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The Hound’s smile curved his clean-shaven cheek, dimpled further by the scar that ran along it. As if the very act of carrying a conversation was unfamiliar and foreign, the Hound coughed and cleared his throat.

“How quickly you’d like to die.”

The Hound’s lips, bearing the stain of his crimes, were too red.

His canines—his weapons—were too sharp. He strode forward, and his lavish jacket, the colour of bright rubies, gleamed.

To wear red was an insult in this land, a threat to our queen and the throne.

Did the beast know that? Or did he simply not care?

Still, I admired the way the fabric caught the sun, like a faceted jewel.

The Hound stretched a hand to the veil. It rippled, like a pool against his fingers.

The thin wolves stood, drawn like moths to a lantern.

“Thin wolves are patient beasts. They’ll hunt you for days, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

When the pack leader reveals itself, the attack comes.

Not from ahead, but behind.” The Hound’s lithe hand caressed his neck.

“Their prize is your throat, and once you’re on the ground, the rest of the pack sets upon you.

While you’re alive, they feast. The entire process can be quite… chaotic.”

The Hound’s eyes narrowed on me. “One good”—he snapped his fingers with a deafening SNAP —“from the Hound’s jaws could end it all.” He smirked. “Just like that.”

I didn’t dare disagree, didn’t point out that my father had died slowly, for fear the Hound might decide to prove his point.

I looked at my crossbow across the veil.

The Hound followed my gaze and scoffed. “That’s maddeningly close, is it not?

” I didn’t trust myself to answer. To my right, the Hound towered, cunning and proud.

To my left, the thin wolves prowled along the veil. Both wore sly, starved grins.

“You look…frightened?”

I yanked up my fists to protect myself.

The Hound stood directly in front of me, so close he might stoop and tear my head off.

My hearing was good—better than good if the occasion called for it.

Left unwatched, the Hound was completely soundless as he crept nearer to me.

His lip curled and he laughed—a bitter, mirthless laugh.

“No, I must be mistaken! Not you, who thought you might slay the Hound single-handedly.” His tone was mocking and cruel when he asked, “Could it be you’re simply cold?

” He waved at the castle. “Shall we head back inside?” Without waiting for an answer, he strode away.

Wolves or Hound?

Beside me, drool fell from the drooping jowl of a thin wolf, who’s nose touched the veil. Along the path, with his hands still clasped behind him, the Hound walked away, unbothered by my existence. Clean and dressed, he looked every part the gentleman.

Maybe he could be reasoned with?

The thin wolf let out a low snarl, sweeping me in rancid breath.

I fought the urge to scream, to let the frustration burst forth.

In a retrospectively ludicrous display, I reached through the veil and flicked the thin wolf on the nose.

A snapping of teeth and flurry of howls ensued.

The thin wolf rose to its full height, towering over me like a seething, sentient tree.

I offered it my middle finger. Whether it was the correct decision or not, I abandoned my crossbow and trailed the Hound.

Hearing my footsteps pounding the old cobblestones, the Hound turned.

Even striding backward, his gait remained steady.

To watch him was mesmerizing, his movement as fluid as the foxes bounding through the Hollow.

“Clever choice,” he said, while dodging a branch he couldn’t see but knew approached.

When he ascended the stairs, he walked around the crumbling spots, as if he’d memorized each flaw in the ruined architecture.

The great doors opened wide to permit our entry.

The Hound paused to look at me, his gaze lingering on my cloak. He muttered, “Where shall I put you?”

“You might send me home.”

“The sage room.” The Hound headed upstairs, and I trailed him.

My heart lurched as he walked toward the third floor.

Keeping my back to the wall, I carefully climbed the crumbling staircase after him.

Through grim hallways, and up even more stairs, we walked in silence.

It wasn’t until we entered an entirely separate wing of the castle that the Hound halted at a door.

Pulling his coat open, he shuffled inside and withdrew a ring of keys.

It wasn’t lost on me that, while the Hound could have put me in the bedroom next to his, he chose to put me up here.

Far, far away from him.

The door swung in, and the Hound gestured to enter.

This room, it seemed, had escaped the ravages of time.

