2. Chapter 2
two
D ays have passed, and the heavy weight of self pity drags at my every step as I cloak myself, slipping through the streets like a shadow. The wind bites at my skin, but it’s not the cold that makes me shiver. I keep my hood pulled low, my eyes downcast, never lingering too long on anyone's gaze. The fear of recognition, of someone noticing and running back to Henry, sends a tremor through me. I trust no one, for I have no one. My world is a prison, and even the smallest misstep could mean another round of his fury.
The tattered remains of the book are bundled close to my chest beneath my cloak, as though hiding them can protect them from the shame that gnaws at me. I know Alaric will be disappointed, though not with me; but the guilt is a gnawing beast inside me. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t risk so much for scraps of paper. I tell myself this over and over, but the need to fix it, to apologize, keeps pulling me toward the bookshop.
When I turn the final corner and see the small, familiar shop, my heart sinks. The closed sign hangs in the window, stark and final. Alaric is never closed. A terrible thought flashes through my mind; did Henry do something? I press my face up against the glass, peering into the dim interior. A figure moves inside, sweeping slowly, and my heart stutters in relief.
I knock softly. He jumps at the sound, startled, and limps to the door. “I’m sorry, I’m closed,” his voice comes through the wood, tight with caution.
“Alaric, it’s me,” I whisper, my breath fogging the glass.
He hesitates, and for a moment, I fear he won’t let me in. Then he sighs, “Oh dear, you shouldn’t be here.”
“Please,” I beg, desperation in my voice. “I’ll only be a moment.”
The door creaks open, and I step inside quickly. As the light from the window catches his face, I see it—the bruise darkening his frail cheek. My heart clenches painfully, and without thinking, my fingers reach out to gently caress the purple bloom. “Oh, Alaric… this is my fault. I am so sorry.”
He shakes his head softly, offering me a weary smile. He takes my hand and presses a gentle, fatherly kiss to it. “Nonsense, my dear. I’ve had worse in my day.”
My chest tightens with guilt as I slowly unwrap the bundle of scraps, the torn and crumpled pages spilling onto his counter. “The book… I—” My voice cracks. “I hoped you could fix it. I’m so sorry.”
Alaric looks at the remnants, his expression pained. He says nothing for a moment, only offering me a sad smile. “It’s fine, my dear,” he says softly, though his voice falters. His gaze lands on my swollen lip, still healing from Henry’s strike. His brows draw together in concern. “Oh, dear. What has he done this time? Why do you stay?”
I swallow hard, forcing myself to hold back the well of emotion rising in me. “What choice do I have?” My voice is barely a whisper. “Who would I report him to? He is the law here, Alaric. You know as well as I do that nothing will be done. A woman is her husband’s property, and no man shall tell him what to do with his property. If I speak up, it will only bring more of his wrath on me.”
Alaric’s eyes are heavy with sadness as he listens, his lips pressed into a tight line. “That may be the way of this place, Brielle, but you deserve so much more than this. You’re not some object for him to control, no matter what the law says.”
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “Deserve? What does it matter what I deserve if there’s no escape? Henry owns me, and he’ll make sure I never forget that.”
Silence falls between us, thick and suffocating. I look down at the scattered pages, wishing desperately that I could disappear into the words like I used to, but even that small comfort has been stripped from me. Alaric’s eyes soften as he stares at the scattered remains of the book, then back at me, his voice heavy with sadness. “The world is unfair,” he murmurs, his tone raw with emotion. “When men choose to hurt the ones that love them... I will never understand that. My sweet Marie... I could never lay a hand on her unless it was to show her my love.”
His words feel like a balm and a knife all at once—gentle, but cutting deep into the wound that Henry leaves festering in me. My throat tightens as Alaric takes my hand, squeezing it gently. “Brielle, promise me you will be careful. I hate to see you like this. You may think you don’t deserve more, but you do, my sweet child. You do.”
I look at him, my heart twisting painfully. “Even if I could escape, run away and start somewhere new… he’d find me, Alaric.” My voice wavers, the fear catching in my throat. “Or worse, I’d starve to death. My survival depends on this man; this monster. I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to live on my own. I have no money, no family. He made sure of that.”
Alaric’s face softens further, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He just nods, unable to argue against the cruel reality I’m trapped in. There’s nothing left to say.
