Page 81 of Gilded

His eyes seemed to be laughing at her as he stood to his full height. “Forgive me. I am sure you required some rest, yet it seems we will not have time to settle you into your rooms after all. Until the Chaste Moon, then.”

She frowned, confused, but before she could speak, the world shifted. The change was sudden and jolting. Serilda had not moved, but in a blink, the king was gone. The bobbins of gold, the spinning wheel, the lingering scent of straw.

She was still in the larder, but now she was surrounded by rust and decay and stifling musty air, and she was alone.

Chapter 25

As Serilda made her way through the empty castle, she heard the rumble of distant thunder and a torrent of rain pounding the outer castle walls. Nearby, something was dripping. Soft and steady. She could feel the dampness in her bones, and even her cloak could not ward off the invading chill. She started to shiver again as she tried to find her way through the maze of halls. The castle looked so different on this side of the veil, with its scattered furniture and torn tapestries. She soon found the source of the dripping sound—a window where a hole in the masonry was letting the rainwater soak through. It was beginning to puddle on the floor.

Serilda held her breath as she passed, expecting the water to turn into blood.

It did not.

She exhaled. Her muscles were knotted and tense, waiting for the haunts of the castle to awaken. Every time she peered around a corner, she expected to see either a deadly monster or a pool of blood or some other horrible thing.

But the castle stayed eerily silent.

The memories of the night before jumbled about in her weary mind. Only the day before, she’d dared to hope that she was safe. That her father was safe. Miles away from Märchenfeld. They’d watched for hollow-eyed ravens. They’d thought they were so careful.

But the Erlking had found her regardless. Foundthemregardless.

If she hadn’t been so foolish, if she hadn’t tried to run, then her father would be home right now. Waiting for her.

She tried to shove the fear away. Maybe hewashome right now, waiting for her. Maybe he had awoken, dazed and bruised, with faint memories of the hunt, but altogether all right. She reminded herself that while the hunt did sometimes leave bodies behind after their mad procession, it was more common for those who had been taken to wake up. Befuddled, embarrassed, but more or less intact.

This was probably what had happened to her father.

By now he had probably made his way home, or he would be on his way now, eager to meet her there.

That is what she told herself.

Then she commanded her heart to believe it.

They would soon be together again, and she would not make the same mistake twice. She could see now how foolish they had been, to think they could so easily escape. She wondered if there was any place in all the world where the Erlking and his wild hunt could not find her.

But even as she thought it, another question arose.

Did she still want to escape?

She knew that if she did not find a way out of this, there was only one possible end for her. The Erlking would discover her lies. He would kill her and mount her head on the castle wall.

But she also wanted to know what had become of her mother, all those years ago.

If her mother was a member of this undead court, didn’t Serilda owe it to her to try and set her free? To let her spirit find rest, and ultimately be guided down to Verloren? She had only wanted a night of freedom with the hunt. She did not deserve to be trapped here forever.

And then there was the other ghost—or whatever he was—lingering in her thoughts.

Gild.

The kiss was stitched into her mind. Fierce. Desperate. Longing.

Please forgive me this.

She pressed the pads of her fingers against her lips, trying to re-create the sensation. But last night, it was as though the floor itself had fallen out from beneath her.

Now it was just her fingers, going numb with cold.

She rubbed her hands together, blowing on them with her breath. She wanted to believe the kiss hadmeantsomething, if only because it had been her first. She would not admit it to anyone, but she had spent hours dreaming about just such a moment. She had spun countless fantasies of being swept away by everyone from princes to well-intentioned scoundrels. She had imagined a romance in which the hero would find her wit, her charm, her bravery all so painfully irresistible, he would have no choice but to gather her in his arms and kiss her until she was dizzy and breathless.