4. The Portal in Nightmare Forest
The Portal in Nightmare Forest
SAPPHIRA
T he clash of swords and shouting from the halls echo in Sapphira’s bedroom as she peers through the dark to the pointed edge of a sword. A sliver of moonlight glints off the end.
The princess sees teeth first—a sharp, wide grin and long canines glowing in the dark as King Cornelius steps forward and his face is illuminated in the moonlight.
A startled gasp gets stuck in Sapphira’s throat as she cries, “What are you doing here? What is going on, King Cornelius?”
The man swings his sword in a high arc until it’s pressed into Sapphira’s throat, her pulse beating against the steel and the force of his movements enough to send the curtains fluttering.
She yelps at the bite of steel, her jaw clenching, body shaking as she holds back tears of betrayal and wrathful anger.
“What does it look like, Crowned Princess? This is a coup d’etat, of course.”
Sapphira’s mind spins as the door to her bedroom bursts open and Circe enters. She’s wearing full body armor, and her sunshine hair is pulled back in a tight bun, her lips flat and unsmiling.
“My King, we have rounded up the guards and servants,” she says, her eyes never once straying to Sapphira, who lies on her bed with a sword to her throat. “The visiting royals too.”
Gone is the woman who, just hours ago, held Sapphira and comforted her as she cried.
“You couldn’t!” Sapphira shouts, unable to help the outburst as she surges forward, the blade cutting deeper into her throat. “You lie. My guards are the best in the Isles.”
Betrayal and hurt bubble in her gut. Cornelius and Circe are traitors . They pretended to care for her and then stabbed her in the back without a second thought. And she was so desperate that she fell right into their hands.
Cornelius makes a condescending sound of pity in his throat, lips pursing as he draws back his sword. He brings the blade to his face, staring at the drop of Sapphira’s blood, which runs down to the hilt.
“You know so little, Princess,” he says.
“There are things in this world that your small, trapped mind can’t comprehend, so I won’t bother you with the details.
” He turns to Circe. “Seize her, but be gentle. And make sure the royals are comfortable for the time being. We want them as allies in the future.”
Sapphira is forced from her bed and grabbed in large, crushing hands as the woman shoves her from the room and out into the halls, where blood stains the royal blue carpet and walls.
“Where are the guards and maidens?” she snaps, her stomach turning at the sight. She squirms, trying to free herself from the woman.
“Keep moving, and keep your mouth shut, Crowned Princess,” the voice Sapphira once thought was pretty snapped.
Despite the bruising grip on her arm, Circe isn’t harming her, and her address still uses Sapphira’s title despite Cornelius saying this is a coup d’etat. Sapphira doesn’t understand what is going on.
She is still sluggish and unsteady as she’s led through the castle. She realizes Circe must have put something into her glass earlier. It was all a plot, every action. None of it was genuine. Circe needed Sapphira out of the way so they could enact their plan. Cornelius’s plan.
The architect, the commander, and the seafaring king.
Sapphira is forced down into the damp, freezing dungeons that have lain mostly untouched for so long. She sighs in relief when she sees her guards and maids locked in the cells, looking mostly unharmed.
The guards are injured, and a few are bleeding, but they are alive.
Circe shoves Sapphira into a cage all to herself, but it is directly beside Dorian’s. As soon as the woman is out of sight, Sapphira falls to her knees and presses herself to the bars. Dorian leans against Fein, blood-soaked dressings around his midsection.
“They hurt you,” Sapphira gasps, a tear dropping to her cheek as she tries to reach him.
“Good eye,” Dorian says through gritted teeth. “You could spot a hammerhead in a school of fish.”
He jests, but Sapphira knows it takes a lot for him to speak and smile. His eyes are red-rimmed, and his bloody hands shake. She can see the pain in every line of his face. He fought hard.
“I am so sorry, Crowned Princess,” Fein croaks. He closes his eyes against the flickering firelight from a sconce above. “I wasn’t able to protect you. I failed.”
“Don’t say that,” Sapphira hisses, her hands squeezing the bars.
“We tried,” Dorian sobs. “We tried getting to you.”
Tears track down his dirty cheeks, and Sapphira is in shock as she looks around at the hanging heads and sounds of mourning.
It then hits her that she doesn’t know what destruction lies in her castle, or what King Cornelius’s plans are for her.
If he’s attempting a coup d’etat, it would be foolish to keep her alive.
An intelligent man like him knows that. She’s the rightful heir to Dansui’s throne, the largest kingdom in the Whispering Isles.
But why would he take care not to hurt her and have his knights call her by her title?