Suddenly, a commotion erupts outside—shouts and the shuffle of feet, voices rising in panic. My heart leaps into my throat, and I freeze, panic seizing me. Alaric’s eyes widen, and without a word, he grabs my arm gently and pulls me toward the back of the shop.
“Quickly, through the back door,” he urges, his voice low and urgent.
I follow him, my body trembling as fear coils tight inside my chest. At the back entrance, he pauses, glancing out to the alley, and I peek past him, my heart hammering wildly. A crowd has gathered in the street, and from the murmurs, I hear something that scares me to my core.
“The guards… they’re everywhere,” I whisper, ducking behind the cloak, my hood pulled tighter around my face.
“Stay hidden,” Alaric mutters. “It’s the safest way.”
The crowd’s whispers grow louder, more frantic, and I catch snippets of their conversation as I press myself into the shadows. “A troll... it’s a troll coming to the wall.”
“What does it want?” someone asks nearby, their voice quivering.
“The Maze King… he seeks an audience with the king. A peace treaty.”
The words hang in the air, strange and heavy. A troll? A treaty? My heart pounds as I slowly edge my way through the crowd, trying to make myself as invisible as possible. The guards’ eyes scan the crowd, but none fall on me.
The whispers swirl around me as I slip away into the maze of bodies, cloaked and concealed. Behind me, Alaric’s parting words echo in my mind.
The world is an unfair and scary place.
Back home, my mind is lost in the thoughts of trolls and this mysterious Maze King. My head was filled with the stories I’d heard, the ones you’re not supposed to think about too long, or they’ll take root in your nightmares. The Maze King. God, even saying the name felt like an invitation for something dark to come creeping through the cracks.
The tales were always the same—a ruler who wasn’t just a man but something far worse. Something twisted, with those black, soulless eyes that seemed to see through you. They said he had skin pale as death, hair as dark as the ravens that followed him everywhere. And those creatures… the ones they called his army. Crowheads. Huge, hulking things, all feather and malice, with faces like birds of prey. I could see them in my mind; their bodies clad in tarnished armor, bones decorating their chests like trophies from all the lives they’d taken. I’d always wondered if those stories were meant to scare kids, but now… now, I wasn’t so sure.
The Maze King didn’t feel like a story anymore. When I hear him coming to the door. Henry walks in, and I immediately feel the tension crawl into my bones. He looks… different. Worried, maybe, but not angry. Yet, my body remains on alert, every muscle taut, waiting. I wish—God, how I wish—I could go to him, ask if he’s alright, maybe even touch him like a real wife might. But I don’t. I know better than that. That’s not my role. I’m just supposed to sit here, pretend like the world outside these walls doesn’t even exist.
He sits at the table without a word, his usual ritual. I plate his food, moving quietly, as if the sound of my own footsteps might set something off. Sitting across from him, I keep my eyes on the table, stealing glances at him as he eats. There’s no conversation, not even the false pleasantries people share after a long day.
I want to ask him about the troll, the Maze King, everything I overheard while I was out. But I can’t. I’m not supposed to know. It’s not my place to know.
When he finishes, he leans back, staring at me for a long moment. I brace myself, waiting for whatever comes next.
"I’m attending a meeting with the Maze King tomorrow," he says, casually, like it’s nothing. "He’s requested an audience with the king. Wants a peace treaty."
My heart races, but I keep my face blank, eyes wide with feigned surprise. "The Maze King?" I repeat softly. "Will you… be in danger?"
He smirks, leaning forward slightly. "Every day I step outside this house, I’m in danger," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. "But I do it for you, Brielle. For us. For honor."
His eyes bore into mine, waiting for my gratitude. My lips part, and I offer the only words that will keep me safe. "Thank you," I whisper, even though the words taste bitter.
He nods, satisfied, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes. "It’s just a formality anyway. The king’s not even attending. We’ll go in pretending to be his escort, and once we’ve got the Maze King where we want him… well, we’ll attack."
My stomach churns. "But… what about the peace treaty?" I ask, my voice trembling. "If he wants peace, isn’t that… good?"
He laughs, loud and cruel, shaking his head. "Oh, Brielle, you really don’t get it, do you?" His tone is thick with mockery, like he’s talking to a child. "There’s no peace with monsters. They don’t change. They don’t deserve peace. They deserve to be slaughtered, and that’s exactly what we’ll do."
