Chapter 3
The soldier had not smiled since she sang.
Penny noticed that the smile had been there almost constantly before.
Small.
Careful.
As though he carried it for nervous creatures.
Now it was gone.
He carried her through the moonlit garden without speaking.
His arms remained steady.
His pace never changed.
But something about him had.
Penny could feel it.
The way you can feel a storm gathering long before the rain arrives.
Moonlight broke across flowering arches overhead.
White-gowned women drifted through the gardens in pairs, laughing softly beneath hanging lanterns.
Penny barely noticed them.
She kept finding herself looking back at the soldier's face.
Trying to understand what she had done.
Or what he thought she had done.
A woman laughed somewhere nearby.
Penny flinched.
Only then did she realize the courtyard had filled around them.
White-gowned women wandered the gardens beneath the lantern light.
Some laughed.
Some walked hand-in-hand with vampires.
Some rested beside fountains.
Several were pregnant.
The realization hit Penny like a slap.
Not hidden.
Not ashamed.
Pregnant.
As though this place expected it.
As though this place celebrated it.
Her stomach twisted.
The vampires moved among them in dark silks and rich colors.
Never white.
Never chosen.
Never displayed.
Penny understood that, too.
A vampire in deep crimson stepped into their path.
A woman in white rested against his arm.
He spoke.
The confidence in his voice needed no translation.
Penny reacted before she thought.
She buried her face against the soldier's chest.
The movement shocked her.
Not because she had done it.
Because she had known exactly where to go.
The crimson vampire laughed.
Cold fingers brushed her arm.
Penny went rigid.
The soldier answered sharply.
A moment later, they were moving again.
She mistrusted the relief that followed.
Hated that of every monster in this place, the one carrying her had become the safest thing she could reach.
She looked back once.
The crimson vampire's mouth was already at the woman's throat.
A thin line of blood traced down white silk.
Penny faced forward.
And breathed.
The garden smelled of roses.
But beyond the walls and locked gates, she could still hear the sea.
Still feel it.
It had not forgotten her yet.
The crystal room waited where she had left it.
Golden light glowed through its glass walls.
Warm.
Inviting.
Carefully designed to be both.
The soldier set her down.
Penny looked past the room.
Then stopped.
For the first time, she really saw them.
The other cottages.
A long row of glowing glass rooms are scattered through the garden.
Each lit from within.
Each is visible from the path.
Each occupied.
A woman reading. A woman sleeping.
A woman playing an unknown instrument.
Each crystal cottage had no locks. No curtains.
No privacy.
The realization settled over Penny slowly.
These weren't rooms.
They were display cases.
A garden within a garden.
Beautiful things were kept.
Beautifully displayed.
The soldier carried her inside.
Penny saw the bed.
And every thought in her head vanished.
She went rigid.
She didn't know the rules here.
Didn't know what happened next.
Didn't know what happened to girls who said no.
That was the worst part.
Not the fear.
The ignorance.
The soldier lowered her carefully onto the edge of the mattress.
Penny immediately pulled away.
The softness felt wrong.
Suspicious.
Like another trap disguised as kindness.
Her hair slipped across one shoulder.
Exposing her neck.
The soldier froze.
Penny saw his eyes drop to the mark.
The king's mark.
Still red and tender.
Still burning faintly beneath her skin.
Her stomach tightened.
She knew this part.
Cold lips.
Sharp teeth.
His hand lifted.
Penny stopped breathing.
Her fingers clenched the blanket.
She stared at the ceiling.
And waited.
His touch landed lightly against her skin.
One fingertip.
Tracing the edge of the wound.
Nothing more.
The soldier said something.
Quietly.
The words meant nothing.
But the tone did.
Penny felt it settle somewhere beneath her ribs.
Something she had never expected to hear from a monster.
It sounded like regret.
And then, impossibly
Like an apology.
Penny watched him from the corner of her eye.
The soldier leaned over her.
One careful finger resting near a wound he hadn't made.
He said something softly.
Words she would never understand.
Words that somehow hurt anyway.
Then his hand fell away.
Neither of them moved.
Lantern light drifted through the crystal walls.
Roses climbed silently around them.
At last, he reached for the folded blanket at the foot of the bed.
And tucked it gently over her legs.
The gesture felt more dangerous than the chains had.
His fingers lingered for a moment.
Then he stood.
And left.
Penny watched him disappear into the moonlit garden.
Alone once more.
Visible from every direction.
A beautiful thing in a beautiful cage.
She pulled the blanket tighter.
And tried to remember how to breathe.
Beside the bed sat a crystal vase overflowing with flowers.
Roses.
Lilies.
Blue blossoms she didn't recognize.
Penny reached for a white rose.
The petals were cool against her fingertips.
Outside, the soldier was crossing the garden.
