The air smelled faintly of incense and old metal. Shelves lined one wall, filled with ledgers, dainty artifacts, and several rings arranged with obsessive precision. Nothing felt personal or homey. There was no discarded clothing, no half-read books propped open on the pillow, no signs that a man lived here at all. In fact, all the evidence pointed to someone who curated his space like a display rather than a place to relax.
I shook myself. Who cared how Rahil kept his personal room? Now…if I were a key, where would I hide?
I opened drawers and dug through the wardrobe, finding everything meticulously organized, and took great care to replace everything precisely how I’d found it. I knocked on wall panels around the room and inside of the closet, listening for hidden compartments, and still found nothing.
Frustrated, I stomped across the room, wishing my footfalls landed with more satisfaction, but the plush rug muffled my steps. And then…
I stepped down again, listening hard, then pulled back one of the plush rugs.
Finally!
Under the rug was a small trapdoor, much too narrow for an escape route but perfect for hiding a few small items. If I hadn’t been stomping across the floor in just the right spot, I might not have even heard it.
The trapdoor had a lock on it, but it wasn’t nearly ascomplex as the one on the forbidden door. I tugged a hairpin out again and after a few seconds, the tiny lock popped open. Inside was just what I was hoping for—a small silver key that looked like it ought to fit the forbidden door.
Elated with my success, I pulled out the key and practically flew out of the room. How much time had passed? When would Rahil be back? I’d lost a lot of time searching Rahil’s bedroom, and in my haste, I fumbled to insert the key into the lock.
Just before I turned it, I hesitated. It really wasn’t an unreasonable request that my husband had made of me. He’d been kind and considerate, apart from imprisoning my sister, but even then, he had ensured that I had a way to communicate with her and had ordered guards to keep Nadia comfortable as she served her sentence. He had donated generously to the worship center and offered to let my sister out of prison and give her spending money. He’d given me more than I’d ever dreamed of, and only asked that I not open this one door. I ought to honor his request. I should…but I couldn’t.
There was no way he would know I looked. I wasn’t going to destroy anything, and I couldn’t stand not knowing any longer. Once I knew what was inside, I would be able to relax. With a deep breath, I turned the key and eased the door open. Perhaps there would be nothing bad at all. Maybe this would house mountains of fabulous jewels and heaps of treasure.
When I finally opened it all the way, nothing leapt out to eat me. Nothing lunged for me or threatened my life. I quietly walked in, gazing around. The room had been dark, but as I stepped out of the short hallway and into theinterior room, torches burst magically to life to reveal a circular, windowless room that had white curtains framing some old portraits. The only furniture was a short, waist-high pedestal in the center of the room with an ancient-looking oil lamp resting upon it, surrounded by a few small gemstones. I lifted my gaze to look at the curtains and felt my blood turn to ice.
They weren’t curtains at all.
Torn wedding dresses hung on the wall…and one of them was mine.
Six dresses.
Six wives.
Five dresses framed portraits of different women. Each woman had been painted with an expression of horror on her face. Some had mouths open in a silent scream; others covered their faces. All were so lifelike that it was as if the portraits were simply windows and the bodies of those women were frozen behind, staring back at me.
The names of Rahil’s former wives ran through my mind as my widened, horrified eyes moved from one frame to the next. Joy, Nicole, Natalya, Karis… Karis had been painted in a pose with a flute falling from her limp fingers.
Paralyzed, I looked at the portrait that held the face of Samira. She had thrown out a hand and was shielding her face, seemingly trying to block some oncoming weapon.
I let out a choked gasp.
The sixth wedding dress, my own, was hung on the wall, ready and waiting. A blank canvas stretched next to my gown, already framed and prepared to have my face splattered across it.
I was to be his next victim.
The key fell from my slackened grasp and tinged against the ground.
Paralyzed with fright, I stared at the wall. I’d had my suspicions that this marriage might end poorly, but the awful reality of staring at my wedding dress hanging on the wall next to the gowns of the deceased wives… I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even think.
“Alia!” Rahil’s voice echoed in from the front hall.
I nearly leapt out of my skin. How was he back so early? How much time had I spent hunting for the key and how much time had I spent gaping at the dresses? It couldn’t have been that long. He couldn’t find me in here. I bent to snatch up the key from the floor, but the flickering torchlight made it look like the floor was covered in blood and the key was nowhere in sight. Had it bounced under my skirts?
“Alia, where are you?” he called out. “Nadia will be along soon, but I don’t have her with me right now. She said she wanted to go shopping alone first.”
I would have to leave the key. In my haste to flee the room, I turned away from the wedding dresses, suspended like the ghosts of his past wives hanging on the wall, and ran directly into the pedestal. It teetered and fell.
I caught the old oil lamp before it hit the ground, but the pedestal crashed to the ground with enough noise to wake the dead. Chips flew off the shattered pillar, a crack appeared in the floor, and the gemstones that had been balanced on top went rolling across the floor in every direction.
Frozen in fear and surrounded by the sad remnants of the pedestal, I clutched the oil lamp to my chest as my husband filled the doorway. We stared at each other for a long time. My eyes were wide in shock, but Rahil’s face didn’t so much as flicker in surprise.