Sapphira’s eyes trail back to Dorian, who is shaking from the cold.
“It’s okay,” she says. “You all did your best. I can see that. That’s all I’ve ever asked of you. I’m just glad you’re all okay.”
Dorian tries to laugh. “I bet you could have fought them off if you had those little swords of yours,” he says. Sapphira’s eyes widen as she feels at her sides. Right, her swords are gone. Her aunt took them from her before the party.
Fein shakes his head. “We’re your guards, Crowned Princess. We’re meant to die for you. But they caught us off guard. It’s like they were working with someone who let them in. The Sairin knights just kept coming and coming. We couldn’t fight them.”
“It’s okay,” Sapphira says. “It’s okay.” She’s not sure if she’s telling them or herself.
Hours later, sometime around morning, someone comes and throws clothes into the cell.
Sapphira quickly grabs them, burrowing into the warmth as she shivers on the cold, hard ground.
Her fingers fold into the pockets of her nightgown, and her fingers close over something heavy and stiff.
Dorian’s present—the wooden star. It brings her a tiny bit of comfort.
“Hey you!” She shouts at the retreating Sairin woman, her eyes flicking to Dorian, whose brown skin has gone pale. “My friend, he needs help. Send a doctor!” She shakes the bars when the woman doesn’t turn back. “Hey, look at me! Look at me, you heartless— ”
“Saff, it’s okay,” Dorian croaks, the sweat a puddle on his forehead.
He’s starting to look sickly and gray, his dark eyes unfocused as Fein keeps pressure on his wound.
The woman scurries off, disappearing into the dark and Sapphira shouts obscenities at her retreating back until her jaw is sore.
Dorian offers a weak smile and Sapphira tries, but can’t seem to manage one in return.
She lies on the ground, her arm stretched through the bars to hold Dorian’s clammy hand. Sapphira realizes her aunt and cousins aren’t anywhere to be seen, and she feels a stab of guilt that it took so long for her to notice.
“Do you know where Auntie Agath is?” Sapphira asks Fein, whose eyes are slipping shut as he clutches Dorian’s bleeding body to his chest. For the first time, Sapphira notices the captain’s age.
His deep-set eyes look more like trenches.
Age lines are etched into his face like marble, and his hair is more gray than black, sea salt peppering his wiry beard.
He was her mother’s guard, as Dorian is hers, and she can only imagine the pain he felt when she died.
The same pain she’ll feel if she loses Dorian.
“I don’t know. Your cousins went to bed soon after you, and when the fighting broke out, I tried to protect the lady regent. But she ran off to find her daughters. I got caught in battle, so I couldn’t follow her.”
Sapphira nods, slumping back against the wall. Even my band of councilors aren’t here. If Cornelius took them somewhere else, why am I stuck in the dungeons with my knights? What is going on?
It’s quiet as Fein, Sapphira, and Dorian huddle in their cells, listening to the maidens sing softly as their tiny hands clutch one another. The ancient, mournful sea shanty about a sailor adrift at sea who has lost his crew washes over them.
Sapphira knows when morning comes because light spills from above, in small cracks in the brick.
The tomb doors creak open, then heavy footsteps echo down the hall and past Sapphira’s parents’ shrines.
The dungeon was built alongside the dead because it was believed they would watch over the prisoners and keep them from escaping. Sapphira hopes her parents will protect her and show her and her people a way out.
She sits up as Circe stops before her cell, and her eyes widen when King Cornelius trails in behind her.
“Good morning, my Queen,” he says. “Even after a night in the dungeon, you still look radiant. Your gorgeous brown skin is plum with life.”
Sapphira wrinkles her nose at what she’s sure was meant to be a compliment.
Cornelius sighs. “I regret you have to be here, but I had to make some new arrangements. It was a mess. But everything is prepared now, so nothing will interrupt our special night.” His eyes stray to a bleeding Dorian. “Wouldn’t want anyone getting ideas of grandeur.”
“Prepared for what?” Sapphira asks, a weight growing in her gut.
The king splays his arms, smiling as if overjoyed to share the news. “Our wedding, of course!”
Sapphira’s face twists in disgust. “I would never marry you,” she spits, unable to hold her tongue. “You must be mad.”
Cornelius frowns. “How rude, Crowned Princess. I heard you were icy, but I wasn’t expecting such hatred.”
“You hurt my friends and betrayed me,” Sapphira says. “I won’t forgive that.”
“Betrayed you?” He gasps. “No, I’m saving you.” He perks up, a smile stretching across his lips. “Don’t worry, my bride. You’ll understand in time.”