I smile at the thought as several new maids enter the room. They carry plates piled high with food that they hand to each of us. It's not until they make a quick retreat that I realize we won't be leaving this hall behind. I stare down at the food, disappointment filling me. It'll be harder to slip away without the others noting my absence in such a confined space.
"I wonder when the prince will summon us," a woman nearby comments.
Not any time soon, I hope. I'd rather be far from this place before the prince remembers that we're here. Reaching for a slice of bacon, I take a bite to distract myself. The others turn to their food, and the hall falls quiet as we eat. When the maids return to gather our plates, I half expect to be told our day has been planned for us or that we're already being summoned before the prince. But the maids say nothing before disappearing.
It takes exactly an hour to realize that we've been left to our own devices. Moving toward the window, I stare out at the cliffside. I'm joined by Lyra, who shoots me an apologetic look.
"I'm sure you'd rather be left alone," she says. "But I can't stand anymore whispers about the guards outside the door."
Pushing down the urge to send her away, I glance over the room. The women have broken into small groups. Most of them have their heads bowed together as they whisper and giggle. Several of them shoot glances toward the closed doors.
"Your company is welcome," I finally tell Lyra, surprising myself in how I actually mean it.
"Do you think any of the rumors are true? About the guards?"
I glance at her, seeing the way her lips are pressed into a thin worried line. Despite my best efforts to block out the other's whisperings, I've still heard the rumors. The women have whispered about how the male shifters enjoy forcefully taking women. How they mark their women with bites on her thighs.
"I'm sure there's some truth to what they say," I tell Lyra. "But most of it is probably just stories meant to scare women away from the shifters."
"The wolves are unlike any men I've seen before."
There's only a touch of fear in her words. I turn back to stare out the window, reluctant to admit that I agree with her. The wolves are handsome. I will give them that. But I know that they are the same as human males. They'll seek their own pleasure above mine, then leave me to pay the consequence. Here though, that consequence would be death. It doesn't matter how handsome a face, I won't let myself play into that fantasy. I won't be here long enough to care about the woman and their whisperings.
"I wonder when we'll be summoned," Lyra says.
"I'm sure they won't want to leave us sitting around for too long."
But I'm wrong. We aren't summoned the first day. Nor the second or third. Instead, we are fed, washed, and left alone in the hall. We're given glimpses of the guards that watch over us, which prompts the whisperings to take on a darker edge. One woman, a tall brunette named Isabelle, whispers that shifters can only reach completion if they've carved their names into their mate. Sophia, a curvy blonde, adds that a woman's death during intercourse is the only way the males can truly enjoy the experience.
As their words grow cruel and the descriptions more morbid, I watch Lyra grow paler and paler. In quiet whispers, I assure her these women know nothing. It's clear that they've never even experienced a man's affections before, so how would they know the ways of the wolves. No one does, at least no one alive or freely walking the cities we all live in. Boredom pushes the women's imaginations to create more obscene and gruesome details.
On the fourth day, when Isabelle launches into an overly graphic explanation of how the wolves like to shift during intercourse, I decide I've reached my limit. I can't sit around bored listening to their tales for another second. The large oak door to the hall may be guarded, but the window isn't. As the others are busy adding ridiculous details to Isabelle's story, I near the window. Lyra, usually at my side, has been pulled into the dramatics today. It's a small relief as I'm sure she would just frown as I pushed against the glass panes.
It gives, just barely. Enough that I can slip out onto the ledge, which is barely wide enough for my slipper-clad feet. A cool breeze tickles me nose as I stare down at the gardens below. I hadn't realized we were so far up in this wing of the castle. Perhaps the maze of the hallways really did throw me off.
Shifting, I make sure that none of the others have noticed my escape. They're all too wrapped up in their whispering. Good. On steady feet, I move along the ledge of the window. I keep one hand pressed to the cold stone of the castle. It's enough to give me a false sense of security. Should I slip, there's nothing to keep me from falling to the ground below. It's enough of a fall that I'm sure the wolves would be pleased to dispose of my remains. Frowning, I shake away the thought. I've let the women's whispers get to me.
Keeping my eyes focused on the stretch of white stone ahead of me, I creep along. Progress is slow, and I force myself to not rush. I'd rather be caught out here, alive, than fall to my death because I was in a rush. After several minutes, I finally reach the next window ledge. There's a small gap between that I have to stretch to reach. My legs wobble, and I nearly lose my balance. Sucking in a breath, I reach for the window. The pane of glass gives way, and I tumble into an empty sitting room.
Leaping to my feet, I glance about. But I'm alone. Crouched by the window, I force myself to wait. Once my heart has calmed, and I hear no pounding footsteps headed my way, I stand. Looking around, I note the white cloth draped over the furniture and the dust collecting on the floors. Such a large castle, and it's barely used. Anger fills me as I move toward the door. Pressing my ear to it, I can hear the low voices of the guards.
Glancing about the room, I'm about to head back out to the ledge when my eyes land on a door to the left of me. One that's too small to lead anywhere important. Probably a door that leads to the servant's halls. Letting my curiosity get the better of me, I move toward it. I keep my feet light in hopes of not alerting the guards to my presence. Pressing my ear to it, I listen but hear nothing. Carefully, I pull open the door. I'm greeted by a dark hallway. Exactly as I expected.
Smiling at my good fortune, I slip into the hallways. Cobwebs tickle my face as I move deeper into the darkness. I stop at every door I come across, pressing my ear to the door until I find another empty room. More dust covering the floors, and cloth draped across furniture. I'm curious just how much of the castle is wasted by the prince and his court. Moving across the floor, I press my ear to the large door leading to the hallway. When I'm confident that there's no guards here, I slip out.
The hall is empty as I close the door behind me. Distantly, I hear footsteps to my left, so I turn to my right. I follow the hallway, careful to be as soundless as possible as I move. Thankfully the slippers I'm given each morning make a little sound against the cold marble floors. Peeking around the corner, I make sure each hallway is empty as I move about. I press my ear to doors before peering into them, then moving on to the next door. After several minutes, I'm convinced that the women have been placed in an empty and nearly forgotten wing of the castle.
Unsure about whether I should brave an escape, I'm distracted when I hear a soft cry. It comes from the end of the hallway I stand-in. Frowning, I move toward it. It could be nothing, but when I hear it again, I'm unable to move away. It almost sounds like a cry of pain. I note a door is cracked down the hall, a sliver of light escaping into the dim hallway and letting another moan of discomfort escape as well.
I move closer, unsure about how I can help whoever is in trouble but knowing I can't move away. I'm silent as I reach the door. The crack is just enough that I can make out a woman on the floor. I have to squint into the darkness to make out the blood flowing down her cheek. She gives a soft sob as a figure steps in front of her, blocking her from my view. Even in the dim hallway, I can clearly make out the flash of long silver hair. The Grey Prince.
He lets out a growl before muttering something. The woman sobs harder as he raises a hand. I note the dagger in his hand just before he brings it down. A gasp of pain reaches my ears, and I go still. The Grey Prince moves, circling the woman. He reaches for her, tugging at her already shredded silver gown. With a tug, he tears it from her. She tries to cover herself, but he's fast as he moves to grab her throat, hauling her to her feet.
I tense as I prepare to launch myself into the room. A heavy hand wraps around my mouth. My gasp of surprise is muffled as I'm hauled backward.
12
Rykker