Chapter 17
Seventeen
Wynter
His words echo in my ears long after he leaves the dining room: “Today, you will begin to learn the rules of your new life. My rules.”
I stare at the untouched pastry on my plate, my stomach churning with a mixture of fear and a strange, rebellious nausea. He thinks he can break me. He thinks he can force me into submission. But I am not Evilin’s docile pet, a pretty bird in a gilded cage. I am Wynter Blanc. And I will not be his.
I push the plate away, the clatter of porcelain against wood sounding unnaturally loud in the silent room. My hands are clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I will not eat. I will not give him the satisfaction.
Minutes stretch into an eternity. I sit rigidly, listening, waiting. Every shadow seems to hold a threat, every creak of the old house a whisper of his return. The silence is oppressive, suffocating. It’s like waiting for the Huntsman to return, knowing there’s nowhere left to run.
Finally, the door opens. It’s Kaden. He stands there, his gaze sweeping over the table, lingering on my untouched plate. A muscle in his jaw twitches, but his expression remains unreadable.
“Are you finished?” he asks, his voice deceptively soft.
I meet his gaze, my chin lifted. “I’m not hungry.”
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his lips.
“As you wish, Snowflake.” He walks to the table, picks up my plate, and scrapes the untouched food into a waste bin.
The gesture is deliberate, a clear message: my defiance means nothing.
My hunger means nothing. Only his will matters.
He is the king, and I am merely a subject.
“Come,” he commands, his voice sharp now. “Your tour awaits.”
I follow him out of the dining room, my body stiff, my mind reeling.
He leads me through a labyrinth of hallways, each one more opulent than the last. Dark, polished wood, heavy tapestries, paintings that look ancient and priceless.
This isn’t just a house; it’s a fortress, a museum, a monument to his power.
It’s the castle of a dark king, hidden deep within the enchanted forest.
We pass through a massive, ornate door that leads into what appears to be a central command center.
Men, all dressed in dark, utilitarian clothing, look up from computer screens and maps as we enter.
They are a formidable sight: hardened, silent, their eyes sharp and assessing.
The air crackles with an unspoken tension, a sense of controlled power.
They are the Deadly Seven. His men. His army. Like the seven dwarfs, but twisted, not small, kind protectors, but formidable, loyal enforcers. They are his eyes and ears, his hands that reach out into the world.
As Kaden walks, their gazes follow him, a silent deference in their eyes. He is their king. And I am… his latest acquisition. The princess he has stolen from the clutches of the wicked queen.
He stops in the center of the room, and the men immediately return to their work, though I can feel their eyes on me, subtle and calculating.
“This is the heart of the compound,” Kaden explains, his voice a low rumble that carries effortlessly across the room. “From here, we oversee all operations. Security, logistics, communications. Nothing happens on this land without my knowledge.”
He gestures to a large, bearded man with a scar running down his cheek. “This is Alrik. My second in command. He runs the day-to-day operations.”
Alrik nods curtly, his eyes meeting mine for a fleeting moment. There’s no warmth there, only a cold, professional assessment. He knows who I am. He knows what I am. He is the Huntsman, perhaps, but one loyal to this king, not the queen.
Kaden continues, introducing me to other men, each one more intimidating than the last. Their names are harsh, their faces unyielding.
They are loyal to him, utterly and completely.
They would kill for him without a second thought.
And they would keep me here, locked away, without a moment’s hesitation.
The realization sinks in, cold and heavy. This isn’t just Kaden. This is an entire organization. A machine designed for control and power. And I am caught in its gears.
He leads me out of the command center and down another hallway, past a fully equipped gym, a shooting range, and what looks like a medical bay.
Every facility is state-of-the-art, designed for efficiency and self-sufficiency.
This compound is a world unto itself, impenetrable and self-sustaining. My new, dark fairytale kingdom.
Finally, we emerge into a large, glass-enclosed atrium filled with lush, tropical plants.
The sudden warmth and humidity are a stark contrast to the frigid Alaskan air outside and the cold, austere hallways we just traversed.
A waterfall cascades down a rock face, filling the air with the gentle sound of rushing water.
It’s beautiful, a hidden oasis in the heart of the frozen wilderness.
“This is the conservatory,” Kaden says, his voice softer here, almost reflective. “My mother designed it.”
My eyes widen. His mother? The thought of Kaden having a mother, a past, a life beyond the ruthless monster I know, is jarring. It humanizes him in a way that is both unsettling and strangely compelling.
He walks to a large, vibrant orchid, its petals a riot of color. He gently touches a leaf. “She loved beauty. She believed it could thrive even in the harshest environments.”
He turns to me, his gaze intense. “Just like you, Snowflake.” He reaches out, his fingers gently tracing the delicate curve of my jaw, then the line of my throat. His touch is light, almost feather-light, but it sends shivers down my spine.
“You, with your skin white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “The fairest of them all.”
My breath catches. The words, so familiar from the stories of my childhood, twist into something dark and possessive coming from him. He is not just seeing me; he is claiming me, fitting me into his own twisted narrative. He is the dark prince, and I am his captive princess.
“You will spend your days here,” he continues, gesturing around the conservatory. “The air is good for you. The light. You will have books, art supplies, anything you desire. But you will not leave this compound. Not without me.”
He walks toward me, stopping directly in front of me. He reaches out, his fingers gently tracing the line of my jaw. “You are safe here, Wynter. You are protected. But you are mine. And you will learn to accept it.”
His words are a velvet-covered iron fist. He is offering me comfort, luxury, safety. All in exchange for my freedom. All in exchange for my will.
I meet his gaze, my heart pounding. The conservatory, once a symbol of beauty, now feels like the most beautiful glass coffin I have ever seen. And I am trapped within its walls, a delicate flower in his private collection, waiting for a kiss that might be salvation, or might be my final undoing.