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I don’t know whether to be relieved or horrified when the forest parts into a golden field and his kingdom looms in the distance, a black castle painting the landscape. The setting sun lights the sky in pink and violet behind the spindly spires that come up in sharp points like jagged teeth. Despite the fear pressing in every pulse of my blood, I can’t help but be a little amazed. I’m in another kingdom. I can see it. I can taste it in the air. No gray wall obstructing my view.

The first thing we pass is a massive building with protruding, rusted pipes that blow smoke colored in orange, green, and blue. A rhythmic hum broken by the loud clanking sounds of metal against metal emanates from the strange structure. There’s an energy in the air that stands the hair on the back of my neck.

Magic. A lot of it.

We haven’t spoken in hours, but he presses me forward as we approach the fringes of his kingdom. I stiffen as he settles something across my shoulders. His cloak.

“You have a very identifiable feature,” he murmurs as he clasps it around my neck and draws the hood up over my hair. “They’ll know who you are eventually, but we should at least try to mitigate that. Keep your head down.”

His words are soft and low, nothing like the venom he’d unleashed earlier. I remain silent. I can see the innards of the kingdom are bustling with witches moving in the distance. We cut east and make our way up vacant back alleys.

Char marks litter dilapidated buildings, and gaping holes are seared into the sides of houses. Words, painted in blood red, mar the side of a wall. The Gods have abandoned us. Every time the street we start down hosts a huddle of witches, he steers back to locate one that’s clear.

The scene begins to change. The dirt streets turn to cobblestones, and the houses grow grander and more lavish.

Everything in Eden had been plain, cold, and unfeeling. Stone castle with stone walls, and floors to match the plain, gray stone Wall. Houses, little more than square shacks with thatched hay roofs. But here, everything is ornamented in intricate engravings. Designs embellish the trim of homes that are bursting with color. Manicured gardens line their exteriors.

Strange symbols and motifs mark houses and shops. Statues decorate porches and roofs, some familiar creatures, rabbits and frogs and birds, and some more sinister ones as I would expect from witches: gargoyles and demons.

Witches become impossible to avoid as we near closer and I duck my head as their prying eyes strip across my bare face. Magic emerges in every direction. Lights flicker on and off, and items zoom through the air. My heart skitters in my chest as we approach the castle, nearing whatever fate of horrors awaits me. We steer toward an outer building I assume is the stables. Once there, we’re greeted by a middle-aged man. His and the prince’s interactions are polite, if not altogether friendly.

My skin crawls as he hauls me down with murderous hands. I almost expect to see the bodies of the children strung to the back of our saddle. I’d been too scared to check before, however there are none. Perhaps he already harvested what he wanted from them after he put me under his spell. Am I under some kind of spell now? Will I even be able to tell?

I trail behind him a few steps as he leads me to a large, arching, black-brick entrance. He looks back periodically to make sure I’m still there and eventually ushers me to his side with a ‘come nought.’

While the outside of the castle is a dreary black, the picture of doom, the inside is its opposite. He opens the door to reveal a spacious foyer with gleaming marble floors and several towering pillars. A gray stone statue centers the room, standing at a massive height: the naked form of a man with goat horns protruding from the top of a stern face.

Two marble staircases wrap the room, opening up to a second floor with a golden gated balcony. As though mocking the extravagance, a large crack has sprouted across the marble, running all the way up to the middle of the horned statue’s thigh. I count several more significant cracks sprouting across the walls.

There are only a few witches coming and going. He stops to greet no one, moving swiftly as he breaks off toward one of the marble staircases. He takes them two at a time, and I hitch my dress up in my hands, huffing to keep up with him. I try to make note of the twists and turns we make down hallways carpeted in red velvet and quickly lose track.

Those same orb lights hang against the walls. They blink on as we approach and fizzle out behind us so it feels like we’re walking further and further down the shadowed throat of a great beast.

Frowning faces line the walls in gaudy golden frames. Lords and ladies, I presume, and some more angelic-looking figures. I sneak glimpses of him from the corner of my eye. With the dark rings around eyes more red than white and his large brow furrowed down, he’s every bit the dark witch I imagined. I was crazy to think it’d be any different.

