The darkness was so thick I could almost taste it.I slumped against the wall and sank to the floor, my legs sighing with relief at the chance to rest.There was an enchantment at work here, that much was clear, but it felt different to the one in the woods.My mind felt entirely whole this time, as though the castle was the one enchanted, not me, but I didn’t know if that was possible.Then again, most people would call Raleigh’s existence impossible.
I tried to think of another plan, but my stomach wouldn’t let me.I hadn’t eaten since the night before, and while I’d gone far longer without food, I wasn’t used to spending so much energy running from demonic princes.I wondered if Raleigh kept food somewhere in the castle.Did he eat the same food as the rest of us?I doubted it.But a castle this size must have had a kitchen at some stage in history.Maybe, however slim the chances, it would contain something edible.
By now my eyes had adjusted enough to the gloom that I could at least make out shadows around me.I abandoned my useless candelabra and felt my way down the corridor, keeping my mind on kitchens to drown out the part of me that longed to give up.Kitchens, food, hearths and clean water.Escape could come later, I just needed something to eat.I rounded another corner, and my heart leapt at the sight of a bloom of light down the next hall.
I began to run.The light seeped through the cracks around a single door in the darkness.I stopped when I reached it and took a deep breath, steadying myself.There could be anything behind that door – food, freedom or Prince Raleigh himself, lying in wait for his restless bride.But I’d wandered too far to turn back.I had to take the risk.
I knocked, and when there was no answer, I slowly opened the door.
My heart plummeted.
It was the bedroom; I’d looped right back to where I started.But someone had been there since my departure.The fire was stoked, with new logs burning brightly in the hearth, and the table was laid with enough food to last me days.A bowl of stew had been portioned out, rich with generous lumps of meat and heaving with vegetables.Behind it sat an entire fresh, if inexpertly baked, loaf of bread, accompanied by a block of real butter.Someone had taken the time to cut it into uneven slices – they hadn’t risked giving me anything sharper than a butter knife.
I hesitated.This absolutely reeked of trickery.I needed to escape the castle while there was still daylight, and this was clearly meant to distract me, but then my stomach roared and all reason abandoned me.The sun would rise again, I told myself.This wasn’t the underworld; an entire pomegranate couldn’t change my fate.Besides, it would be a waste to leave it all.I suspected the prince had no interest in it.
Guiltily, I slipped into the chair and spooned a mouthful of stew past my lips.It had long since gone cold and the cook hadn’t quite learnt that salt was a luxury to be portioned carefully, but I almost wept at how good it felt to eat something so decadent.I barely managed half the bowl before I was full to bursting.It felt wonderful.
Fed and watered, my sense of reason began to creep back.My feet ached terribly.I peeled off my worn slippers, unsurprised to find blisters forming on the soles of my feet.If I tried to tackle the labyrinth again, my feet wouldn’t carry me far like this.I glanced at the window.The dull grey of the sky cautioned that there was only an hour or so left of sunlight.I really had been walking for hours.There was no longer enough time to return to Orlfen without a horse before the sun set.I had to change tactics.
I couldn’t run from the prince, but I could still defend myself.
I no longer had any doubt about which breed of evil ran through Prince Raleigh’s veins.Everyone in Orlfen knew, though we never spoke the truth aloud.To speak of the devil was to summon him, and no one wanted to inadvertently invite the prince into their home.
But some things didn’t need to be spoken.
I’d seen the draping garlands of garlic that had exploded in popularity fourteen years ago.Watched as, one by one, grieving families turned their back on the church and burned their loved ones rather than risk their return.I knew what he was.My problem now was that none of us had found a way to reliably defend ourselves against the prince once the sun went down.
Every myth and rumour I’d read or heard ran through my head.I sifted through them, searching for anything practical I could use to my advantage.I couldn’t bottle the sun, nor was I certain what would happen if I could, and unless I constructed a fully functioning aqueduct in the next hour I doubted I’d be able to harness any running water to shield me.The fireplace wasn’t large enough to burn more than logs, and I couldn’t decapitate anyone with the butter knife from dinner.Which left me, reluctantly, with religion.The Lord would have to be my saviour, and if He knew I existed, I couldn’t reciprocate.But I had run out of other options.
I moved about the room, uttering made-up prayers under my breath, seeking any pliable, breakable furniture.I didn’t know if I was doing any of this right.Our priest had died several years ago, his blood drained after a strange illness claimed his mobility, but even before then I’d never considered Mass to be anything more than a means to improve my Latin.Father said it was because I read too much, and maybe that was true.But maybe these efforts would be enough.If not for Him, then for another, more benevolent spirit.
The aged stool by the dressing table became my chosen sacrifice.I lay it on its side and jumped on the legs.To my delight, the wood fractured on the first try, splinters spiralling around me.I gathered the finest shards together and, using the cord meant for holding back the drapes, bound them into something resembling a cross.
I saved the largest remnant of the stool’s legs for another purpose.Using the knife from dinner, I tried to refine the end into as sharp a point as I could manage, then hefted it in my hand, testing its weight.It was clumsy to wield.Father had taught me how to protect myself with a dagger if it was called for, but never a wooden stake.I would have to have faith that my instinct would be enough to guide my hand.
Exhausted, I took a long drink from the jug at the table, then considered the remaining mouthfuls.Was it possible to turn water holy without being ordained?I didn’t know, and I doubted I had enough faith left in me to achieve it regardless.But I had to try.Words without thought may not go to heaven, but they only had to go as far as the jug.I cradled it in my lap and began to murmur every prayer I knew into the water.
There was no sign that anything had changed, but I continued until the words lost all meaning and I was bored to death of prayer.If that wasn’t enough to make water holy, then nothing would.I dipped my fingers in and started to sprinkle it around the room, by the door, the window, and in a circle around my bed.
‘What on earth are you doing?’
I whipped around, horror coursing through me like poison.There, leaning by the window, stood the prince.His posture was casual, arms crossed over his trim, fashionable suit, as though he had been waiting for me to notice him for some time.He could have ended my life in an instant and I never would have known he was there.
I snatched up my makeshift cross and held it in front of me, cursing my trembling arms.Raleigh regarded it wearily, but I couldn’t tell whether his weariness was born from his fear of God or my fanatic attempts to warn him off.
I took a breath, and then another.Finally, Raleigh’s eyes travelled away from the cross and back to me.His face remained impassive, unreadable.‘Well, you’ve been busy.’
‘Stay away from me.’
‘I didn’t move.’He regarded me a moment longer, then cast his gaze around the rest of the room, landing on the makeshift weapon I left on the sofa.‘Is that supposed to be a stake?’
I didn’t reply.
‘My dear, if you’d like to do some gardening, I’m sure Moira has enough supplies to get you started.You don’t have to butcher the furniture.’His voice was smooth, dripping with amusement.‘Or did you think you could kill me?’
I willed myself to stand firm, focusing solely on keeping the cross aloft.For so long all of my fears stemmed from him and him alone.Now we were alone in his castle and my only line of defence was a splintered cross and a cup of water.
‘Could I trouble you to lower that?’he asked.
