Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
HANNAH
The darkness feels oppressive. Colder than the upper levels somehow, even without those icy drafts.
Maybe it’s my fear of what I’ll discover here. Or maybe everything else is finally catching up with me. My feet feel increasingly heavy with each descending step.
So many floors above. How many levels does this place burrow into the earth?
Dear God, why did the builders dig so deep? What did they need to hide down here?
I’m trembling now, the fire consuming my makeshift torch, flames licking dangerously close to the fur protecting my hand.
I’ll have to discard it soon.
How much further down does this go?
It’s eerily quiet. No screams echoing from below.
I wish I could pretend I’d never heard those sounds. Never seen the blood staining his chest.
But as the fire fully engulfs my wooden torch, I finally see the bottom level.
I don’t slow my pace. Now that I’m here, there’s no retreating. Even though I could turn around right now.
Throw the damn stick away and get back upstairs where it’s safe.
I ignore my survival instincts.
But that persistent voice in my head continues. Why do you need to know anyway? He’s gone. You could flee toward that distant light right now!
I grit my teeth. I don’t have sufficient stamina to make that journey yet. I need information first.
Finally, I reach the bottom—a cramped square landing barely large enough for the stairwell to terminate.
The accumulated grime on the floor immediately coats my bare feet in filth.
But that’s not what captures my attention.
No, it’s the massive iron door secured by three heavy crossbars that draws my focus, along with the grimy, blood-stained bullwhip coiled on a hook beside it.
My heart skips as I freeze in place.
At least until the flames finally leap to the protective hide and dance even higher. I yelp and fling the burning torch toward the corner of the landing.
For a moment, I’m terrified the dirt will extinguish it.
But enough wood remains to sustain the flame. The fire has singed the exterior of the fur, burning with an acrid, nauseating smell.
Well, here we are.
Am I actually going to investigate what’s behind this door or not?
I examine the three heavy iron bars that serve as the only barriers. Each has a crude handle extending outward.
Might as well attempt it. I’ve come this far.
I position both hands on the long handle protruding from the first crossbar and push with everything I have.
The track isn’t rusted, but it certainly isn’t maintained either. And it’s impossibly heavy.
Initially, it doesn’t budge at all.
Did he install this? Can only someone with his supernatural strength operate it?
Sweat beads on my forehead. I’m so much smaller in comparison. Even with my restored body and renewed muscle tone, I’m nothing compared to his raw power.
Still, I strain with all my might, even bracing a foot against the opposite wall for leverage.
Nothing.
I’m about to surrender.
There’s actually relief in my chest that I won’t be able to solve this mystery after all... when suddenly the damn bar shifts and begins sliding along what feels like an ancient groove.
Dammit.
I plant my other foot against the wall and grunt as I continue pushing.
The bar travels completely free, clearing the door mechanism.
I’m soaked in sweat now, and two bars remain.
I drop back to the floor once it’s clear, noting how my improvised torch flickers as it burns lower.
Time is running short if I want to see this through.
It’s probably that urgency rather than sound judgment that has me grabbing the second crossbar and repeating the process.
The entire time, I’m praying this one will jam and prevent me from opening this door.
But this one moves much more easily. I only need one foot braced for leverage.
The third moves easier still.
Perspiration stings my eyes by the time all barriers are removed.
All that remains is opening the door and confronting whatever lies beyond.
What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time, Hannah?
I wipe my forehead impatiently.
In for a penny, in for a pound? I need to know if there are other former consorts imprisoned down here. I need to discover if this is my eventual fate.
I.
Need.
The truth.
So I grasp the door’s handle.
And pull.
The hinges protest with a metallic shriek that echoes through the stairwell like a banshee’s wail. For a heart-stopping moment, I’m certain the sound will carry throughout the entire castle, alerting him to my presence here.
But the door swings open.
And what I see beyond makes my blood turn to ice.
Oh God. Oh no. This is so much worse than I imagined.
The smell hits me first—a nauseating mixture of unwashed bodies, blood, and something else I can’t identify but instinctively know I don’t want to.
My torch’s dying light reveals enough to make me stagger backward.
This isn’t a storage room or wine cellar.
This is exactly what I feared it would be.
A dungeon. A real, functioning dungeon.
And I’m not alone down here.
Something moves in the shadows beyond, and a low, pained sound emerges from the darkness—not quite human, not quite animal.
My torch gutters lower, the light fading just when I need it most.
But I’ve seen enough to know that whatever’s happening here, whatever he’s been doing when he reappears with blood on his hands...
It’s not something any reasonable person would call civilized.
The question now is whether I’m brave enough to step inside and face the full truth.
Or smart enough to run while I still can.