He stops abruptly, turning toward me. I stumble back, hit the wall, and flatten myself against it. He raises his brows with a sigh before stepping past me to make a practiced symbol over a wooden door on my right. “Wait here,” he says before disappearing behind it, leaving me alone in the dimly lit hallway.

A few minutes pass before he returns, and my anticipation dials up the dāemon to an unbearable level. He holds the door open for me, and I hesitantly step inside, with every bone in my body screaming at me to turn back. The floors are polished hardwood, and dark wood crown molding frames the golden-patterned walls.

There’s a large window along the back wall. Every square inch of the sill overrun by a wide variety of plants, a few of them vining up the window and wall. More potted plants, even some small trees, are dispersed around the chamber.

A small tufted black sofa centers the space, and to my left are shelves upon shelves, filled with an array of jars and glass vials labeled with titles I can’t even begin to pronounce. I spot one filled with teeth and another with the eyeballs of something…or someone, and my stomach twists violently.

The room is much larger than my own, elaborate, lavish even, yet a complete wreck. A table so crowded with mortars and pestles still holding the remnants of ingredients and chopped plants, you can’t see an inch of its surface. I spy the gleam of a blade in the mess, and my heart leaps. Along the walls rests several wooden chests, trunks, and a huge fireplace. Cauldrons in all shapes and sizes hang on hooks above it.

Clothing and other bits of rubbish litter the floors. He shuffles around, moving his fingers in patterns to collect the various items. They float up into his hands until his arms are stuffed full.

I watch, slightly awed. Mostly terrified by the casual display of his power. He slips behind a door, and I hear the various items thump to the floor as he tosses them. When he appears back in the doorway, I still haven’t moved from my defensive position by the door. “Sorry, I would’ve cleaned up if I’d known I was coming back with a uh—“ He trails off, unable to bring himself to say, wife. “nought,” he finishes.

He leans back into the door frame, puffing a breath as he scratches at his nose. “Look, I know we haven’t had the um, best start here, but you should know you will be safe—“ He breaks off. “No, I can’t even say that because it’s not true.” My heart drops as he makes a disgruntled noise and drags his hands aggressively over his face.

Penetrating green eyes find me once more. “I imagine you would like to bathe, yes? And you’ll need clothes. Unless you’re intent on continuing to wear that awful curtain?” I stand there stiffly, blinking. “Not speaking to me?”

A long moment passes. My best option is to play it calm and collected for now, until I get a better idea of my surroundings and their plans for me. I work a swallow and say, “I would like to bathe.”

“Okay,” he sighs. “And would you like different clothes?”

I look down at my rumpled dress. “Yes.”

“Good,” he says, pleased. “I’ll have the seamstress come up at some point, but for now, I’ll fetch something. Here, let me show you.” He gestures to the space behind him, and I cautiously tread in after him. A huge bed with ornately carved wooden posts, silky black bedding, and an array of pillows similar to the one we shared in the tent claims the center of the room. Against the far wall, a large armoire and a desk. My eyes however are ensnared by the huge map decorating the wall. ‘The Ouroboros’ is labeled across the top. I’ve never seen one. Eden had long since destroyed any evidence of what lay outside the Wall.

It’s hard to tear myself away from it as he leads me toward another door. “The bathroom.”

The space is a white marble, similar to the foyer. The bathing basin is massive. Several golden knobs hang over the side of it, and there’s another smaller basin already filled with water. My brows crumple, trying to make sense of the foreign space. There’s no mirror, however stretched across the back wall is a large black cloth.

“Do you even know how to use this stuff? I don’t imagine you’ve been exposed to plumbing behind the Wall?” He looses another sigh when I stare at him blankly. Walking over to the basin, he twists the golden knobs, and my eyes widen as water hisses out into the tub. “Hot water and cold,” he says, pointing to the different knobs.

He straightens and gestures to the smaller basin. “This is where you…” He looks at me pointedly as if searching for some kind of recognition, and I look at the basin that’s oddly chair-shaped and back to him. “Oh, you’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? Never imagined I’d have to explain to someone—it’s where you dispose of--”

My eyes widen further as it dawns on me. “I understand.”

He looks slightly relieved and pushes a lever, and water flushes into the bowl. “You’ll figure it out. I hope.”

