Chapter 5 Paeonia
?PAEONIA
Paeonia should listen. She had always been so good at listening. A prowess of doing what she’s told—so willingly, too.
But tonight, after Rowan had actually locked her in her room, her nerves came to life with defiance.
She never rebelled. Never said no. So much so that she ended up in this terrible position in the first place.
If she had just been able to say no—to tell her father she didn’t want to marry Barth—she wouldn’t be tied in this treacherous bargain to a mythical fae.
Something about this castle—the archaic walls, the dangers, the Stoneborne—filled her with a shifting direction, a feeling she had never been able to confront before.
This place seemed to give her the desire to change, like she was walking in a dream.
Her fingers tingled with the need to grab the handle, to step outside of her room if only to simply say she did the opposite of what Rowan commanded.
To everyone around her, she was a doll to be molded, shaped into whatever they wanted.
Perhaps the name Rowan had called her made the urge to defy so strong.
Little flower, she repeated in her head.
How easily someone she didn’t know was able to pinpoint her weakness, her inability to go against others’ will.
The fragility of her. Her reliance on those around her, someone else responsible for whether she bloomed or withered away.
Maybe this was her catalyst, her breaking point.
She yanked on the door handle, heaving with all her might, but the door did not budge.
She grew frustrated, pacing back and forth, sure to leave a burn mark in her trail. She kicked the door, clawed at it, before sinking to her knees, letting frustration consume her. Her head lolled to the side.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. This wasn’t her.
She wasn’t meant to break free—always destined to be a prisoner.
Not a rebellious woman who talked back to the men around her.
Paeonia was a set-in-stone side character, one of the pious women who did right by the patriarchy.
To stay out of the way. To marry and bear children.
To stay in her rooms when told not to leave.
She rubbed at her eyes then blinked several times, trying to make sense of the ivy that now slithered across the wall beside her.
It had mingled with the cracks, blooming and climbing between the wallpaper’s tears.
She had seen this sort of thing before, witnessed flora blossom and bloom unnaturally, but the ivy moved faster—similar to how the plants had come alive in Barth’s observatory.
Her heart raced wildly in her chest. The ivy wiggled itself into the keyhole, moving and groaning as it stretched. And then, click.
Paeonia’s brows were in a permanent knit as she rose to her feet again, almost ready to tumble backward. When she pushed the door again, it swung open.
The ivy snapped as she opened the door the rest of the way, and she hiccupped a laughing sound.
Had she made the ivy move? Had it turned the lock on her command?
She always knew she had an affinity to flora and often felt like they waved and spoke to her.
After they clawed at Barth, she accepted that this was not a figment of her imagination, but what a silly thought to think they moved on her accord; Paeonia couldn’t control the flowers any more than she could stand up for herself.
A moving body quickly shrouded her thoughts.
“H-hello,” Paeonia whispered.
The figure, who she now realized was a Stoneborne woman, didn’t seem all that much older than her from what she could tell, her hair pushed back, showcasing her androgynous face. She donned a cloak that hung off her shoulders, exposing her long dress that accentuated her curves.
“Going somewhere?” the stranger inquired almost playfully.
“No. I was just—” She looked back and forth down the hall, expecting Rowan to emerge from the shadows.
The Stoneborne held out a cemented hand. “You’ll want to check the gardens, Georgia.”
“I’ll…?” Paeonia’s palm slid away from the doorknob, her lips parting in confusion. “What?”
She gave Paeonia a smile. “He’ll be waiting for you out there. I won’t tell, don’t worry.”
“I’m not—” Paeonia shook her head. “Who will be out there?”
The Stoneborne appraised her before departing, an odd humming sound radiating from her.
This felt like a trap. But the curiosity inside her had been determined to take over. She never allowed it to grow too strongly, but what was stopping it now? She succumbed to it against her better judgment.
She slowly maneuvered around the bends in the corridors, taking special note to remember certain areas of torn wallpaper, specific paintings, and how low the candles were. All in an attempt to remember her way back.
