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“These are the lame ones anyway,” Denvil flashes his teeth at us, and we roll our eyes, and the topic of conversation, mercifully, moves away from me.

I just have to get through the rest of this meeting, then I can go. Back to my own room.

Certainly not to seek out the woman I’m keeping at my place.

Maybe I could just stand outside her room, breathe in her scent. It could help me sleep. And nobody would ever have to know the real reason behind my taking her, behind stopping the sacrifice.

Even after all the calamity, I feel—for the first time in a long time—that I might actually be gaining control of this situation.

Chapter 7 - Mylah

Once again, I am circling, checking all the windows.

Except this time, instead of checking to see if they’re locked, I’m trying to see if there’s a way I can get the hell out of this room.

Yes, maybe my head was a little fuzzy in his presence. Maybe, while scared and freezing to death and, frankly, drowning in his scent, I might have had some errant thoughts about what I would like him to do to me. I let my head run away with my body.

And I would still like those things. In fact, I would like them so much that it takes at least half of my conscious brain effort to keep a heat from completely sweeping through me. I have to keep thinking about those men who kidnapped me—their hands on my face, their scents around me. That certainly helps to curb the desire .

It’s been nearly an entire day since those goons brought me up here and dumped me inside, sending me off for the night with a meat stick from the festival. At first, I’d refused to eat it out of principle, but then I decided I would need the energy for hatching my escape plan.

Now, I use half of my brain power on thinking of Beefy and Smelly and the other half on trying to figure out how the hell I am going to get out of this room. Surely, that king—Augustus—can’t really be planning to come here? To take me?

He rejected me that night, and he didn’t even recognize me last night. Which means there has to be some other reason I’m here.

None of which can be good.

As I work my way through the room, looking for weaknesses and trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to get out of here, I can’t help but notice it’s a pretty nice room for a captive. Tall, four-poster bed with the kind of canopy I’d read and dreamed about having as a kid. All soft oaks and creamy white linen, it has an ethereal quality that matches the snow outside.

There are even a dozen winter roses, not wilting, on the dresser by the window.

I pause in the middle of the room, staring at them, my heart beating hard in my chest. This must be shock—the sudden change from being in my own home to facing my death to being saved.

And now, being trapped. Waiting here without explanation, without consideration, in this damn room.

Someone will come soon, either to bring more food or to do whatever they’re planning to do.

And I don’t plan to be here when that happens.

Circling the room again, I pass the bed, run my hand over the smooth duvet. Walk to the window, set my palms against the wood, which is cool from being next to the glass, so near the blowing snow on the other side. The window doesn’t have any latches—just panes set together resolutely. I couldn’t open the window if I wanted to.

It makes sense. The number of days with good weather here doesn’t warrant having windows that open—what would you want to let in? A frigid breeze to blow out your fire?

I’ve spent hours upon hours wandering through the room, thinking on the issue at hand. This time, I think about the books I used to get from the library, describing places where the weather is warm for more than half of the year. Nice, breezy summer days. An ocean that’s not white-capped and sloshing with ice chunks.

What would it be like to be there?

Well, maybe if I lived somewhere with a proper summer, I wouldn’t have to think about the freezing cold as part of my escape plan.

When I got here, I didn’t have shoes. They sure didn’t bother to give me any, so I had to loot the dresser and take a pair of small denim pants, ripping them along the seams and wrapping them around my feet.

Makeshift denim shoes and a nightgown. Surely, I’ll blend right into the landscape once I get out.

Maybe I’ll find a way to get shoes out there. I can’t think about it right now. Right now, I need to focus on actually escaping first.

I trail my finger over the top of a sturdy tufted armchair. Lean down to look through the keyhole and into the hallway. Surely, there must be a guard outside of my room, but they must be standing to the side. I see nobody between here and the banister and can’t hear any sound beyond my own breathing and heartbeat in my ears.

Then, I go into the bathroom.