Chapter 7 #2
"That word is becoming tedious." He didn't move, but suddenly Thaine was in the doorway again, leaning against the frame with obvious interest. "Ah, perfect timing."
"You called, my lord?"
"Our guest is being shy. Perhaps you could assist—"
"I'll come." The words tasted bitter, but the thought of Thaine's hands on her again made her stomach twist. She approached the throne on unsteady legs. The mark pulsed with each step, warm and satisfied to be drawing closer to its maker.
"The wrist," Eliam commanded.
She extended her arm. He caught it, fingers circling just above the mark. His touch was cold enough to burn, and she bit back a gasp.
"Beautiful," he murmured, tracing one thorn with his thumb. "It's grown since I gave it to you. See how it winds? Seeking."
"Seeking what?"
"Complete ownership." His grip tightened. "It won't stop until every inch of you bears my claim. Some take years. Some take days. Depends on how much they fight."
She tried to pull back, but his hold was iron.
"Thaine," he said without looking away from her wrist. "What do you think? Should we expedite the process?"
"Could be entertaining," the huntsman drawled. "Though the natural spread is more... artistic. I find it far more entertaining watching them slowly realize they can't stop it."
“Mm. Perhaps." Eliam released her suddenly, and she stumbled back. "We'll see how well she adjusts. If she's very good, I might let the mark spread naturally. If not..."
He didn't finish, but the vines creeping across the floor made his meaning clear.
"Your rooms," he said, sounding bored now. "Thaine will show you. Try not to wander. The castle doesn't like strangers, and I'd hate for you to get lost. The between-spaces can be... unpleasant."
"My lord," Thaine said with mocking courtesy, gesturing for her to follow.
She gathered her ruined clothes, some stubborn part refusing to leave them, and moved toward the door.
"Leave those."
She froze at Eliam's command.
"They'll be burned," he continued. "Along with any foolish notions of escape they might represent."
"They're just clothes."
"Nothing is 'just' anything here." He was watching her again with that unsettling intensity. "Drop them."
She let the torn fabric fall, but her fingers caught on something tangled in the sleeve. It was a cheap bracelet of neon pony beads, pink and green and blue.
"That too," Eliam said.
Her hand stayed closed around the plastic beads. It wasn't worth anything. Wouldn't help her here. But it was the last piece of her life, of her family, of Allegra.
"Thaine."
The huntsman took a step towards her. Tears burned in the corners of her eyes but she opened her fingers, letting the bracelet fall with a soft clatter against the floor.
"Good girl," he murmured, and she hated how the praise made something in her chest flutter. "Sleep well, little thief. Tomorrow, you begin learning what it truly means to belong to the Forest King."
Then Thaine was leading her away, and she didn't look back. Couldn't. Because some treacherous part of her wanted to.
And that terrified her more than all his threats combined.
The corridors seemed to breathe around them.
Thaine led her through passages where stone walls gave way to living wood and back again—ancient oaks growing through marble floors, their roots and branches woven into the architecture itself.
Halls stretched longer than the castle's outer walls should contain, stairs of carved granite spiraled up but somehow led down.
Stone archways opened onto corridors where tree trunks served as pillars, their bark seamlessly merging with worked stone.
"Enjoying the new clothes?" Thaine asked without looking back. "His lordship has particular tastes."
She didn't answer. Couldn't really, not with the way her throat felt tight and raw from unshed tears.
"Ah, the silent treatment. How original." He paused at a branching corridor, head tilted as if listening. "This way. Unless you'd prefer the scenic route through the bone garden?"
"The what?"
"Ah, she speaks." His grin was sharp in the shifting shadows. "The bone garden. Where root systems feed on those who disappointed him. Beautiful in spring when the calcium-white flowers bloom."
Her stomach turned. "You're lying."
"Am I?" He started walking again. "You'll learn, little rabbit. Everything here feeds on something else. The only question is whether you're predator or prey."
They passed doorways that opened onto impossible scenes: a ballroom filled with dancing shadows, a study where books flew between shelves, a pool of water that reflected stars from an alien sky. Each glimpse made her head spin with the wrongness of it all.
"Here." Thaine stopped at a door that looked identical to the others. Woven branches and flowering vines. She was afraid to see what lay on the other side. What sort of strange room would she find herself subjected to? "Your cage, pretty bird."
"I'm not a bird."
"No? Then why did he clip your wings?" He pushed the door open with theatrical flourish. "Sleep tight. Don't try to leave. The halls get hungry after midnight."
She stepped inside and the door swung shut, leaving her in sudden silence.
