Page 25 of Monster's Pretty Bride

The balcony.

I step toward it, my bare feet silent against the cold stone. The night wind rushes in, whipping against my skin, licking against my wounds like a cruel reminder.

Below, the fortress stretches wide and unforgiving, the torches burning low, their glow flickering against the jagged stone.

The training grounds lie beyond. That’s where they would have taken it.

That’s where my dagger will be. Hopefully, they didn’t sense the magic in it.

I grip the corner of the balcony and swing one leg over. Then the other.

The drop is steep. The wall slick with ancient wear, the grooves of stone carved more for clawed hands than human fingers.

Still, I move.

Slow. Precise.

The moment I shift my weight downward, the ledge beneath my foot crumbles.

Shit.

I slip, my stomach lurching, my arms scrambling for purchase as my nails scrape against the wall. My muscles scream from the strain, the ground rushing toward me.

I catch myself.

Barely.

My fingers dig into a jagged crack, my legs swinging before I slam my body against the wall, forcing stillness into my limbs.

My breath races in my chest, but I ignore it. Too close. Too fucking close.

I exhale sharply and push forward.

When my feet finally touch solid ground, my knees tremble, but I don’t stop. I slip into the shadows, silent, invisible, moving toward the training grounds.

Two sentries guard the entrance, their wings twitching, their claws scraping lazily against the stone.

They aren’t paying attention.

Good.

I slip past them, pressing my back to the wall, heart pounding.

The stench of sweat, metal, and scorched earth thickens as I move deeper into the arena, my eyes scanning the weapon racks.

The armory.

That’s where they would have…

There.

Half-hidden behind the larger blades, its hilt glinting faintly in the firelight.

My dagger.

I move fast, heart hammering, fingers itching to close around the grip, to feel the pulse of magic waiting beneath the steel.

I reach out. Almost.

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