Page 9 of Broken Princess
3
Willow
“Wake up. We’re nearly there.”
I opened my eyes and winced as Jamie pinched my arm. “I’m awake,” I said. My mouth and throat were so parched that my voice came out in a croak.
For one blissful moment, I couldn’t remember anything that had happened over the last twelve hours. Then the memories came back in a deluge of darkness and misery, and my stomach flipped.
After I discovered the truth of the situation I’d stupidly stepped into last night, my survival instincts kicked in. I thought if I could make it out to the upper deck of the yacht and dive into the water, I would have a decent chance at escaping my fate, even though the river was ice-cold. Hypothermia was a risk I was willing to take if it meant I could escape the horrifying auction Q and her minions had planned for me.
In my attempt to make it past Jamie, I kicked and clawed and screamed like a banshee. I even bit him a couple of times and kneed him right in the balls. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I didn’t achieve anything other than wearing myself out and screaming myself hoarse.
Jamie was much stronger than me, so he could easily stop me from going anywhere, and when I kneed him in the balls, he simply grimaced and injected me with some sort of sedative. That kept me quiet as we headed out to open waters, and the next few hours passed in a dazed blur.
I knew we wound up sailing all the way down to North Carolina, just like Jamie said we would, because I had a fuzzy memory of him and his friend Alex pulling me off the yacht and stuffing me into the back of a black car at a small marina somewhere around dawn. There was a sign on the edge of that marina that said: ‘Welcome to Wilmington’.
After Alex drove us to a small airfield, they put me on a plane, and we headed north again. I fell asleep during the flight after Jamie stuck me with another needle, so I had no recollection of landing—let alone any idea of where we landed—and now I was in the back of yet another car, tired and sore.
“Where are we?” I mumbled, rubbing my bleary eyes.
“You don’t need to know that,” Jamie said. He leaned forward and addressed the driver. “It’s the next left.”
I sat up straight and looked through the window as the car turned onto a winding road lined by towering fir trees. A stone wall with tall black iron gates in the center came into view a moment later. Ivy and ferns grew through the crevices on the wall, giving it an ancient feel.
The gates swung open at our approach, and my eyes widened as we pulled into the long driveway beyond. A colossal chateau loomed proudly in the distance.
My heart pounded with nervous energy as we drew closer. The beautiful four-story building, with all its slate cones projecting into the cool winter sky, looked like the inspiration for every fairytale storybook I read as a child.
The walls were made with pale gray stone, and the slanted roof was covered with overlapping charcoal-colored tiles dotted with narrow chimneys and turrets. The windows on the ground floor were tall, mullioned and almost cathedral-like, and at the front and center of the manor, a set of wide double doors were sheltered by a stout stone portico.
The place was surrounded by tranquil gardens filled with purple and white flowers and marble statues. Beyond that lay seemingly endless rows of firs and pines, their deep green needles dusted with the first snowflakes of the season.
“Wow,” I said, my voice barely above a murmur. I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but it slipped out anyway.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Jamie said, drawing my gaze to him. “Certainly not the worst place in the world to be imprisoned.”
I swallowed hard and turned away, focusing my gaze on the view again.
The end of the driveway swept into a wide ring of pale pebbles which surrounded a short, perfectly-manicured hedge. In the center of that hedge circle stood an ornate fountain featuring several carved angels pouring water out of pale stone jugs.
Jamie told the driver to swing the car around to the other side of the fountain, and we stopped at the foot of the steps leading up to the imposing manor entrance.
“Let’s go,” he said, reaching across to open my door.
My legs wobbled as I got out of the car, still weak from all the sedatives he pumped into me earlier. He tried to help, but I shook him off, refusing to let him touch me again. He rolled his eyes and strode up the steps ahead of me.
As he unlocked the door, I took a deep breath. The air smelled like woodsmoke and pine needles, and the beautiful gardens and distant dark forest reminded me of a royal estate.
If I wasn’t here against my will, I’d probably view this place as a winter paradise—the perfect spot to relax fireside with a cup of hot spiced wine after spending a day outside exploring the woods and breathing in all the crisp, clean air.
I knew this would be the last time I was allowed outside for a long time, though, so I had to savor each and every wonderful woodsy breath. There would be no more winter vacations for me now. No more luxuries. From the second I stepped inside this hauntingly-beautiful building, I would be treated like a slave, and I would be lucky if I was provided with clean water to drink and more than one meal a day.
“Time to go in,” Jamie finally said, pulling one of the heavy oak doors open. “We need to head up to the third floor.”
As I stepped inside, I stared around with wide eyes, simultaneously terrified and amazed by the manor’s grandiosity. The impossibly-high ceilings were covered with meticulous paintings and carved heraldry, and several glinting chandeliers hung over the marble-tiled foyer. Right in front of us was a sprawling double staircase.
I started toward the stairs, but Jamie reached for my shoulder and pulled me back. “That’s for guests only,” he said. “You have to take the servant’s stairs.”
