Page 23 of Blood of the Fairest

"I don't know how. I didn't imprison you!"

"I expected all manner of obstinate, theatrical lies from you, but this display is insultingly weak. Speed things up," he orders the Huntsman.

I hold my breath and brace myself to be knocked over yet again. Instead, the Huntsman speeds things up by reaching down to snap my left pinky finger where it's tied behind my back.

My scream is a lot more shrill this time as I struggle and rock in the broken chair.

"Motherfucker," I choke. "For the last damn time, I'm not the evil queen! I didn't behead anyone!"

That reminder only seems to stoke the Huntsman's vengeful anger.

"You did not hold the axe, yet their blood stains your hands alone," he growls. "So it shall be one broken finger for each innocent you slaughtered."

He reaches down again, and⁠—

Snap. Snap.

Over and over. The rough screams ripping out of me hurt my throat until the pain in my burning, broken-fingered left hand becomes too much. I squeeze my eyes shut as more tears drip from them.

I want to go home.

I don't want to fucking be here.

But just like ten years ago, all the screaming is useless. I can practically feel everything all over again—the needles dragging across my skin. The cold barrel against my temple whenever I flinched.

Ah, ah, ah. I told you to hold still. Must you always resist?

By the time the Huntsman is done with my fingers, I'm nothing more than a sobbing, hysterical mess.

"Free me, vipress," the voice growls. "This is your last chance before I revoke the choice completely."

"B-but I'm not the queen," I sob, shaking my head. "I'm not. Let me go. Please, just…"

The faerie ignores my weeping, addressing the Huntsman. "Whatever vengeance upon her you still desire, take it now. Though I wish to draw out her suffering for all the evil she has done, she may not survive the magnitude of my wrath."

I close my eyes tightly and shrink in on myself, sure the Huntsman is going to torture me in some new way to avenge his dead friends.

But his voice is low and cold. "So long as her punishment is agony, I leave her to you."

"You have my word as an immortal that it will be the purest agony. Bring Reinhilde to me."

The Huntsman grips me by my tied wrists.

I start to protest getting anywhere near the monster in the cage—but I cut off in a pained yelp when the Huntsman half-drags me through more puddles before I'm shoved against the metal-and-wood bars of the warped prison.

I do not want to see what's about to kill me. So I keep my gaze down, on the fallen feathers, wilted roses, and shadows inside the cage. The five broken fingers of my left hand throb mercilessly.

"Any final words?" the faerie asks, the rattling chains moving closer.

I notice a vaguely spicy scent as a large, clawed, somewhat humanoid hand wraps around one of the metal bars the Huntsman is pinning me against.

It's official. I'm about to die.

I'm going to die a painful death in this stupid fucking fairytale world with no answers about how I even wound up here. What's worse is, now that I'm on the spot, literally the only thing popping into my hysterical mind in my final moments is Freddie Mercury singing Another One Bites the Dust.

Because my brain has great taste in music but terrible taste in timing.

When I just squeeze my eyes shut again and say nothing, the monster hiding in the shadows laughs quietly, as if my terror is satisfying.