Light streamed in wide windows, highlighting the olive panelling and dancing off the gold trim and tassels.

An opulent hearth sat against the wall, decorated with vases and figurines.

The elegance of it all slowed my steps, and I turned in a circle, trying to admire everything at once.

I never imagined staying somewhere so…so rich.

I caught sight of the Hound, standing in the doorway, looking awfully smug.

He was pleased with my wonder.

And that pissed me off.

Sticking my nose up, I scowled. “What an attractive prison.”

The Hound frowned. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Call me a prisoner,” I sneered. “For that is what I am.”

“As much as I find your theatrics entertaining, I will not disrespect you so.” A muscle twitched in the Hound’s jaw when he repeated, “Your name: give it to me.”

After a short stand off, I mumbled, “Liliwen.”

The Hounds lips mimicked, ‘Liliwen,’ tasting it for themselves. Silence pressed in on us. I didn’t ask his name; I didn’t care. He was the Hound, and that’s all that mattered. The Hound entered the room, striding until he loomed above me. I reached for my father’s knife.

It was gone! Had I lost it? I checked the empty sheath on my belt.

“It’s not lost.” Back in the doorway, the Hound brandished the knife.

“Give it back!”

“It will be safe in my care,” the Hound replied. He held the knife before him, absently turning it in slow revolutions. He’d better hope I didn’t get it back; the moment it was in my grasp, I’d stab him right in the—

“This castle is unlike any other, and you will come to learn it well,” the Hound said. “I bid you a word of caution, as I can smell the arrogance on you like night soil.”

I started, but the Hound continued talking, much louder.

“Do not wander, and certainly do not fall asleep outside this room.” He reached out, drawing a hand along the doorframe.

“The architecture has a way of…sensing your nightmares.” His hand dropped from the frame, and his tone was serious when he said, “You might fear the Hollow, but I promise you, its inhabitants are sweet children compared to the monsters that stalk these halls.”

“The Hollow is filled with dangerous animals,” I agreed.

“But there is only one so lacking in humanity—consisting of such irredeemable filth—to be deserving of that word, monster .” I gestured at the surrounding walls.

“The same goes for this castle. One monster, worse than the rest.” Looking up and down the Hound, I spit, “I’m confident I’ve met both. ”

The Hound traced a canine with his tongue.

And he did not disagree.

“If this place is as dangerous as you insinuate it is,” I snapped, “a gentleman would leave me with a weapon.”

As leisurely as one might sip wine, the Hound tucked my father’s blade into his jacket.

“You don’t trust me,” he said, “and I don’t trust you, and I certainly don’t trust you to heed my warning.

You look like the type of person who would try something very stupid, at least once.

What I do next—I do for your own safety.

” The Hound left and closed the door behind him.

A click echoed through the room as the door locked.

I bolted over and tried to pry it open. It didn’t budge, and I slammed my fist against the wood.

The Hound’s muffled voice called, “I will see you in the morning.”

Giving up, I circled the room and stood in front of the large windows.

A wide balcony lay on the other side. I climbed out and leaned over the railing.

Several stories beneath me were the matching gargoyles that guarded the Hound’s room.

Off to the side, pale pink roses weaved in and out of a thin trellis that carried up the castle.

The roses grew all the way up, and the thick canes curled around the balcony railing.

I dragged my finger along a curved thorn.

The Hound would have to try harder to confine me.

***

“Ow!” Thorns tore my forearms as I descended the world’s most painful ladder.

When I reached the Hound’s balcony, I held my breath, worried even the slightest huff might bring him forth.

Thankfully, the curtains didn’t stir. Inching down, I leapt from the rose covered trellis.

When I hit the ground, I crouched and listened, half-expecting the Hound to appear on his balcony.

He did not.

Dawn hadn’t yet broken, and I kept to the early morning shadows. I padded quietly along the grass beside the cobbled path until I hit the veil. My crossbow was still there, just a few paces into the Hollow.

The wolves were gone.

Glancing left and right, I wiped sweat from my palms. Nothing moved in the Hollow; it was almost welcoming.

If you’re going to do it, do it now.