He tore himself away from me as though I'd burned him, as though I were the most disgusting thing he'd ever touched, and strode off, his boots thudding against the stone floor.
I barely remembered running back to my room. I didn't recall filling the bath or sinking into the scalding water, only the desperate need to wash away the grime, the stench of blood and the touch of their hands. They had gripped my flesh as though they owned me and my pain, as though I were nothing more than a toy at their disposal.
It sickened me.
Unaware of the passing hours, I replaced the water again and again whenever it cooled, until dawn crept through the window and painted the room gold, though somehow I saw it only in shades of black and grey. The warmth might have soothed my witchcraft, but it could do nothing for my mind. I wasn't safe. Not here. Not anywhere. And there was nowhere left to hide.
I dressed mechanically, deciding to face breakfast with the king. I couldn't afford not to. If I was going to escape, I had to act. My dragon hummed faintly in my thoughts, a fragile comfort in a court ruled by violence and ill intentions.
There was no one I could trust here—not Michael, not anyone in this cursed place. And with the third day of captivity passing, my bond with Anya was slowly beginning to feel weaker.
The irony wasn't lost on me. The king who intended to keep me was the very man slowly killing me. Would he at least bury me, or did witches deserve nothing more than to be burnt?
‘Don’t worry,’ Anya whispered. ‘Escape and it’ll be fine.’
‘I wish it were that easy,’ I murmured back. ‘They’re stronger than me.’
‘You’ll figure it out.’
Her faith was both reassuring and heart-breaking. I could already feel my strength depleting, legs feeling too heavy and arms growing weaker. When Anya sent bursts of her own life force to keep me steady, it left me emotionally shattered. I wasn’t worth her endangering herself.
By the time I entered the dining room, conveniently on the same floor as my bedroom, the king and Michael were deep in conversation. They stopped the moment I appeared.
‘Good morning, princess,’ Michael said with a gentle smile. I gave him only a curt nod.
Deep down,I knew he couldn’t stop the king from imprisoning me, even if he wanted to. But hurt seldom heeds logic.
Dracon didn't even glance up from his plate of scrambled eggs and sausages. To him, I was beneath notice, and perhaps it was better that way.
I slid into the seat beside him, across from Michael, and steadied my breath before serving myself a spoonful of eggs and a single slice of avocado toast. Reaching for the orange juice in the centre of the table, I returned to find my plate piled high with more eggs I hadn’t taken.
‘Hey, did you put this on my plate?’ I asked on instinct.
‘Eat,’ the king grunted, voice brusque and unyielding.
My pulse thundered. ‘Excuse me, I’m not your dog.’
Dracon smirked, lifting his gaze to meet mine. ‘You're just as insubordinate as the bitches in our kennels, witch.’
Michael’s mouth fell open. I clenched my fists beneath the table, forcing myself not to react. My fists itched to teach him a lesson, but I feared that if I struck him, it'd be the last thing I ever did.
‘How dare you?’ Heat crept up my neck. ‘I'm a royal too. Have some fucking manners.’
He laughed, the sound dark and loud. ‘Your Ortensian titles mean nothing to me. Sit down and eat, or you'll starve. I want to train today.’
There was no room for discussion, and there shouldn’t be anyway. My plan involved playing a timid, obedient mouse, and it had already gone to shit as usual.
Determined not to help him during training that afternoon, I answered every question with short, detached remarks. And I kept my distance, terrified my fire might betray me again. Lately, it seemed to have a mind of its own, as unnatural urges pushedit to the surface more often.
Sitting on the ground a few feet away from my captor, I couldn’t stop thinking about his unwavering revulsion for halflings, though it was clearly witches that bothered him most. He kept referring to me as one, even though it wasn’t the entirety of what I was. Part of me was fae, just like him, but he refused to acknowledge it.
When the session ended, he left without a glance. So much for cooperation or civility.
The day was still young, birds chattered in the tall trees, and it felt better to stay outside than hide in my holding cell. It was unlikely the soldiers would ignore a direct order from their ruler, so I doubted there would be more attacks. I hoped there wouldn't.
As summer waned, the air felt thick with change. Some birds chipped at bark for nests; others gathered sticks. Calls and drumming filled the space with a calming hum I could finally embrace now that I was alone. For about an hour, I basked in their rituals, wondering what it felt like to be so free.
Eventually, I rose and followed the colourful flocks deeper into the forest until I reached the place where I'd connected to nature days before. Beneath the canopy, surrounded by lush, tangled branches, the hum of life wrapped around me. I wandered until I found a small clearing with a flat rock, the perfect place to lie back and gaze at the sky. If this had been my kingdom, I would have made it my refuge.