To her relief, the room was beautiful. She hated that it was beautiful.
The walls curved, smooth bark and carved stone interrupted by windows that showed the night forest beyond.
A bed dominated one side of the large space, its massive frame was carved from dark wood and dressed in fabric that shifted between black and deep green.
Flowers bloomed along the headboard, their faces closed in sleep.
Everything else followed that same organic aesthetic. A vanity grown from the wall itself, its mirror made of still water somehow captured in a frame of twisting roots. A massive wardrobe of the same dark wood stood against one wall, its doors carved with intricate forest scenes.
Near the windows, two wingback chairs flanked a small table beside an ornate hearth where a fire already crackled. A writing desk occupied another corner, its surface smooth and waiting. Through an adjoining door, she glimpsed what must be a bathing room, steam already rising from within.
She moved to the window, hoping for a view that might orient her. But the forest beyond was endless, ancient trees stretching into darkness. No stars visible through the canopy. No moon. Just the faint phosphorescence that emanated from the vegetation itself.
The mark pulsed, and she pressed her hand against it through the dress. It was spreading again, she could feel new thorns prickling beneath the skin, working their way up her forearm. By morning, it might reach her elbow. By week's end…
She shuddered, turning from the window.
A tray sat on a small table by the bed. It held a small variety of food, or what passed for it here. Fruit that glowed faintly, bread that smelled of honey and earth, a pitcher of something that might have been water or might have been liquid starlight.
Her stomach was cramped with hunger, but she remembered stories. Rules. Don't eat fairy food or you'll never leave.
Already can't leave, she reminded herself. Already bound.
But some stubborn part refused to give in that easily. She ignored the food, moving instead to the bed. The covers pulled back at her approach, inviting. The pillows looked impossibly soft.
She sat on the edge, then immediately stood. It was too soft, too warm. It felt too much like surrender allowing herself to sink into its embrace.
"Can't sleep standing up," she muttered.
A knock at the door made her jump. It was soft, almost hesitant.
"What?" she called.
The door opened to reveal the bark-skinned woman from earlier. She carried an armful of additional clothing, eyes carefully downcast.
"Begging pardon," the woman said quietly. "His lordship wanted these brought. For tomorrow."
"I don't want them."
"Please." The woman's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "If I return with them, he'll think I failed. And failure here..." She trailed off, but her meaning was clear.
Briar took the clothes reluctantly. They were all variations on the same theme, dresses that would cling and flow, all in colors of night and forest. Nothing practical. Nothing that would help her run. She wasn’t surprised, disappointed perhaps but not surprised.
"What's your name?" she asked impulsively.
The woman's eyes widened. "We don't... that is, names have power here. Best not to share freely."
"Then what do I call you?"
"Nothing. I'm nobody. Just another root in his garden." She glanced nervously at the door. "I should go. But... a word of advice?"
Briar nodded.
"Eat something. Sleep in the bed. Use what's offered." The woman's voice was barely audible now. "The forest knows when you refuse its gifts. And it tells him everything."
Then she was gone, the door closing with finality.
Briar stared at the tray. At the bed. At the beautiful prison she'd traded her life for.
The mark pulsed, warm and satisfied.
She picked up what might have been an apple, if apples glowed from within and felt warm to the touch. It smelled sweet. Safe. Which probably meant it wasn't.
But the hunger was real, and the woman's warning echoed.
She bit into it.
Flavor exploded across her tongue. It wasn’t just sweet but complex in ways that didn’t make sense but felt right. She tasted summer afternoons and winter mornings and every season between. Juice ran down her chin, and she wiped it away with fingers that trembled.
Just food. Just fruit. Nothing changed.
Except the mark pulsed warmer, and the walls seemed to lean in slightly, and somewhere in the distance she could swear she heard Eliam laughing.
She finished the apple and tried the water.
It tasted of moonlight, or so her senses told her though such things were impossible.
Moonlight had no taste, no flavor, but yet, it lingered cool and sweet at the back of her throat.
The bread dissolved on her tongue, leaving behind the memory of grain fields she'd never seen.
Each bite bound her deeper. She knew it, could feel it, but what choice did she have?
When exhaustion finally drove her back to the bed, it accepted her weight with unnatural eagerness. The covers wrapped around her without her pulling them, soft and inescapable. The lights, their source unknown, dimmed, plunging the room into darkness.
She stared at the ceiling, where tiny lights moved in slow patterns.
"Allegra," she whispered. "I hope you're okay. I hope this was worth it."
The mark pulsed in response. And somewhere else, she felt that strange warmth in her chest flutter. Just once. An answer to a question she hadn't asked.