Page 3 of Wicked Prince of Shadows (Wicked Princes #2)

CHAPTER TWO

Iwoke with a lurch, still feeling as if I was falling as my fingers clenched into something soft.

My heart thundered in my chest, and cold dampened my gown.

Only the veils had been removed, and my feet were cold.

I swallowed hard, my throat still raw. Drawing in a ragged breath, I tried to orient myself.

I lay on a large bed in a dark but elegant bedroom.

The dark silk coverlet had been mussed as I startled away, but otherwise, it was made neatly with large pillows behind me.

With the lack of wrinkling on the other side, I knew no one had been with me.

The walls were dark-grey stone, the floor polished black boards with a grey fur rug on either side of the bed.

A tall wardrobe stood to my left, a small sitting area further back in a nook near a black-curtained window.

This place was unlike any I had seen. It was as if we had stepped into a shadow world where everything but the absence of color had been drained, leaving only stark contrasts in its wake.

Yet everything was finely made—ornate carved legs on the furniture, delicate patterns etched into the broad ceiling beams above, and sculpted silver candelabras that had not been lit.

An oil lamp sat on the table beside the bed, unlit.

Pale grey light seeped in from beneath the curtains and at the seam, weak and dull like the light just before a heavy storm in the morning. The tang in the air reminded me more of a mausoleum than a bedroom, the ashy taste clinging to my tongue.

This had to be the Hollow Kingdom. The world felt raw and sharp, the air unpleasant. My skin prickled. I had to get out of here and fast.

I slid off the bed, my bare feet sinking into the coarse fur rug.

More shivers shot up my spine though, the air unnaturally cold and seeping through my skin into my very bones.

The thin silk gown had been perfect for the pleasant heat and humidity of our early summer festival, but here…

here it was cold as a tomb. I wrapped my arms around myself, taking a few unsteady steps toward the window.

I shivered once more and pushed the curtains open to peer outside. My stomach sank.

Beyond the window lay a palace with rough grey walls and beyond that a twisted landscape of barren trees and jagged rocks, all cast in shades of grey and black.

The sky was the color of watery smeared ink and heavy with low-hanging clouds, the weak sun barely visible.

Most everything was grey or black or silver with the occasional spark of bright amber or dark crimson. The dreariness expanded.

Wait—

My fingers curled tight against my palms.

I leaned farther out over the railing as I recognized this place from the descriptions in tales and remembered what had happened. I was in the Witheringlands. The Hollow King had stolen me!

Of course he’d brought me through to this wretched place.

I had to find my way back. The portal might still be open. Maybe I could get back through.

I stumbled back from the window, my heart hammering. A foul taste filled my mouth, my throat tightening. I had to find a way out before he came for me. I was not going to be his bride.

Rushing to the door, I pressed my ear against it but heard nothing beyond. I tested the handle.

Locked, of course.

Fine.

All right.

I scanned the room for anything I could use as a weapon or tool.

Though there was a fireplace, no poker or fire tongs rested anywhere close. The chair legs were too sturdy even when I smacked one against the wall. The bed legs were solid blocks. I pushed and tugged, but none would move even a little. And there was nothing under the bed at all.

The washroom had square soap and a small brush and comb. Nothing sharp enough to stab. The desk drawers held charcoal and parchment. Not even a quill. I slammed the drawer shut.

Not even a hairpin.

Wonderful.

Just wonderful.

With my luck, the only way out was through the window. My insides tightened at the mere thought, but dying was worse than heights.

I tore down the curtains and stripped off the coverlet. Though the fabric twisted in my hands, I ripped the pieces into strips. Bits of dust flew in the air. Within minutes, I had a large pile. From there, I knotted the ends together. Breaths tight, I worked quickly, fingers trembling.

If there was one thing I was good at other than plant magic, it was knots, stitching, and weaving my own ropes and cords. That and figuring out solutions. Over, under, pull tight, test the hold. The makeshift rope grew firm and solid in my lap, swiftly growing in length.

Once it was long enough, I coiled the thick rope and knelt beside the bed.

The carved leg was thick and unyielding, perfect for anchoring.

I looped the rope around the base, securing it with a hitch I could release with a sharp pull when the time came.

It held fast, the fabric creaking under the strain but not loosening.

Good. Now I just needed my luck to hold a little longer.

I dashed to the window and looked outside. The wall dropped sheer toward a stone courtyard. Another wall rose beyond that, and from there the land opened up. Maybe a few hundred feet of coarse, uneven ground continued toward the chasm. My stomach twisted, and my head spun.

Oh, that was a long way down.

Maker, save me. I prayed I didn’t throw up on my way down. But dealing with heights was far better than marrying the Hollow King. My stomach flipflopped again as I thought about climbing out there.

It’ll be fine, I told myself. Just deep breaths and one step at a time.

I tested the rope with my weight. The knots held firm, and my pulse thundered. Gripping the first knot in both hands, I swung one leg over the sill. The cold bit at my skin, but the rope held strong in my grasp.

The stone scraped cold against my legs as I eased myself over the sill, rope biting into my palms and eyes sealing shut. I clenched my hands around the knots one by one, lowering myself slowly and praying no one noticed me.

Keep it slow and steady. Slow and steady!

The rope swayed with each movement, brushing against the rough stone, and the fabric strained. I swallowed hard, my breaths sharp and shallow. Already my heart was in my throat.

If I fell, it was a straight drop onto granite or marable. There wouldn’t be surviving or at least walking away without shattered bones. Black dots scattered across my vision as my mouth went dry as the silk I wore.

