Then she’s gone, and I’m alone again.
I sink back onto the bed and press my palms against my eyes.
What the hell am I doing?
Antagonizing him won’t keep me alive. Won’t get me out of here. But I can’t just roll over and obey either. Can’t let him break me into something compliant and useful.
There has to be a middle ground. Some way to survive without losing myself.
I just haven’t figured out what that looks like yet.
Sunlight shifts from afternoon gold to amber. The shadows lengthen across the floor, creeping up the walls. My stomach cramps with hunger—I haven’t eaten since yesterday’s breakfast in Red Hollow.
Yesterday. Was it only yesterday?
Feels like a lifetime ago.
A knock at the door jerks me out of my thoughts.
Brakka again. She looks nervous this time, wringing her hands.
“What now?”
“The clan lord requests your presence at dinner.” She says it quickly. “In the Great Hall. Now.”
I laugh. Can’t help it. The sound comes out sharp and bitter. “Requests?”
“Commands,” she corrects quietly. “He commands your presence.”
“Well, you can tell him I’m not hungry.”
“Girl—”
“I’m not going.”
Brakka steps farther into the room, closing the door behind her. Her expression shifts from nervous to almost pleading.“Please. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. The clan lord doesn’t accept refusals. You come willingly, or the guards drag you. And if they have to drag you...” She trails off, but I understand the implication.
It won’t be gentle.
I weigh my options. I could fight. Could force them to drag me kicking and screaming through the fortress. Make a scene. Prove I can’t be controlled.
But the shackles would make fighting difficult, and I’d arrive at dinner bruised and humiliated, having wasted my strength on a battle I can’t win.
Better to conserve my energy. Learn the lay of the land. Pick my battles more carefully.
“Fine.” I stand and smooth my skirt—still the same dirt-stained dress from the market. “But I’m not changing clothes.”
Relief floods Brakka’s face. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m only going because the alternative is worse.”
She nods and opens the door. Two guards wait outside, both massive and armed to the teeth.
They flank me as we walk. I feel how their shadows swallow mine. How easily they could crush me.
But I keep my spine straight and my shoulders back.
The corridors are busier now than they were earlier. Warriors move through the passages in groups, heading toward what I assume is dinner. Servants carry platters and jugs. The air grows thick with smoke and roasted meat—the smell makes my empty stomach clench so hard, I nearly stumble.