"But I thought—" I start, but he cuts me off, his voice darkening.
"That’s exactly why you’re here, Brielle," he says, his eyes narrowing. "That’s why I keep you inside, protected. You have no idea what it’s like out there. The things I see… the monsters trying to breach our walls… They’d tear you apart. You think that little mark on your lip is bad?" His hand gestures to my mouth, and I resist the urge to flinch. "That’s nothing. They’d rip you limb from limb, and you wouldn’t stand a chance."
He leans back in his chair, watching me, as if daring me to argue. But I don’t. My hands clench under the table, nails digging into my palms as I force myself to nod. I can feel his words winding tighter around me, each one a reminder of how much he wants me to believe I need him. That without him, I’d be nothing.
"You see?" he says softly, almost kindly now. "That’s why you need me, Brielle. I keep you safe. I protect you from the things you could never handle on your own."
The silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating, as I wrestle with the conflicting feelings swirling inside me. His words, meant to reassure, only bind me tighter in my fear. I try to picture a world outside these walls, one where I could breathe without the weight of his gaze, but all I can see are shadows and monsters lurking, ready to rip me apart.
"I just want you to be safe," he says, his tone softening, but it doesn't reach his eyes. There's always something cold lurking beneath the surface, a predatory glint that reminds me of the man I married. "You understand that, don’t you?"
"Yes," I reply, the words slipping out like a whispered prayer. It’s what he wants to hear, what I’ve been conditioned to say. "I understand."
He stands, brushing crumbs from his uniform, and I can’t help but watch him as he gathers himself. The weight of his presence feels oppressive, and I want to shrink away, disappear into the shadows of our home. Instead, I remain seated, a puppet dancing to the strings he pulls.
As he leaves, I sit there for a long time, staring at the remnants of his meal, my heart thumping in my chest. Henry mumbled something about a long day and made his way to the bedroom without another glance in my direction. I lingered, pretending to finish cleaning the kitchen, but my mind was elsewhere, drifting like the quiet outside. Once he was gone, I found myself drawn to the window again, staring out into the night as if it held answers I didn’t even know I was searching for.
The sky had darkened completely, a faint mist curling along the cobbled streets. The moon hung low, casting a silvery glow over everything, and for a moment, it all seemed... peaceful. Too peaceful for the turmoil that churned inside me. I rested my forehead against the cool glass, my thoughts a jumbled mess of the Maze King, Henry’s cruel condescension, and the nagging sense of unease that had crept up on me earlier.
Suddenly, something caught my eye—a flicker of movement. A crow, black as ink, landed on the ledge just beyond the window. My breath hitched as the bird turned its head slowly, fixing me with an eerie, unblinking stare. Its dark, beady eyes bored into me, as if it saw straight through the glass and deep into my soul.
I knew it was ridiculous, but I swore the crow was watching me—watching me in a way that felt too intentional, too knowing. My body went still, my thoughts slowing to a crawl as something unfamiliar settled over me. A fog seemed to creep into my mind, a strange, soft voice whispering just at the edge of my consciousness. I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was soothing, a lullaby of sorts.
For the first time in what felt like years, I wasn’t consumed by fear or anxiety. I wasn’t worried about Henry or the walls closing in around me. I felt calm—at peace, even. The tension in my muscles loosened, and I longed for that feeling to last, for the moment to stretch on forever.
But just as quickly as the sensation came, it vanished. The crow fluttered its wings, breaking our strange connection, and flew off into the night. I blinked, as if waking from a dream, just as Henry’s voice called out from the bedroom.
"Brielle! Come here!" His voice was impatient, and the peace that had settled over me moments before shattered. I walk into the room, my heart sinking at the familiar sight. Henry is already naked, standing by the bed,his gaze heavy with expectation. He doesn’t have to say a word; I know exactly what he wants.
Without hesitation, I sink to my knees, the cold floor pressing into my skin as I kneel before him. My body moves on autopilot, each step in this ritual ingrained in me. His eyes gleam with satisfaction as I drop down, and his voice, low and dripping with condescension, washes over me.
