Chapter 1 #3
“And what would you have me do? Negotiate for this bride?” Magnus’s laugh is like stones grinding together.
“What would you offer me for her, pretty prince? Gold? Riches? Land?” His free hand moves to my face, thick fingers tracing my jaw with deliberate cruelty. “I prefer more… interesting rewards.”
The bear shifts his stance, boots scraping against the stone as he adjusts his grip on the massive sword. “Let her choose,” he growls, his accent thick.
“Allow a female to choose?” Magnus releases me to reach for the blade at his hip. The movement is casual, almost lazy, but there’s nothing easy about the way his fingers curl around the hilt. “The only choice that is to be made is that won through strength.”
“Please,” the well-dressed noble begins, taking a step forward, his dagger catching the dim light. “We can resolve this without—”
Magnus moves like lightning. The sword clears its sheath in a whisper of steel, and before I can blink, the prince’s head is spinning through the air.
It hits the ground with a wet thud, rolls once, and comes to rest facing us.
The expression of diplomatic reason is still frozen on his face, his last words dying unspoken as his body crumples.
My stomach twists violently. The taste of bile scorches my throat, but I choke it back. Showing weakness now would be the same as signing my own death warrant.
“Still want to negotiate?” Magnus’s voice drips with satisfaction as crimson spreads across the fine silk robes, staining the fabric a darker shade of red.
The remaining warrior’s answer is a roar that shakes dust from the wall beside me. He charges forward, massive blade sweeping up in an arc meant to cleave Magnus in two.
There is no diplomacy here. No rules. No safety.
Magnus shoves me aside.
The force of it knocks the breath from my lungs, and I hit the ground hard, watching in horror as the men fight. I scramble backward, hands slipping on the cold stone as the clash of steel on steel rings through the corridor like a death knell.
Their blades sing against each other with a violence that makes me flinch.
Magnus’s laughter echoes off the stones as he presses his advantage, driving the northerner back step by step. “Come then! Show me what passes for strength in your fucking wasteland, son of the north!”
This isn’t some battlefield duel, bound by honor or rules. This is slaughter, unrestrained and merciless.
Breathe. Think. Survive.
Shadows move at the edges of my vision—other hunters, other predators.
The fight is drawing them in like blood in the water, and I know—I know—that no matter who wins, I am not walking out of this unscathed.
I can’t afford to panic. I can’t afford to break.
I force my mind to sharpen, to focus. I will not be easy prey.
I don’t wait to see more, forcing myself to turn away, to run. Behind me, I hear the northerner cry out in pain, followed by Magnus’s roar of triumph. I don’t pause to look, my sandals slapping loudly on the cold stone.
“Run, little bride,” Magnus’s call chases me through the darkness. “I’ll enjoy the hunt!”
The corridors twist endlessly, each turn seemingly the same as the last. I run until my lungs burn, until the thin leather of my sandals wears thin, and my feet go numb from the cold stone and torn skin.
A strange phosphorescent moss grows in patches along the walls, casting enough light to keep me from running headlong into dead ends, but doing little to help me choose a path.
Right turn. Left. Another right. Or have I taken this path before? The walls seem to shift, making it impossible to be sure of anything except the need to keep moving.
A single drop of water hits my shoulder, cold enough to make me gasp. Another follows, then another, until rain pours down from the heavens. The flagstones grow treacherous, slick with water. Twice, I nearly fall, catching myself against the rough walls.
Lightning cracks overhead, briefly illuminating the maze in stark relief. In that flash, I glimpse openings in the walls I hadn’t noticed before. Caves or alcoves, potential hiding places. But which would be sanctuary and which would become a trap?
I stop, gasping for breath as I consider my options.
I’ve always been taught to face crisis with calm and control.
To grace every room with a polite smile, to keep my posture perfect and my voice soft.
I was taught to sew intricate patterns onto fragile fabric, to bow at the precise angle that communicated respect without subservience, to say enough to be charming but never so much as to seem brash.
Every moment of my childhood had been curated for obedience, for deference.
My father’s measured voice echoes in my head, “A good girl knows her place. A good girl endures silently.” I clench my fists, the rain dripping down my face like icy pinpricks. How can a “good girl” survive this?