“Are there no servants?” I ask something I was starting to piece together by the disheveled state of his room.

“No, slavery has been abolished for four hundred years here so no, there’s no servants. The castle does have some employees, but no one’s going to bathe you and brush your hair, princess, if that’s what you’re after,” he sneers. “I’m surprised you didn’t try to bring a whole posse with you, though I wouldn’t have let them join us.”

I grimace. It’s not as if I’d been forbidden from bringing my handmaiden, Dorine. But I’d refused to subject her to my fate.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it and find you something to wear. I’ll hang it on the knob.” His gaze drifts over my form, and my blood turns cold, wondering if he might change his mind on the notion that he has no interest in me, but he only says, “It might be a bit large,” as his eyes dart back up to my face.

“Anything else you require?” I shake my head. The corner of his lip turns up. “A hairbrush?”I nod, dipping my head to the floor. “Okay,” he sighs, shutting the door behind him, and I blow out a breath in relief.

Finally, alone for the first time in days. I clasp the lock on the door, and the weight of everything sinks me to the floor.

I have to live here now with him. A witch, as horrible as the stories I’ve grown up with. Seeing it in person is even worse than I could imagine. I will never see Syra and Dorine ever again. This is my new reality. I swallow down the lump in my throat and fiddle with the golden spigot until I find the right temperature, marveling at the magic as I strip off my clothes and sink into the tub.

After twenty-three years of handmaidens', I find the privacy of washing myself highly preferable. My eyes flicker to the locked door. Can he unlock it with his magic? Likely. Will he? I have no idea. His behavior is capricious, sometimes cordial, sometimes haughty, and sometimes murdering children as if it’s a normal event. I hurry through the rest of my washing, quickly rebind my breasts, and toss my slip back on before carefully sliding the door open a crack to see his bedroom door safely shut.

As promised, a dress hangs on the outer knob and I slide it over my head. It’s plain black and at least three sizes too large. Meant to fall over my knee with a tighter fit—on me, it falls to my mid-calf, almost as billowy as the white gown I’m used to donning. Eternally grateful it has pockets, I carefully slide the locket down inside one of them.

I scrutinize the bathroom once more, creeping over to peek behind the black fabric covering the wall to find there is, in fact, a mirror underneath. No idea if it’s covered for good reason or not, I let the fabric fall back in place.

There’s a hairbrush on the floor outside the bathroom, and I draw it through my tangled hair as I quietly inspect his bedroom, my eyes veering toward the map on the wall again.

I can’t stay here with him. I thought I could stomach it. I’d made the decision to sacrifice myself for Syra, yet now that I’ve seen what they’re capable of with my own eyes, my survival instincts have kicked into high gear.

I’ll put Syra at risk if I ruin our alliance. However, as long as she remains behind the Wall she’ll be safe.

I can’t go back to Eden. But there has to be more people out there somewhere, right? Not witches. Noughts, as they call us. Somewhere, I can start a new life. A normal life, not as one of the Shrouded. Where am I supposed to get this information? It’s not like I can simply ask him, and there are no servants to pester. I can only hope opportunity will find me before I discover what exactly it is they intend to do with me.

As much as I prefer to hide away in his bedroom, I don’t foresee that boding well, so I heave a deep breath and open the door. He’s propped up on the small, tufted couch, legs hanging over the armrest with his face resting against his palm. Swiping a hand over his face, he straightens himself with a groan.

He takes one look at me and coughs. “That’s worse than I anticipated.”

I look down at the much too-large dress and purse my lips. He curls his fingers in toward his palm, waving his hand in my direction, and my heart skips a beat as heat ruffles against my hair like a warm breeze. I lift one of the white strands to find it completely dry. He dried my hair?

“I brought you dinner,” he says, pointing to two plates filled to the brim with far more than I’m capable of eating in three days' time. “Wasn’t sure what you liked.”

Questions upon questions bubble up in my throat. What is he going to do with me? Why did he kill those children? I force them down with a swallow, dip my head, and await further instruction. The next time I peek up, he’s frowning at me.

