Page 77 of Wicked Beasts (Lament Princess #1)

Seventy-Six

I must be under some kind of enchantment.

Had I really walked all this way? My feet throb with sudden pain, and my legs shake, barely able to hold me up.

I collapse against the cold iron gate, my body exhausted and weak, as the first rays of the morning sun begin to creep over the distant horizon.

Pale light spills across the sky, casting a soft orange glow.

My chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, the weight of my sudden exhaustion heavy.

“ No ,” I mutter in weak protest, as if saying it aloud might change something, might stop the inevitable.

The gate groans in response, its rusty hinges creaking as it slowly begins to swing open, the movement unsteady and reluctant.

The sound reverberates in the quietness of the dawn, and I wonder, for a fleeting moment, if it's the gate or my heart that’s trembling.

Invisible strings tug at me, guide my every step as I’m pulled through the entrance and down the winding path right back to the Black Manor.

I try to resist, Manu’s warning echoing in my mind, but my body betrays me.

I’m unable to break free from whatever spell I must be under, unable to regain control of myself, as though following someone else’s command.

My legs move sluggishly, stumbling over the uneven ground, each step a battle, yet I am helpless to stop.

“ Please ,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, my body swaying as I struggle to stay upright, dragging myself forward. “Let me go .”

It is then Cordelia appears at my side, her arms wrapping around one of mine as she holds me like a possession—like a doll—pulling me toward the manor.

Her touch feels like a golden chain, binding me to her will.

Instead of guiding me to the stairs to the front door, she veers off to a cellar I never noticed.

The doors are obscured by a thick blanket of damp leaves hiding the entrance from view.

She stops before the doors and brushes her thin, icy fingers through my hair as she rakes the dark brown strands from my face.

“I understand why he is taken with you,” she whispers, her voice like a gentle howl in the wind before she drags her finger along my cheek, connecting my freckles. “Such a beauty you are.” Her gaze then directs to the angled cellar doors.

They’re heavy and rusted, set into the ground like a hidden secret waiting to be discovered.

Made of weathered metal, their surfaces are slick with moisture, the edges frayed by years of exposure to the elements.

The hinges creak as they strain beneath the weight of time, and damp leaves cling to them.

Cordelia quickly lifts her hand and flicks her wrist. The cellar doors suddenly burst open, as though a gust of wind has come hurtling through.

The smell of dirt and mildew rushes up, filling the air with the musty scent of forgotten space, just a tinge of iron to it.

I peer down into the darkness from the steep, angled steps that descend into a suffocating void.

Cordelia drags me down the steps, and my body moves at her command.

My mind screams in protest, but no sound escapes my lips.

As the allure of her control wears off, my awareness of the pain in my body grows.

My feet are raw and bleeding, torn from the journey I’ve made—from my father’s home to the Black estate—and with each step I’m forced to take, another jolt of agony rips through me.

The coldness of the stone stairs sinks into my open wounds, and I can’t help but wince, the pain sharp and relentless.

She waves her hand once more, and flames ignite with a fierce crackle in the long-forgotten fireplace, quickly illuminating the dark cellar.

The fire quickly consumes the lingering cobwebs, the shrill screech of dying vermin piercing my ears as they burn, consumed by the blaze.

There’s a table and chairs set up, the glint of a broken mirror resting upon it.

That's when it hits me: I recognize the room.

It's the same one from my dream—my vision? It’s where Mr. Black sat at this table with Cordelia, and where, somehow, I had magically taken her place.

I could still feel his hand was tangled in my hair, the bite of the lime when the juice splashed into my mouth.

Just as I turn to face her, she pierces me just above the collarbone with a thin, jagged shard—a sharp piece of the ornate mirror.

I gasp at the new pain.

My hand immediately clamps onto my neck as I stumble back, the scarlet blood seeping from between my fingers and drenching my white nightgown. My lips part as the crimson liquid spills from my mouth, and the floor begins to sway beneath me.

Distant shouting echoes somewhere, but it’s drowned out by the roar of the fireplace, now burning into an inferno. The flames crackle and snap like fireworks, their heat reaching out, as if beckoning me toward its fiery embrace. A chill spreads through my fingertips as my body collapses.

Perhaps the fire will consume me too , I consider.

At least then, I wouldn’t feel any more pain.

A sharp pain grazes my neck, a piercing scream tears through the air, and a shadow looms over me just as everything plunges into blackness.