The maze feels alive around me, pressing in with its jagged edges and oppressive silence between cracks of thunder. All those years of folding myself into the mold of perfection—what good are those lessons in this game of hunters and prey?
A scream builds in my chest, a thick, clawing, heaving thing made up of fury and fear.
I swallow it down, just as I was taught, locking it behind my ribs where the ache threatens to consume me.
I’ve always been told that silence is strength, that restraint is power.
But here, with the storm crashing above and danger lurking in the shadows, my silence feels like a shackle tightening around my throat.
I grit my teeth and force myself forward, my bare feet slipping on the rain-slick stone.
The cold bites into my skin, but I barely notice.
My mind is focused on survival, a desperate pulse thrumming beneath my calm facade.
I hear something—a scrape, a whisper of movement—and freeze.
The air seems to thicken, my breath catching as my senses stretch outward, searching for the source of the sound.
Before I can take another step, a shadow shifts, and my heart seizes.
Magnus’s voice echoes through the corridors again, closer than I expect. “Come out, come out, little bride!”
The sound of steel meeting steel follows his words, sharp and jarring against the steady hum of rain.
I flinch, my instincts screaming at me to run, but my legs feel frozen, rooted to the damp ground. I strain to hear more, my breath hitching, but all I catch is the faint echo of a scream—a sound so raw and fleeting it seems to evaporate before it fully reaches me.
Another hunter has paid the price for crossing the monster’s path.
The silence that follows is suffocating. The tension presses down on me like a heavy hand, and for the first time, I question if this is fear or something darker, something primal.
Death.
Footsteps, slow and deliberate, break the stillness. They echo through the Labyrinth, impossible to pinpoint, sending a cold shiver skittering down my spine. The sound snaps me out of my freeze.
I stumble, falling into an ivy-covered wall. With a small squeak, I fall not into stone, but darkness. With a heavy thud, I land on smooth rock.
A cave of some kind yawns open before me, the ivy having hidden its secret.
I scramble to my feet, my heart hammering so loudly I’m certain it will betray my location. I shiver, the rain having drenched my clothing and plastered my hair to my neck. I force myself to breathe slowly, to listen past the sound of rain and thunder.
Heavy boots scrape against stone somewhere in the corridor. Not running—walking with deliberate, unhurried steps. Magnus is in no hurry. He’s hunting me like the prey I am.
I press myself against the wall of the cave, my breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. Every instinct screams at me to hide, to disappear, but where? There’s nowhere to go.
I grip the wet fabric of my skirt, trembling so hard my teeth chatter. Be quiet, be small, don’t make him angry. The lessons drilled into me since childhood ring in my ears, a mantra I can’t escape. They’ve never failed me before, but now they feel like chains.
Tears blur my vision as the sound of his footsteps grows louder, closer. He’s going to find me. He always finds me. I bite down on my lip to keep from sobbing, the taste of iron blooming in my mouth.
Maybe if I beg… The thought creeps in unbidden, a last thread of hope wrapped in shame. My father’s voice whispers in my mind, “A good girl knows her place.”
The idea of surrendering to the monster who’d choked the air from my lungs sends a wave of nausea rolling through me. My stomach twists violently, but I force myself to swallow the bile rising in my throat.
He doesn’t want you dead. Not yet.
The thought brings no comfort—only dread, thick and suffocating. As a healer, I’ve often been called to the houses of men like him—bullies who crush those weaker than themselves under their feet. They savor the fear, the chase, the way a woman flinches at the sound of their voice.
I’ve tended to the women in houses that are no homes, knowing there’s no escape but praying to the Goddess of my world in hopes Grayah might deliver a miracle.
Magnus’s chuckle reaches me through the rain and ivy. “I do so enjoy this game we play.”
I shudder, knowing the rules of this particular game well, my terror is his triumph, my surrender his prize.
With no other choice, I edge deeper into the cave, feeling my way along the rough wall. The space widens as I go, the air growing warmer despite the damp stone. Perhaps there’s another exit, some passage that leads away from—
A hand clamps over my mouth.
No!