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After dinner is finished, I’m led across winding stone halls to my newly appointed room for my “good behavior.” Marrow would have been proud of the level of restraint that I held throughout the meal, perched on Rollo’s lap like a tamed animal. A true Prentice, I am. Faking my misery with every small nibble and scrape of the fork until the audience is raptured with my Tale.

I played Rollo like a fiddle.

He may not have warmed up to me—no, that much was clear by the way he would hook his finger into the back of my ruby necklace and pull anytime I almost spoke out of turn—but at least he decided to give me the smallest slice of freedom.

Rooms that aren’t sealed with iron.

There will be a gap, a chink in the armor, sun burn it, a hole in the fucking wall, and I will find it. I will lie, manipulate, and cheat to get out of Jord. The moment the guards shove me into my room, I pull the fork I hid from between my breasts and hide it beneath the mattress before I collapse on the bed and fall asleep.

I mark a tally into the side of the bed frame: one week and three days.

One week, five days.

One week, six days.

The pattern remains. Wake up. Escorted into the chamber. Strapped to the table. Forced to Starwatch. My head spins, my arms have a permanent ring of bruises, and I’m nowhere closer to solving my way of escape.

“Ragnar, please.”

“No.”

“What do I need to do? There has to be something you want.”

“Peace and quiet would be a start.”

Two weeks, one day, and thirty-seven minutes. The day I’m allowed outside Castle Varlok. It took nights of careful planting to bestow this seed of an idea in Rollo’s head. I need to learn about the culture and meet the people I’m going to rule. If there is one thing to be noted about a delusional, sociopathic male is that they will do anything to maintain their image.

“Do they mean anything to you?”

Ragnar pauses. “Who?”

“Your classmates, the Watch, your family, the human race in general?”

“Fuck off—”

“No!” I huff, trying to keep pace with his long strides all while trying to remember of the different passages the traitor pulled me through. I’m beginning to think that Ragnar is purposefully trying to make this voyage to see the Jord territory more confusing than necessary. I know he hasn’t told anyone of my pleading for him to help me escape.

I’d be back in the dungeons if that were true.

“No,” I repeat, slower this time. “Don’t dismiss me. I’m to be your new lady anyways—unless he doesn’t consider you as a part of Jord yet. What did he do? Promise you riches? Gold? Suck your tiny—”

Crack. Ragnar shoves me into the wall.

Two weeks, two days. Second time’s a charm.

I ignore Ragnar as he escorts me through the tunnels of Castle Varlok. As suspected, it’s a totally different route. I memorize the turns like I did the maze, mentally singing notes for left, right and straight until I have a ballad. Minor key.

I can’t be fully certain that I’ll be able to remember our route when I inevitably escape, but I can sure as hell try. I start the song from the beginning.

“Can you stop?” Ragnar breaks the silence.

Or I suppose I did, because apparently I was humming that last part aloud. “Fine, I’ll stop. Happy?” I adjust the heavy red cloak that is draped over my shoulders. Today Olga insisted I wear heavy skirts, boots, and a thick corset top for our venture into town. All of the layers seemed like overkill until I started shivering.

Who knew that the Jord would be so cold. “Is it always this cold here?”

“I think so. It’s sort of like how the deeper you go into the ocean, the colder it gets.”

“Wait, you don’t know for sure?”