea turned for the door, her skirts swirling behind her, and with a last measuring glance, she was gone.
The room felt cavernous once the door shut. The fire popped and hissed, its glow turning the carved roses on the bed into bleeding shadows.
Maris stood, hugging the robe tighter around herself, taking stock of what she could see. There was no lock on the inside of the door, only a heavy iron latch on the outside. The high windows were barred in black iron vines.
A prisoner.
She stepped toward the bed, its silken covers shining faintly in the firelight. Everything about this place the scent of roses, iron, the dizzying height of the ceiling, the murals of fae and vampire battles etched into the walls screamed danger, like a fairy tale turned into a coffin.
Maris crawled onto the mattress, curlingup on her side.
She shut her eyes, clutching the sleeve of the borrowed robe to her mouth to muffle her tears, wondering what she had done to deserve the eyes of a monster King, and what price she would be forced to pay. Maris did not know how long she laid curled in that enormous bed, the fire crackling at her back, the robe’s silk clinging to her damp skin. She had tried to stay awake, afraid of what might come for her in the dark, but exhaustion had a heavy hand.
When the door creaked open, she bolted upright, heart hammering.
She didnt know how much time had passed — minutes or hours.It was one of the twins again, carrying a tray so artfully arranged it looked like something painted in a noble’s feast: steaming meat glazed with something crimson, a small loaf of white bread, a wedge of soft cheese, and a goblet of wine so dark it might have been blood.
The twin set it on a low table near the bed without a word.
Maris stared. She had never seen so much food in her lifetime. Her stomach clenched, torn between hunger and suspicion.
“Thank you” she asked, voice raw.
The twin looked up, eyes the color of ice, expression flat as stone. The wraith spoke in a voice almost too soft to catch:
“It is safe.”
Maris swallowed hard, trying to trust that. But every fiber of her being screamed not to that this was a place of monsters, and nothing here could be trusted.
Still, her hunger betrayed her. Her hands trembled as she broke off a piece of bread and lifted it to her mouth. It was warm, crusted on the outside, almost impossibly soft inside, and she nearly wept at the taste.
The meat was perfectly roasted, spiced with herbs she could not name. It felt wrong to eat so well after so many winters of thin stews and burned loaves in Eryndor. But it was food, and she was still alive.
