Chapter 7
Every night, for the next year of his life, the monster came for him.
And Kinlear Laroux died.
He couldn’t erase it, couldn’t change his fate. Not even now, as he ran through the skeletal wood, his heart slamming against his chest.
It was another night. Another chase that would end the same.
This time, he’d reached the frozen river in a matter of minutes. He was faster, older, stronger. But still not enough to prevent the monster from killing him.
He’d tried to fashion a blade, as Arawn suggested, but the damned trees wouldn’t break. The limbs bent and bowed as if they were made of rubber. As if, in this space...no such weapon would be allowed.
This was his dream. It should have been his rules.
But he had no power here.
“Princelinggggg,” hissed the monster now as it approached from between two trees.
Kinlear cursed the sky, cursed the gods, as he fought through the snow. He passed another spot where the monster’s claws had driven into his chest so deep, they’d gouged the tree behind him before he’d woken up screaming.
He winced, wishing he could shove the memory away.
But he was tied to every single one of his deaths.
He held on to each agonizing moment, reliving them in his waking hours...as if the monster walked with him even in the day.
“Why don’t you save me?” he asked the Five now, as he ducked beneath a low-hanging branch that was heavy with snow. “If you love me, why don’t you stop this? Answer my prayers!”
It was only his monster’s cackle that replied. Its laughter bounded off the skeletal trees, sending shivers up and down his spine.
It was so close now. A stick cracked, only a few footsteps behind him.
The snow fell harder, until he saw the world in shades of muted white and grey.
“Praying to spirits that slumber?” the beast called after him. “When will you wake up, Little Prince?”
“Leave me alone!” Kinlear shouted.
He came to a skidding stop as something materialized between two trees. Shadows...swiftly forming shapes, until they’d gathered into a long, dark cloak, with a blackened hood and hands tipped in elongated claws.
Terror froze him where he stood.
He felt like a godsdamned child again.
“What are you?” Kinlear gasped.
“I am yours,” the monster whispered. “And you are mine.”
“No,” Kinlear shook his head. He backed up until he felt the solid bark of a tree behind his heels.
He remembered this death, too. Soon the monster would drive those claws deep.
And then it would rip out his still-beating heart, smiling as the light left Kinlear’s eyes.
“I am Kinlear Laroux. I am the prince of Lordach. I am—”
“You are dead, Little Prince,” the monster growled. “Until you decide to live.”
He didn’t get to ask what it meant before those claws drove deep into him.
And he died.
Again.
And again.
...and again.