Page 2 of Maneater

He was an older man with a sallow face, but a silver tongue, always ready with sweet words that drew my mother in.

Not long after I was old enough to start working, he began showing up at our door when I wasn’t home.

He knew my father was a drunkard, but it started off innocently enough.

He brought leftover goods, small offerings.

But soon came the flattery, the lingering compliments, the invitations for evening walks.

Before long, he’d drawn my mother into his home, and their affair began.

He took advantage of her as her mind began to slip, circling her like a vulture drawn to something already broken.

I’d kill him myself if I could.

I stepped back inside, hung the pot over the hearth, and pulled a pocketknife from my trousers. Dumping the barley into the simmering water, I began slicing the shriveled potatoes. Once they were cut, I added them to the pot.

Before I could take two steps from the hearth, a loud, thunderous knock at the door startled me.

Bracing myself, I held the pocketknife like a sword. I tried to look brave, but I knew it meant nothing.

My father jolted awake in his chair, and the watering tin slipped from my mother’s grip, clattering to the floor as she turned toward the door. The knocking didn’t stop. Each pound came harder than the last.

Father staggered upright, anger rising as he lurched toward the entry.

He cursed under his breath, gripped the latch, and flung the door open.

He raised a finger, ready to shout, but the words caught in his throat as a guardsman pushed past him into the house.

Father froze, stunned into silence, as four of them stepped into our living room.

The first guard pulled out a letter sealed with the royal crest and unfolded it. Clearing his throat, he began to read aloud. At first, I felt only confusion. Then each word struck like a blade. As his voice carried through the room, my breath grew shallow, and my heart pounded in my chest.

A tense silence followed as the guard spoke the final words: “You are hereby summoned to serve the heir of Hyrall from this day forward, until His Highness commands your service to end.”

Time seemed to stall as my mind raced to make sense of it.

“No,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I refuse.”

The guard’s expression hardened. “The choice is not yours.”

“You can’t take me. I won’t go.”

“By royal order, you are the property of the heir.”

“I belong to no one.”

The guard holding the letter reached into his cloak and tossed a heavy pouch to my drunken, useless father who fumbled with it, and the pouch tore open, sending gold coins scattering across the floor.

His eyes lit greedily as he dropped to his knees, scrambling to collect them.

A cold, familiar knot formed in my stomach.

My gaze shifted to my mother, who stood in silence. For a moment, I could almost swear her eyes were clearer than they had been in years.

“Don’t let them take me,” I said, voice low.

She looked away. Her eyes followed the missive in the guard’s hand.

“Mother,” I said again.

She stayed silent, as if my pleading were nothing more than the whine of a spoiled child. Her brow creased briefly, then smoothed. It was as if she’d made up her mind. She moved to the window and leaned against the sill, humming softly as her eyes followed the falling snow.

“Drifting gently, soft and light, turning all the world to white…”

A few guards exchanged uneasy glances at her song. My anger surged, and bitter tears stung the corners of my eyes.

“Do something!” I snapped at her, years of frustration spilling out.

My father swayed as he stepped in front of me.

“I won’t go,” I hissed, meeting his stare.

Without warning, my father’s hand clamped around my jaw. The shock of it stopped my tears. His voice came slurred, thick with liquor.

“You’ve been called by the Crown, and you’ll do your duty to the kingdom of Hyrall,” he growled.

His breath was sour and hot against my skin. With a dismissive wave, he signaled for the guards to take me, then turned away. He patted the pouch in his hand before stumbling back to the kitchen table, collapsing into his chair and reaching for his mug.

“Why aren’t you stopping this?” I shouted at my mother, desperate for an answer.

Silence settled over the room, thick and suffocating.

Two guardsmen stepped toward me, grabbing my arms and forcing me toward the door. I tore one arm free and twisted hard, eyes wild. The guard on my left, irritated, yanked it back. Pain throbbed through my shoulder, but I kept shouting.

“Answer me!”

Mother’s soft, melodic voice carried on, “Like a sigh, it falls from high, drifting slowly through the sky…”

Hope drained from me. It was no use.

I let the disappointment carve itself into my memory, taking root in my mind. My arms went limp, and my legs turned to lead as the guards pulled me from the cottage and across the snow-covered ground.

Their silver boots crushed the soft snow, and my feet left a trail of shallow tunnels as they dragged me toward the carriage. The sky was darkening, and the wind bit at my face. I fought to hold back the tears, but they came anyway.

In that moment, everything shifted. My life changed in the span of seconds.

A third guard stepped forward and opened the carriage door.

My feet felt like stone, unwilling to move, and I shook my head, my teeth chattering uncontrollably.

The guard beside me grew impatient, hauled me off the ground, and shoved me into the carriage.

I hit the floor with a hard thud, tears slipping down my face as muffled sobs shook through me. When the door slammed shut behind me, it sealed my fate. I stayed curled on the floor, time dragging endlessly as the wheels turned, carrying me farther from my home.

Soon, my eyelids grew heavy, and I drifted into a restless sleep.

I lost all sense of time, lying there on the carriage floor, until a sudden jolt snapped me awake.

I blinked hard, my eyes swollen and my throat raw from crying.

As I tried to clear the fog from my mind, I noticed a pair of leather boots.

I froze.

I sat up sharply, breath catching as I realized a man was seated across from me on the cushioned bench. With a startled cry, I scrambled back, clutching the opposite bench in the narrow space.

My heart stopped as his amber eyes met mine.

I knew those eyes.

I had seen them before, when I’d collided with the carriage in the market.

Those eyes belonged to my captor.

As we passed through the kingdom’s gates, the prince of the realm murmured, “Welcome to Castle Hyrall, Odessa.”