It was rather peaceful at night in the castle. She figured it would be eerie and riddle her with gooseflesh. Instead, the quiet of the night left a softness in the air.
Her shoulders sank when she finally found the stairs, amazed she had done so as fast as she did. After taking her first step, the stairs creaking, Paeonia closed her eyes, waiting for Rowan’s voice to boom in the night. When several beats passed and nothing ever came, she continued.
She should turn around. She thought she might be able to handle the consequences of leaving her rooms after Rowan specifically forbade it, but after startling at the simplest of noises, she knew she had made a terrible mistake.
She moved to hurry back to her room, but her slippers slid against the smoothness of the stairs, and she fell backward, sliding and bumping her way down the staircase.
She yelped, finally catching herself about halfway down, frozen in place, her backside sore.
She cautiously lowered herself down the rest of the stairs, wincing as she smoothed out her dress.
She rubbed at her back, spinning around and assessing the darker main level.
She swallowed her fear and decided she’d round to the garden, just as the Stoneborne had said.
Then she’d take her leave for the night and lock herself back in her room.
She hadn’t wanted her embarrassing fall down the stairs to result in not even achieving what she was so determined to do: to defy Rowan’s commands.
She scanned the windows as she approached big glass doors that led out to the garden, the icy dew on the petals and leaves refracting the moon’s glow, lighting the gardens like a dream.
Her eyes darted back and forth until she noticed bushes fluttering in the distance, but no other flora shifted—there was no wind.
The oddness of it made her hands shake, her breath fogging her view.
She curiously bit at her nails, reciting the Stoneborne’s words.
Someone was waiting for her in the gardens.
Could it be Rowan? That would be the last being she’d want to encounter during her rebellion.
But maybe the Stoneborne referred to someone else.
A small cry echoed in the night. It sounded like a wounded animal, like a cat or rabbit. Something tiny.
When it cried again, she quickly fumbled with the door and shoved it open, stepping outside. As soon as she crossed the threshold, all the noises ceased. Silence.
The winding trees that were scattered in the garden created a shelter, making it difficult to see far in the distance.
A faint haze of fog rolled through the bushes, beautiful but fearsome.
She looked all around the garden, searching for something out of the ordinary.
The wind had settled from earlier that day, allowing her to stay comfortable in the nightgown she’d found within her closet earlier.
She strolled to the steps that descended into the garden’s main walkway, her fingers tracing the frozen stonewall. She listened intently, hoping to hear the soft cry again, wanting to help the creature, no matter the fear that coursed through her.
When she entered fully into the garden, she almost toppled backward again in sheer shock. By the gates, just barely within her eyesight, were two glowing golden orbs. Eyes.
Her breathing became clipped, her chest rising rapidly, her lips parted from her breathlessness.
Then two more orbs appeared. And two more.
Until there were eight orbs total, all at slightly different heights.
Four creatures seemed to stare at her from the shadows.
She wondered how safe she could possibly be behind the wrought-iron fence, and in an answer, before she could think much more on the matter, one of the sets of eyes leapt into the air, clearing the fence, and landing within Rowan’s estate.
She could make out the creature now; the fur and the lupine body, the moon casting it in a spotlight. A wolf.
No—wolves.
One of them cried, she couldn’t tell which, imitating a wounded animal. She gritted her teeth, knowing now she had made a very big mistake.
She turned in a rush, her fingers clawing for the door to get inside like her life depended on it—which it very well might.
But when she reached the glass doors and tugged, they didn’t budge—they were locked. Her face contorted as she yanked on the handles, straining the hinges, but they didn’t so much as whine.
“Oh no,” she panted.
When she glanced over her shoulder, all four wolves had leapt over the fence and were stalking toward Paeonia.
They appeared rather small in the distance—one might assume them to be house dogs.
But Paeonia knew how far the gates were from where she stood, knew how big that meant the wolves were, appearing small only in an illusion.
Their considerable bodies stood at the same height as one of the large bushes she had pruned earlier.
These creatures were far bigger than any wolf she had ever known to roam the woods.
Another cried again, the sound almost mocking. Beckoning her to approach.