"That's it. My beautiful Brielle. The most beautiful woman in all the land," he purrs, leaning forward to grab a fistful of my hair. He jerks my head back, forcing me to look up at him. "They still sing songs about you, do you know that?"
I don’t respond, my lips pressed tightly together as he pulls harder on my hair, wrenching a small gasp from me. He smirks at the sound, his voice turning colder, more possessive.
"I am your protector. You are mine, you belong to me. Now show me how much you appreciate my protection."
With trembling hands, I take his cock in my hand, its sweaty surface glistening under the dim light. The sour tang hits my nose even before I bring it to my lips, and a wave of nausea rolls through me. He didn’t bother to clean up, of course. Why would he?
I part my lips and take the hard flesh into my mouth, the taste sharp and unpleasant, making me want to gag. My throat constricts, but I force myself to suck it down as deeply as I can, the feeling of it filling my mouth making my stomach churn. My body screams for this to end, for the humiliation to stop, but I know better. I know what happens if I resist.
Henry moans above me, his hand still tangled in my hair. "That’s it. Look at me," he demands, his eyes locking with mine. His voice lowers to a possessive growl, thick with satisfaction. "You are mine. My little caged bird."
The words hit me like a punch, but I keep my gaze on him, the sour taste of his cock flooding my mouth as I continue to obey. He yanks himself from my lips with a loud, wet pop, then, without warning, slaps me hard across the face. The sting radiates through my cheek, not as brutal as last time, but enough to send a shockwave of pain through me. My head spins, my body tensing from the hit, but I bite down on the inside of my cheek, forcing back the sobs that threaten to rise.
His hand reaches down and pinches my nipple through the cloth of my dress, hard. The pain sears through me, and a cry escapes my throat before I can stop it.
"Yes," Henry murmurs, his voice dripping with cruel pleasure. "Sing for me, little bird. Sing."
Tears blur my vision, streaming down my face as I bite down hard on my lip, trying to quiet my cries. My whole body trembles, the humiliation washing over me like a tidal wave. He watches me with dark satisfaction, reveling in my pain. This is what he wants. My tears, my submission.
"There we go," he whispers, a smile curling on his lips. "That’s what I want to see. I want to see you cry."
His hips jerk forward, pushing his cock back deeper into my mouth. My body shudders as he thrusts, his breathing growing heavier, his legs beginning to shake. I close my eyes, praying for it to be over, for the torment to end. He lets out a groan as his body tenses, and then he finishes, filling my mouth with the bitter taste of his release. The taste is vile, making my stomach twist with revulsion, but I swallow it down, tears still streaming down my cheeks.
Henry pulls his spent cock from my mouth, his breathing uneven as he looks down at me with thinly veiled disgust. He doesn’t bother to offer me a word of comfort or affection.
"Clean yourself up," he snaps, his voice sharp, "and come to bed." I’m relieved it’s over quickly—thankfully, it usually is. I clean myself up in silence, wiping the remnants of the sour taste from my lips, trying not to let the disgust cling to my skin. My body feels heavy, worn from the ritual, but I push it aside as I crawl into bed beside Henry. He’s already turned away, his back to me, as if I’m nothing more than a shadow he’s long since grown used to.
I lie there, staring at the ceiling, my mind drifting far from this room, far from this house. The Maze King fills my thoughts again, his name echoing like a whispered secret, a mystery I can’t help but be drawn to. What kind of man seeks peace in a world so brutal? What kind of king desires something beyond conquest? The questions swirl in my mind, unanswered but somehow comforting. There’s something about him; something that makes me wonder, something that stirs hope where there shouldn’t be any. The same song begins to hum softly in my head, like a lullaby, wrapping around me as sleep begins to pull me under. So many nights I’ve fallen to sleep to these words. The words are gentle, melodic, soothing the jagged edges of my day.
"I will save you, my sweet, don’t cry anymore. I am coming for you, through darkness and war.Rest now, my darling, the night is our friend,I’ll take you away, where the pain will end."
The melody lingers, soft and comforting, as my eyelids grow heavier, the exhaustion of the day finally taking over. But just as my eyes begin to close, I see it, the crow, perched on the windowsill of my bedroom, its black eyes staring right at me, almost like it’s watching, waiting.
The song hums on, and with one final, weary breath, I surrender to sleep, the crow’s gaze following me into my dreams.