Page 18 of Dark Fate

I try to stand firmly to emphasize my point, but another wave of dizziness has me swaying precariously again. Erik catches me swiftly, concern flickering across his stony features. Effortlessly, he lifts me into his strong arms. I let out a faint squeal as the room spins.

"C'mon, lil fighter, time for bed," he rumbles, carrying me the short distance to the sumptuous bed. Gently, he lays me atop the furs. I grab a pillow, hug it, and inhale the delicate lavender scent.

Erik smooths the blankets over me in a brotherly fashion. "Get some rest. We'll figure things out tomorrow." His silver eyes assess me critically to ensure I'm settled before he lays a thick quilt on the fur rug near the waning fire.

"G'night, Erik," I mumble, eyes sliding closed. Between the wine and the day's events, exhaustion presses down heavily.

"Goodnight, Dani," he returns softly.

The fire's soft crackling andErik's rhythmic breathing turn the room into a lullaby, and I'm drifting, drifting... until, at last, I'm out.

Rhyland

8

The servant girl slips in, quiet as a mouse, hauling a silver tray with a crystal decanter and goblet brimming with blood. The scent, thick with iron, slams into me, sparking a primal need. Yet, I pause, suspicion nipping at me. I'm not taking anything these captors offer without questioning it.

The girl seems to read my hesitation. "It's not poisoned," she whispers softly.

I'm stunned by her ability to perceive my thoughts and speak to me directly. I stare at her with guarded indifference.

Sensing my distrust, the girl meets my gaze. "The queen wishes to keep you alive—for now. Refusing will only weaken you."

I mull it over as the thirst rages. She's not wrong—I need my strength to leave this hellhole.

Lucian, channeling his inner quick-witted taunt, throws out, "Hey, try not to waste away to nothing on us, brother. Your sheer force of will isn't exactly calorie-rich, you know."

His words serve as a reminder that I can't let my guard slip.

She edges closer, the goblet in her hands, and there's a look on her face, almost like she cares. I let out a resigned snarl, snatch the cup, and down the blood.

Any second thoughts disappear when the blood hits my taste buds—pure and potent. The goblet's empty before I know it, power pumping back into my starved system. "Thank you," I mumble.

She cracks a small smile, and for a minute, the world doesn't seem like total shit.

I knock back two more goblets, chasing away the hunger. The blood's a welcome band-aid for the energy the cursed chains keep bleeding from me.

While I'm chugging, my eyes are on the servant girl. She's a slip of a thing, chestnut locks and doe eyes. I brace for the usual—fear, maybe disgust—but her face is all soft lines and gentleness, watching me with real kindness. It throws me off, her giving off waves of concern. Most around here see us as monsters or toys, but not her.

After putting the last cup down, she inches closer, throwing nervous looks at the door.

With a soothing tone, she whispers, "I am so sorry for what's been done to you. The queen's cruelty is not right."

Her words have me staring, dumbfounded. It's rare to find this kind of heart in the queen's ranks. She catches my gaze and looks away. "Some here still honor justice. I wish to help free you if I can."

Before any words can roll off my tongue, the staccato rhythm of boots comes from the hallway. She switches gears like she's done this dance before—going quiet, slipping into that role of 'obedient servant.'

Scooping up the empty vessels, she's the picture of servitude as the door busts open.

A guard fills the doorway, scanning the scene. His eyes land on me and flick to her. "You're needed back in the kitchens," he barks.

She keeps her head low, makes a quiet sound of agreement, and moves to leave. But as she flits by, she's close enough to drop a bomb in a hushed rush, "The library, east wing. Your answers are there." And then she scurries away.

I'm left standing there, her secret words echoing in my skull.

Is she for real? Could this be a setup, some devious bullshit the queen cooked up?

There's no way to know without playing the hand she dealt. Still, I got to tread lightly—this could blow up in our faces. But if she's throwing us a lifeline, it's a game-changer.

---