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Hector

T he Castle had gone mad. Utterly, inexplicably mad.

One moment we were all standing around the table, listening to Arawn explain how Thea was not feeling very well, and the next we were being restrained. The ceiling cracked open, and great, thick vines swooped down and seized us all in place, and the more we fought, the larger and fiercer they grew, thorns poking out of their dark green flesh. My sword, faithful as a soldier, tried cutting through the rapidly increasing brambles, but as swift as the blade’s brandishes were, they were no match for the Castle’s star-fast magic.

Everyone was screaming and thrashing, demanding from me to explain what in the world was going on. But I had no answer. I couldn’t even speak. I could only stare at the grand, gold-framed mirror on the other side of the room. Its rippling waters glowed from the inside, reflecting an eerie white light that grew darker as it magnified.

Then the mirror burst open, water splashing everywhere. Thea fell headlong into the room, drenched to the bone and shaking all over. Her appearance was as saturated as a flame bobbing up in absolute darkness, yet I could only see the trail of indigo bruises circling her throat. Everything inside me twisted and, at the same time, stood perfectly still.

I thought I screamed her name, but the crowd roar in my ears was too loud and my heart too erratic to be certain of anything other than my own sick astonishment.

She reeled past the clawing brambles, and only when she reached the table, almost crashing to her knees before it, did the vines evaporate, misting into thin air. Her hand jutted out and tipped the ceremonial chalice over, dark red wine flooding the linen and trickling down the edge of the table like spilled blood.

“Juniper,” she gasped, tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s juniper.”

I lunged for her, but Arawn— Arawn —was closer. He sprang forward with bloodshot eyes and curled lips and tore at her throat. Her scream lasted less than a second, but I knew I would hear it ringing in my ears till my very last day.

Consumed by bewildered rage, I ripped Arawn off her, the cleaving sound of his arm reverberating in the room. I wanted to do worse. I wanted to tear through him until there was no part of him unbroken. But Thea was falling, and in that moment, I could only see her. I caught her just before she hit the floor, cradling her head in one hand and her waist with the other. A thin stream of blood glided down her throat, staining red the pearls of her bodice. But her expression was solid, almost relieved when our eyes met. “It’s only a scratch. I’m fine,” she croaked, then wrapped her arms around my neck, yielding her body to mine.

For a second, no one spoke. No one even moved. Then Dain dashed behind Arawn, swift as a shadow. There was a fierce crack and a spatter of blood. The split pupils of Arawn’s eyes rolled upward, fading into white. Then he fell to the floor, more blood gushing from the back of his head and crawling across the carpet.

I don’t understand , I thought, my heart sinking empty.