Page 15 of Caged By the Lich

I stand, looming over her. "You know damn well what's wrong. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

She blinks up at me. "Notice what? I followed the recipe exactly. Perhaps your tastes are just... delicate."

Before I can respond, there's a crash from the next room. We both turn to see one of my prized Ikothrian vases lying in pieces on the floor, Astrid's cleaning rag suspiciously close to the shelf it had been on before. The one it must have been on the edge of to suddenly teeter off.

"Uh-oh," she says, not sounding sorry in the least. "How odd."

I clench my fists, struggling to control my temper. She's doing this on purpose, pushing me to see how far she can go. And the worst part is, it's working. I'm furious, yes, but there's also a blooming need for me to fight back, to lose control, to make her bend and fuck that brat out of her.

I'm going to lose my godsdamned mind.

7

ASTRID

Iwake with the same bitter taste in my mouth, the same heavy weight in my chest. Another day in my new cage. The sun hasn't even risen, but I'm already alert, my mind racing with possibilities.

My bare feet hit the cold stone floor as I begin my morning routine. Stretch, wash, dress. It's become mechanical, but I force myself to stay sharp. Every detail matters.

I press my ear against the door, listening for the telltale shuffle of guard rotation. Right on schedule. Two minutes later, heavy footsteps echo down the hall. That'll be Grug, the night watchman. His lumbering gait is unmistakable.

Breakfast arrives precisely at seven. The serving girl, Mira, offers a timid smile as she sets down the tray. I've been working on her, building a rapport. Today, I risk a whispered question.

"Are they still working on the east wing?"

Her eyes widen, but she shakes her head almost imperceptibly. Damn. I'd hoped the construction I'd overheard might be a potential weak point or at least a distraction I could use.

As I pick at my food, I run through the fortress layout in my mind. Three levels that I know of, possibly a basement. My room is on the second floor, east side. Two exits on this level, both heavily guarded. Windows are warded, and well — I learned that the hard way.

I move to the window, pretending to admire the view while I study the grounds below. The guard patterns are frustratingly consistent, but I've noticed a small gap in coverage near the southern wall around midday. It's not much, but it's something.

A knock at the door signals V's daily "check-in." I steel myself, plastering on a bored expression as he enters.

"Still here, I see," he drawls, those color-shifting eyes scanning the room.

I shrug, feigning indifference. "Where else would I be? Your hospitality is so... charming."

His lip curls, but I catch a flicker of something else in his gaze. Curiosity? Admiration? I file it away for later analysis.

As V launches into his usual interrogation, I parry each question with practiced ease. But I'm listening, always listening. Every word, every reaction is a potential piece of the puzzle.

When he finally leaves, I exhale slowly. I never understand both the relief and disappointment I feel every time he is gone. But I have no time to think it over as my door swings open and a guard stands, waiting for me. It's time for my chores.

I shuffle along the corridor, feather duster in hand, my movements slow and deliberate. The demons lounging in the adjacent room pay me no mind - I'm just another human servant, beneath their notice. Perfect.

As I inch closer to the doorway, their voices drift out, low and conspiratorial. My ears prick up at the mention of V's name.

"...heard he single-handedly wiped out the entire Krath clan," one demon whispers, his voice a mix of awe and fear.

"That's nothing," another chimes in. "Remember what he did to Lord Zaxos? Flayed him alive with magic for daring to challenge his authority."

I lean closer. I've heard rumors of V's brutality, but this...

"It's not just his power," a third voice adds. "It's his cunning. The way he manipulates alliances, always three steps ahead."

I risk a glance into the room. Three matrons huddle close, their expressions a mix of reverence… and lust. Are these women all his?

Anger heats in my blood, and I scoff at myself. Why do I care? Why does the emotion that is eating at me…feel a lot like jealousy?

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