Page 161 of Gilded

“The Erlking’s wicked spell was cast, his gruesome revenge complete. But the massacre that happened in that castle …” She paused with a shudder. “The massacre that happened here was so horrific that it tore a hole into the veil that had long separated the dark ones from the world of the living.”

In response to her words, the blood on either side of that untouched circle began to flow upward. Two thick rivulets, the color of burgundy wine and thick as molasses, crawled toward the ceiling. When they were not much taller than Serilda herself, they moved inward and drew together, forming a doorway in the air. A doorway framed in blood.

Then, from the center of the doorway, the blood dripped … upward.

In slow, steady drops.

Climbing toward the rafters.

Serilda followed its trail, up.

Up.

To a body hung from the chandelier.

Her stomach lurched.

A child. A little girl.

For a moment, she thought it was Gerdrut and she opened her mouth to scream—

But the rope turned with a creak and she could see that it was not Gerdrut. The girl’s face was almost unrecognizable.

Almost.

But she knew it was the princess she’d seen in the locket.

The kidnapped child.

Gild’s sister.

Serilda wanted to rail. To howl. To tell the old gods and whoever was listening that this was not how the story was meant to end. The prince should have defeated the wicked king, saved his sister, saved them all.

He should never have been trapped in this horrid place.

He should never have been forgotten.

The Erlking was not supposed to win.

But even as her tears built up, Serilda clenched her teeth and refused to let them fall.

There was still one child who might be saved tonight. One heroic deed to perform.

With tightened fists, she stepped through the tear in the veil.

Chapter 51

The blood was gone. The castle returned to its splendor.

Serilda had only ever seen the throne room as part of the castle ruins. This was where the pool of blood had leaked between the brittle weeds and clung to her footsteps. Where the two thrones on the dais alone seemed to have been preserved in time, untouched by the centuries of neglect. They looked the same now as they did on the mortal side of the veil, but now the rest of the room was as pristine to match them. Vast chandeliers lit with dozens of candles. Thick carpets and fur skins and black velvet drapes hung behind the dais, framing the thrones. Pillars carved from white marble, each one depicting a tatzelwurm climbing toward the ceiling, its long serpentine tail spiraling all the way to the floor.

And there was the Erlking, waiting for her upon his throne.

Beside him, a sight that brought a shuddering gasp from Serilda’s lips.

Hans. Nickel. Fricz. Anna.

Their little ghosts standing to either side of the throne, holes in their chests and their nightgowns stained with blood.