After a while, the slits in the wall stop, bathing the stairs in pitch darkness. I take two more steps, unable to see anything at all anymore. Just when I’m about to give up and turn back, an orange glow flickers from the depths, barely noticeable, but it’s there.
I glance back up the stairs. I have already come this far. I might as well see what is at the bottom.
It’s not a doorway but a narrow passage about seven feet deep. A torch, lit on the wall, flickers on the other side. I turn sideways and squeeze through. It’s tight. Not many could fit in such a small place.
I inch to the end, stopping before I leave the shadows, and listen. Time ticks by, but there’s no sign of anyone or anything else.
Then I hear it—the soft sound of chains moving and a quiet, pitiful moan. I wait for guards to make their rounds, but the area remains empty and quiet.
Slowly, I lean my head out and look from side to side. There’s not much there. A door, thick and heavy, is reinforced with two polished metal bands across the width. On the other side are three cells with identical doors. Each is made of dry, splintered wood with a small barred window near the top. The pristine locks and hinges glint. They are about the only thing in this dank place that isn’t covered in dirt or grime.
I wriggle out of the tight space. Once in the dungeon, I press my back to the wall, keeping to the shadows as I make my way farther inside.
Chains shift, rattling again. Then a moan, so familiar my blood freezes in my veins, rises from the near silence. I retreat a step. My foot hits a pebble sending it skittering across the floor.
“Is… someone there?” a dry, cracked voice asks.
I move closer as quietly as I can and press my palms on the warped, splintering wood.
“Hello?” I whisper against the door. I strain to listen. When there’s no answer, I ask, “Is someone in there?”
I push up on my toes and peek through the small window. The air shifts around me.
“A visitor? After all this time?” the voice rasps, so dry and papery that I can’t tell if they are young or old.
At first, all I see is the inky dark then the slightest movement. I struggle to make out the shape of the chains, the person, the room.
Demons and saints… Who could be so dangerous that they are shoved in a hidden dungeon below a castle belonging to the most powerful being in the world… and why?
The dark figure shifts. Pale light flickers within their eyes. —red eyes.
Fuck.
“Clara,” they whisper my name.
I stumble back, covering my mouth to hold in the scream that works its way up my throat. My heel catches on the uneven stone floor, and I land hard on my ass.
Otherworld take me… I stumbled into a demon’s prison cell.
The demon slams against the door. A dark tendril stretches out, curling against my cheek, smoky soft and icy cold, sending a weird burst of their power zinging through my body. I scramble backward, unable to look away as the demon slams against the wood again and again. The door rattles, creating thick clouds of dust.
Turning, I push up off the floor and run to the crevice, squeezing myself through the tight space. I claw at the stone, struggling to move faster. My breathing becomes shallow. I can’t get enough air. Panic surges up, making me light-headed.
Then I burst through to the dark stairwell, panting and gasping as I rest my hands on my knees.
Voices shout on the other side where I was moments ago, their figures blotting out the light of the torch as they pass.
As soon as I can breathe again, I race up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time until I reach the top.
I grope the wall for a way to open the door again. After what feels like several minutes of searching, my finger finally snags on a depression in the stone wall. I press down. After several seconds, the door slides open, and I hurry through. The scrape of stone sounds loud in my ears as it closes.
I race back to the room and stand with my back against the door until my breathing returns to normal, and my heartbeat slows. I wait and wait for the demon to break through the cell and make their way up here.
But they never do.
After my initial fear has faded, I strip down and pull one of Alaric’s shirts from a drawer and slip it over my head, needing the comfort of his scent. Then I crawl into bed.
Now that I am calm again, rational thought returns. Of course, the demon wouldn’t break out to chase me. It’s silly to think they would sit in the dark underground, allowing themselves to be imprisoned until they found a human stupid enough to venture into the forgotten depths of the castle.
I lie on my side and stare out the window as the sky gradually lightens. Eventually, my eyelids grow heavy. The pull of sleep tugs on me, and I fall into unconsciousness.
Chapter Six
Clara
Cool fingers brush against my face, the soft touch calling me from the recesses of sleep. It takes effort, but eventually, I manage to open my eyes, blinking groggily up at Alaric. He takes my hand and holds it between both of his.
My head swims, and a quiet ache pulses in time with my heartbeat, like I’ve been asleep for too long. The dark edges of a dream linger in my mind, but the details are hazy. I don’t remember any of it, but I know it felt real.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asks.
My muscles resist movement, but I force them to obey, managing to sit up.
“I’m fine,” I say with a weak smile.
“You’ve been asleep all day. You should get some food in you,” he says, rising from the edge of the bed. “We have a long night ahead of us.”
With those words, I’m wide awake. This is it.
I throw the blankets off and stand, swaying slightly. Alaric grips my upper arms and steadies me. The back of my legs press against the mattress, my front pressed against him. My nerves chill the blood in my veins.
“Already?” This is the moment we have to pretend perfectly. There will be no room to allow even the tiniest bit of doubt in anyone’s mind. They must believe that I am fully his.
He nods.
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Alaric hooks a knuckle under my chin and lifts my head. “You will do fine. You are stronger than they know.”
My brows pinch together.
“Let them underestimate you,” he says, his voice thick.
“And let them live to regret it,” I finish. It’s clear by my tone that I don’t believe it.
The ghost of a smile touches his lips, then he places a quick kiss on my mouth before releasing me. He turns and strides to the door.
I’m not sure if he’d meant to kiss me or if it was a reflex.
Alaric’s hand hovers over the doorknob as he looks back. “I won’t be able to see you until the masquerade tonight.”
I say nothing because what can I say to that in this situation?
“Someone will be by later to help you get ready.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me alone. Again.
This visit isn’t exactly how I imagined it would be. I thought we’d be with each other until we grew sick of it, but the truth is I’ve hardly seen him in the short time we’ve been here.
“No.” I back away from the woman advancing on me. “I can do my own hair.”