Page 6

“So...it's been a long time,” Cyrus said, his voice steady as he stared down the Shadow Queen.

Cressida's lips pursed into a thin line as she descended from the dais circling her throne. She stood before Cyrus, malice radiating from her in waves. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife as silence stretched between them.

Finally, she spoke, her voice dripping with disdain. “Hiding in the human realm? I should have guessed it before. You always had a soft spot for those weaklings.”

Cyrus shrugged, his bound arms doing little to diminish his air of nonchalance. “It was better than being in the same world as you.”

Cressida hissed, her hand lashing out in a vicious backhand that caught Cyrus across the face. The sound of the impact echoed through the chamber, but Cyrus merely turned his head with the blow, making no sound. When he faced forward again, his expression remained calm, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions playing across Cressida's features.

“Brandle,” she snapped, her voice as sharp as a knife. “Take him away. See that he's placed in the south wing, farthest from my chambers. I don't want him anywhere near me. Bind him, with both ropes and magic.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “And if he fights...well, feel free to get creative. Just don't kill him. That pleasure will be mine alone.”

Brandle nodded, a cruel smile twisting his lips. Dark tendrils of magic enveloped both him and Cyrus, and in the blink of an eye, they vanished from the throne room.

Cressida stepped down from the dais, brushing past Sion as if he were nothing more than a piece of furniture. He was just about to let out a sigh of relief when she turned back, fixing him with a penetrating stare that froze the breath in his lungs.

“You are no longer permitted to leave the palace, for any reason,” she declared, her tone rough. “Your sole purpose in this realm is to serve me.”

As she swept from the room, the full weight of her words crashed down upon Sion. Bile rose in his throat, and for the thousandth time since he had infiltrated her court, he found himself wishing the Fates would grant him the sweet release of death.

Chapter Four

Renya stared blankly out the window, her mind a whirlwind of despair and desperation as she sought a way out of her predicament. Since Cressida's guards had unceremoniously shoved her into this room, she'd done nothing but sob, her body aching from the constant trembling. Every fiber of her being longed to collapse onto the ornate bed behind her and sleep away her troubles, but rest eluded her.

The most terrifying aspect of her captivity was the absence of Grayden's presence in her mind. She could no longer sense him through their bond, and the tension and worry this caused made her head pound relentlessly. Was it merely the distance between them, or was he unconscious...or worse? The image of him bleeding profusely on that hill, surrounded by destruction and carnage, was seared into her memory.

And then there was Cressida's earth-shattering revelation. Her mother? The very notion chilled Renya to her core. How could that cruel, sadistic witch possibly be her mother? It had to be a lie, some kind of ploy for power. There was no way she could be the product of such evil. And yet...the Shadow Queen had recognized Aunt Agatha immediately at the Sunset Land. She had even seemed to fear her. Could it possibly be true?

Renya felt broken, her entire life revealed as a lie. First, the truth about her heritage and lineage, and now this latest bombshell? She wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and disappear from this nightmare.

Another tear leaked from her eye, and Renya didn't even bother to wipe it away. She watched it drip onto the marble vanity in front of her, the droplet pooling against the cold surface. The separation from Grayden was unbearable. She now understood his frantic behavior to get to her after their bond had developed. It felt as though a piece of her soul had been torn away, locked in an impenetrable vault beyond her reach.

A soft knock on the door momentarily drew her out of her misery. Rising unsteadily, she moved to the corner of the room, torn between horror at the thought of facing the Shadow Queen and a desperate desire to confront her about her outlandish claim.

Instead of Cressida, an older woman entered the room, her demeanor almost bashful. Her auburn hair was streaked with silver, and she had a kind face with soft eyes and a mouth pulled into a tentative smile. Renya could scarcely believe that someone so gentle-looking could exist in this palace of horrors.

The woman approached Renya slowly, balancing a polished wooden tray in her hands. She placed it atop the vanity where Renya had been sitting, then wiped her hands on her crisp cream-colored apron. As she turned to leave, Renya found herself calling out.

“Wait!”

The woman turned, her expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity. Renya hesitated, unsure of what she actually wanted from this stranger. She studied the woman, weighing her options. While the servant looked friendly, it could be a trap. Yet there was something in her eyes that made Renya think she might be sympathetic to her plight.

“What's your name?” Renya asked, her voice hoarse from crying.

The woman smoothed her hair back from her forehead, meeting Renya's gaze briefly before lowering her eyes respectfully. “Margot, your highness.”

“Please,” Renya said, surprising herself with the strength in her voice, “just call me Renya.”

Margot glanced up quickly, a flicker of something—understanding, perhaps?—in her eyes before she looked down again. “As you wish, Renya.”

Before Renya could formulate another question, Margot slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Sighing heavily, Renya approached the vanity. A pink teapot steamed gently, accompanied by a teacup with a lemon slice floating in it. A few slices of cheese rested nearby, along with some bread and sausage. She eyed the food warily, wondering if there was any chance it might be poisoned. It seemed unlikely; if Cressida had wanted her dead, she could have killed her back at the Twilight Kingdom. No, the Shadow Queen had some purpose for her, of that Renya was certain.

Settling back at the vanity, Renya poured herself a cup of tea. Though neither thirsty nor hungry, she knew she needed to keep up her strength if she hoped to find a way back to Grayden. As she nibbled on a piece of bread, she glanced around the room, searching for any potential means of escape.

The mahogany bed dominated the room, its tall posters draped with red gauzy curtains. A vase of blood-red roses sat on the nightstand, their sweet fragrance at odds with the oppressive atmosphere. A small fire crackled in the hearth on the opposite side of the room, offering more light than warmth. Just off to one corner, Renya spied a tiny bathroom with a small copper tub.

The sight of the tub sent a pang through her heart as she remembered Grayden's playful teasing about the size of their bathtub at the lodge. It felt like a lifetime ago that she had sat in his lap while he tenderly washed her hair. Another sob threatened to overtake her, but she swallowed it back with effort. If she wanted to survive—to escape—she needed to be stoic and strategic. No matter how much she longed to dissolve into tears, it wouldn't get her anywhere. She had to focus all her energy on finding a way back to Grayden.