“I’m going to go to bed,” he says as he tugs himself to his feet. “This is how you turn the lights on and off.” He gestures to a knob on the wall. I hurriedly shift away as he aims toward the bedroom. He comes back with a blanket and places it on the sofa. Not intending for me to sleep in his bed then. Good. I slowly settle on the couch, and he frowns at me. “Let me know if there’s anything you require.”

As soon as he disappears into his bedroom, I jump off the couch, listening to his retreating footsteps before bounding toward the knife on the table. Can’t believe he’s been stupid enough to leave this out for me to get my hands on. I stuff it in between the cushions of the sofa for safekeeping.

Examining the contents of my plate, much of which is unfamiliar to me, I pluck the rolls and search the room for a good stash spot. Spying a bronze vase on one of his many shelves, I tug it off and stuff them into it.

Pausing to listen to any sounds emanating from his bedroom again, I creep over to the door and quietly twist the knob. It remains locked tight.

When I hear the unmistakable sound of his bedroom door opening, I whirl around, heart leaping.

He raises his large brows, amusement flickering in his eyes. “It’s locked with magic, so you won’t be able to open it. Nor should you want to if your life is of any value to you.”

My heart sinks at the thinly veiled threat. His eyes roam the room, pausing at the table, and my heart thumps furiously.

He only huffs a breath, lip curling slightly. “You’ll have more luck with this one,” he says, pointing to a door on the opposite wall. “But I’m afraid it won’t get you very far. I came to tell you I’m leaving this door unlocked in case you need to use the—“ He breaks off, pointing toward the bathing room. When I don’t oblige him with a response, he shakes his head and shuts the door.

I step over to the opposite door and open it to regard a small stone balcony. I watch the bustling kingdom below for a few minutes before retreating back inside.

As much as I want to inspect the space further, I’m too paranoid he’ll come barging back in, so I sink back down to the couch, pulling the blanket up over me. Surely, he isn’t intending to keep me locked up in here? I pick at the food familiar to me and leave the rest of it untouched.

My body is still on high alert, the haunted images of how he’d mutilated those children, the sounds of their wails replaying over and over again in my mind. I have to get out of here but I need to be smart about it if I’m to have any chance at all.

On the far wall hangs a painting of that same horned devil. I can feel his eyes leering at me from across the room and I get up to flip the painting on its hook. My mind churns. I don’t fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning, only to be awoken a short while later by the sounds of him shuffling out of his room. I immediately jolt up.

“Nought,” he acknowledges with a nod of his head. He’s already dressed for the day: the same long black cloak, black pants cuffed above his boots, and the shadows around his eyes only slightly faded.

I scoot myself back into the arm of the sofa. He’s leaving. Glee fills my chest, ready to explore the castle and the contents of this room as soon as he’s gone. Determine my best route of escape.

He makes his way to the door, weaving patterns in the air with his hands. This awful high-pitched splintering sound has me jolting once more. I lean forward to investigate and find he’s hacked off a few inches from the bottom of the door. He picks up the piece of wood and settles it on the table. “I will arrange for the kitchens to bring your meals directly here.”

“Wait—“ I say, chest bottoming out as it fully sinks in. “Are you locking me in here?”

He throws up a hand, obviously irked by my consternation. “What else am I supposed to do with you?”

“I…I can’t travel the castle freely?”

“It’s not safe for you here.”

It’s not safe for me in here. “Well…surely you have guards here?” I argue.

He snorts. “You are a nought. No one will accept you here. Don’t you get that? The Masks are included in that. Or did you learn nothing from your last interaction with them?”

My panic increases as I see my chances of escape dwindling. “You’re going to keep me locked in here? All the time? Always?”

He sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. My anger gives me bravery, and I start forward. “Why am I even here then?”

He lowers his hand to deliver a hard, silent stare. “I will arrange for them to send breakfast at nine, lunch at two, and dinner at seven. If you have any preferences, you can make a list, and I’ll leave it with them.” I can only gape at him. “Or you can tell me, and I’ll make the list for you if that’s not within your skill set.”

I bristle as he turns toward the door and wrenches it open. “Wait—“ I bolt after him, making it just as it slams shut in my face. I throw myself at the knob. It remains locked tight. Pounding at the pane of wood, I yell, “Why am I here?” as his footsteps grow faint in the distance. I lean against the door and slide to the floor in dismay.

I’m going to find a way out of here.