I hug my arms to my body, panic scraping at the edges of my mind. My pulse lurches. How far from my chamber have I wandered in my sleep? How far from safety?
The tunnel slopes downward, a jagged vein plunging into the earth. The stones beneath my feet form uneven steps. A faint draft stirs against my skin, carrying a chill that cuts deeper than the damp air before it. The hair along my arms lifts.
I turn, searching for the way back, but the shadows behind me are heavy and seamless, swallowing any sign of the path I came from.
My heartbeat hammers in my ears. I take a careful step forward, the stone beneath my boots slick with moisture.
The air shifts again. Growing warmer.
Too warm.
I frown, slowing my steps. How did I even get here? Torbin locked my chamber—I checked the door myself before bed. Did I…? The thought catches in my throat. Did I use my power without knowing? Could I have slipped through the lock in my sleep?
A shiver coils through me that has nothing to do with the temperature. If I can leave my room without realizing it, what else might I do?
Another step, and the warmth becomes oppressive. The scent changes—less like stone and more like something raw, something ancient.
I glance behind me, thinking of the way back to the castle. If I could find a way out, would I even survive the night air? Dulcamar’s winter would slice right through a nightgown. My bare feet would freeze before I made it past the gates.
The temperature rises too quickly. For a moment, I think I’m making it happen, like the way I kept warm when Torbin made me come to his balcony dinner. But no, this feels different. My skin prickles; sweat gathers at my spine, my collarbone, the hollow of my throat. My breath catches, the thickened air scraping against it like grit.
The tunnel yawns into a cavern. The walls drip with condensation, but the floor—
I stop dead.
The stone beneath my feet is fractured, blackened as though fire once claimed it.
A faint, pulsing glow spills from the far end of the cavern, casting long, quivering shadows. My gaze locks on it.
Then I hear a sound that isn’t the drip of water or the crackle of heat.
Low. Deep. Resonant.
Like thunder rolling beneath the earth.
I draw a sharp breath. Something stirs within the glow—a slow, deliberate shift, the movement of something vast, a shimmer that doesn’t move like flame. Two round shapes, each as large as my head, gleam from the shadows. At first, I think they’re lanterns hung in some strange, high place, casting their silver light into the cavern. But they hover too still… and too alive.
The glow deepens, shifting like molten moonlight. Then they blink.
The motion is slow, deliberate. Not mechanical. Not human. A chill slices through the oppressive heat as the truth sinks in.
They’re not lanterns. They’re eyes. Silver. Serpentile. Luminous. Fixed on me.
My lungs forget their rhythm. My blood surges so fast, I can hear it rushing in my ears. Whatever it is, it doesn’t feel like it’s happy to see me.
I step back, my boot scraping over loose stone. The sound echoes, sharp in the stillness.
A heavy, growling exhale follows, dragging through the cavern like a rasp, bringing with it the scent of brimstone and sulfur.
Shouts ring out. “She’s here!”
Torches flare, flooding the edges of the cavern with light. I whirl, but before I can run, hands clamp around my arms, iron-tight, dragging me back into the tunnel’s darkness.
A gasp tears from me, my feet stumbling over slick stone as the cavern recedes.
I turn my head to find Osrem glaring at me beside the Dulcamaran guards who hold me tightly.
“Going somewhere, Your Highness?” His voice is laced with bitter cruelty.