Inch by inch. That’s all.

I can do this.

It was just like climbing the garden wall.

Except my brain didn't believe me.

My breaths quickened as I slid farther down. The air reeked of ash and damp earth, heavy as a grave. I lowered myself again, gritting my teeth.

Don’t focus on the whole thing. Just take it one grip and one foot at a time.

Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes.

Just one grip and one foot at a time.

The wind tugged at me, and I slid farther down, my feet pressed against the wall and the knots.

“What’s that?” a sharp voice called out from below.

“That’s the princess!” another shouted up.

The cries rang out from below, guttural and raw.

My head jerked to the side, icy terror searing through my veins.

A pair of guards stood near the base of the palace wall, their grey skin catching what little light leaked from the clouded sky as a servant stood a few feet back.

Wings, ragged and smoky, unfurled behind them, flickering like ash carried on the wind.

Black stitches crawled across their faces as well as on their necks and their hands, pulling their skin into puckered seams.

Bleeding hemlock!

“Someone stop her, or we’re all going to die!”

What in all the nations was that supposed to mean? I dropped another foot and looked around the pale-grey land. A terrified squeak escaped my lips at the quickening. Maker, help me, I had to move faster, or they’d catch me.

The two guards sprang into the air as the clamoring intensified. They flew toward me.

"Princess! Stop!" one of the winged guards shouted, his voice carrying on the bitter wind. He and the other soared closer, their smoky wings catching on the wind and gaining height swiftly.

“Someone grab her!” another frightened voice called out. “She doesn’t have wings!”

I dropped lower, the wall opening into a window.

Instead of a reprieve, I found myself face to face with the Hollow King as if he had been waiting for me all along, arms folded over his broad chest, spiked crown on his head, dark brows knit together.

He stared at me with cold, burning eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I clung to the rope, staring at him. My mouth went dry, and my tongue thickened. The scent of cloves, myrrh, and cedar filled my lungs. “Um...my door was locked, so...I didn't want to bother anyone, and I thought I'd go for a walk.”

“Oh.” He canted his head. “Going for a walk, are we?”

I forced myself to nod. Terrified as I was, I wouldn’t let this wretched creature see me flinch. Steadying myself against the wall, I braced my feet on the stones. “Yes, well, I just wanted some fresh air and I also wanted to see your kingdom.”

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. “Is that so?” He stepped up and forward onto the window ledge, filling the empty space.

I shimmied the rope to the side as he turned to face me.

His squared shoulders and wings filled the entirety of the tall window space.

“Let me give you a proper tour then.” His cold hand clamped around my forearm.

He yanked me from the rope and held me out in front of him.

He tore the rest of the rope away and jerked it so that it fell into a long coiling pile far below.

"No!" I screamed as my feet left the wall and the rope slid from my hands, my body suddenly weightless. My fingers clawed for the wall. No, no, no, no!

With a dark smirk, he flung me upward.

My stomach lurched as I sailed through the air, arms flailing wildly and throat locking.

The palace wall rushed toward me. My arms and legs flailed as I fought to slow my descent.

The jagged crenels shot toward me like broken teeth, and a ragged scream finally tore from my throat, my borrowed dress billowing around me like broken wings.

An icy hand seized my shoulders and ripped me back up. “It is so much easier to see up here.” The Hollow King growled in my ear.

Another scream choked in my throat as we shot up higher in the air. The cold wind whipped my skirts and hair, stinging my cheeks.

Up, up, up we flew, facing away from the palace and toward the chasm. The entirety of the land spread out before us, large portions of it swathed in black fog or cut in pieces by the chasm.

My heartbeat was so wild I could feel it in every one of my extremities, but it was nothing compared to the helplessness and rage that curdled in me.

The weak sunlight poured out over the land, weak and watery and in a position that suggested it was late in the day. It didn’t even seem to fully reach the dark-barked forest to the right of the palace or the chasm between the heavy bank of fog.

“There’s nowhere for you to run, princess,” he snarled.

He adjusted his grip so that his one arm banded tighter around me as he pointed with the other hand, his dark claws gleaming.

“You see that point right there?” He indicated a dark pit on the other side of the chasm.

"Inside there is your precious portal that could whisk you home to the Waking Lands. Such a long and dangerous trip for one who can’t fly.

This land is harsh beyond anything you could imagine. You wouldn’t survive an hour.”

Though I hated him, I clung to him, my heart racing and my stomach souring.

This land looked nothing like anything I’d ever seen before or even imagined when I'd heard stories of it. It was as if it wasn’t even a full land at all but some wretched space wreathed in black mist that opened at intervals across barren land and sparse black forests.

The chasm curled in a crescent shape before the portal point with three large tablets on the palace side of the chasm.

“Where are you taking me?” I hated how my voice trembled. We were so high up. The very air swam. I could barely focus on anything except how high we were.

“I thought you wanted to see my kingdom,” he said darkly. “Or will you admit that you were lying and not going for a walk?”

Something about the way he said that made my stomach twist as if I’d been stabbed. I glared at him even as my fingers dug into the soft silk of his embroidered robe. “This isn’t walking.”

He smirked. “You’re right. If we’re going to go for a walk, we should be on the ground.” With that, he flung me up in the air and toward the wall. “Meet you there, darling.”

I shrieked as I tumbled through the air, my stomach dropping into nothingness. The stone walls rose, and I braced for the bone-breaking agony that was sure to come.