The old gardener approached from the opposite path.
The spell came almost automatically.
A habit older than memory.
Older than fear.
Petal soft and petal true,
carry words in morning dew,
let no tongue stand in the way,
let the words find their way.
She plucked a single petal.
Placed it on her tongue.
Sweetness bloomed.
Then warmth.
Magic unfurled beneath her ribs.
Outside, the gardener stopped beside the soldier.
"Keep her safe," the soldier said quietly.
Penny froze.
She understood him.
"Do not let the others hear her sing tonight."
The gardener's brows rose.
"The king will want this one for himself."
A chill slid down Penny's spine.
The gardener glanced toward her crystal room.
"Her name is Penny."
The world seemed to stop.
Penny went still.
For the first time since the trader had dragged her from the shore
She understood.
The soldier looked back.
His smile lingered briefly in the moonlight.
Warm.
Protective.
Dangerous in an entirely different way.
Penny lowered her eyes at once.
Hiding the truth.
Hiding the fact that she now understood every word.
A moment later, he was gone.
One heartbeat, he stood beneath the lantern light.
Next, there were only drifting roses and the old gardener approaching her crystal room.
"Oh, little bud," the gardener sighed.
"You have made yourself a dangerous friend."
He stopped beside her bed.
His weathered hands folded behind his back.
For a while, he simply watched the garden.
"Flowers are meant to be admired."
His voice was soft.
"Tended."
"Enjoyed."
"And eventually..."
His eyes drifted toward the dark path where the soldier had vanished.
"...consumed."
A chill ran through Penny.
The gardener sighed.
"But innocence has always drawn the darkest of knights."
Penny slid carefully toward the edge of the bed.
She touched his sleeve.
"Gardener."
Surprise flashed across his face.
Then affection.
"Yes, Penny."
He patted her head.
"Gardener."
"Gardener," Penny repeated.
The older man smiled.
"Good."
"Good," Penny echoed sweetly.
Pretending.
The gardener chuckled.
He lifted the white rose from the bed and returned it to the crystal vase.
Penny touched one of the blossoms.
Tilted her head.
"Good?"
"Yes."
The smile faded from his face.
"Flowers are good."
His fingers brushed the stems.
Then the sadness returned.
Slowly, he touched the bouquet.
"Flower."
His hand rose.
Pressed gently over Penny's heart.
"Flower."
Penny frowned.
"No."
She pointed to herself.
"Penny."
The older man's eyes filled with a grief that seemed far older than either of them.
Again, he touched the bouquet.
"Flower."
Then Penny.
"Flower."
Penny shook her head stubbornly.
"Penny."
The gardener smiled sadly.
As though she had missed the lesson entirely.
Then, without thinking, he plucked a loose petal from the bouquet.
Penny's stomach dropped.
The enchanted petal touched his tongue.
For one horrifying second, neither of them moved.
Then Penny lunged upright.
"No!"
Too late.
The petal was gone.
Penny stared.
The gardener blinked back at her.
Confused.
Completely unaware that a disaster had just occurred.
He touched his throat.
Frowned.
"Strange."
His voice was thoughtful.
"My tongue feels warm."
Penny's eyes widened.
The older man smiled gently.
"Yes, little flower," he said in the language of her homeland. "Be frightened."
The world stopped.
Penny froze.
The gardener blinked.
Then frowned at her expression.
"What?"
Penny continued staring.
The older man stared back.
Then slowly his own eyes widened.
"Oh."
His hand flew to his throat.
"Oh."
For one glorious heartbeat, the gardener looked every bit as alarmed as Penny felt.
Above them, the lantern swayed softly in the night breeze.
The flower magic had taken hold.
And the old fool had dosed himself with it.
Penny slapped both hands over her mouth.
The gardener looked horrified.
Penny looked horrified.
Then, despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped her.
The gardener pointed accusingly at the vase.
"You enchanted the flowers?"
Penny immediately stopped laughing.
The gardener sighed.
Deeply.
The sigh of a man who had just discovered his evening had become significantly more complicated.
"Of course, you enchanted the flowers."
He rubbed a hand across his face.
Then his expression changed.
The amusement vanished so completely that it made Penny's stomach tighten.
"Do not ever let anyone know."
His voice dropped low.
Serious.
"Singing is rare."
A pause.
"Witches are hunted."
The words landed like stones.
The gardener looked toward the palace.
Toward the gardens.
Toward the lantern-lit paths winding through the dark.
Then back at Penny.
"You should sleep, little bud."
The kindness was still there.
The warmth wasn't.
"The night is still young."
His eyes drifted toward the distant palace once more.
"And this place is not safe for you."
A chill slid through Penny.
The gardener's face darkened.
"And I fear the king will ask for you again before it ends."