My heart skips a beat, and my feet refuse to take me further.
There is someone on that throne.
Each haunted castle has its cursed prince.
The shadows thicken, weaving an imposing figure sitting on it.
So, this is my mysterious stalker, the fourth Fae Hunter.
The Dreadful One.
My first instinct is to turn around and run, yet unseen hands grab me, squeezing the air out of my lungs, and hurl me toward the dais.
I roll on the cold floor and come to a halt at its feet, my joints pierced by sharp pain. Pulling my ruined dress down, I try to scramble myself up. If I am to die, I will do it standing, looking my tormentor in the eye. My doom is already upon me. Slow, heavy steps slice the silence, and long, gloved fingers lift my chin.
Once again, I steady my breath.
What kind of monstrosity has earned himself the name the Dreadful One? Is he a Fae or some apparition, like his guards? His powers deem him almost god-like, his evil will breaking everyone who sought refuge in those cursed lands.
I finally gather enough courage to look up, and I gasp. I catch the glimmer of turquoise eyes under long, thick, black eyelashes. Full lips are quirked in a roguish smile, playfully displaying the dangerous tip of a fang.
“My, my, look at what the cat dragged in!”
His voice is deep but soft, and the notes hang heavily in the air when he circles me. I follow the feline moves of his impossibly tall frame, shadows trailing behind him. At first I think it’s a richly draped cloak, complimenting the finely-tailored midnight-colored suit he’s wearing. When I look closer, I realize that those are wings. Wings, made of condensed shadow. He must be a terrifying sight when he spreads them. No wonder all Fae are terrified of him. A feared warlord and powerful mage.
In other words… an Archdemon.
His circle around me is complete, and I try to cover myself up, mortified under the scrutiny of these otherworldly glowing eyes. I still wear the ragged dress, stained by blood and… other body fluids, my breasts almost fully on display. I cross my arms defiantly as he clicks his tongue.
“I think you need a bath to wash all these males from you,” he suggests, his dark, velvet voice covering a blade.
“I’ve always been curious about your kind,” the shadow of his mighty wings frames his broad shoulders when he approaches me, “you are so fragile yet persistent. Against all odds, you are still there! While we are about to perish. Is it because you breed like a pest?” He looks down at me, head cocked, shoulder-length ebony lock falling over a razor-sharp jawline. I know better than to answer to his provocation. “Your weakness turned out to be your salvation. Your insignificance your biggest perk. At the same time, our power brought us our doom. There is some bitter justice in that, don’t you think?” I swallow dryly and notice the first signs of hyperventilation. Not now, I grit my teeth, not when I have to negotiate my fate.
His half-lidded gaze shifts to my exposed, heaving breast, and he smirks devilishly.
“I have noticed that you and the Anchor Hunters have found a very… creative way to tap into your magic.” Perfectly shaped dark eyebrows furrow with distaste over a straight, regal nose. All Fae males are beyond handsome, but this one has the lethal beauty of a jeweled blade in a dark alley, of a siren´s call luring seafarers to their doom. Nature has created him to be the perfect predator, a deadly trap for naïve souls like me. I am enthralled, unable to move, like a rabbit in the headlights. “Yet I would love to run a few experiments myself, Celeste, and for that, I need you to follow me to the dungeon."
Experiments? Oh my…
The panic strikes without warning; I’m hyperventilating uncontrollably, and pain pierces my chest.
“So fragile—” is the last thing I hear. Then the Dreadful One casts a spell, and I drop at his feet.
I wake up in a cell that looks like something out of the D&D universe but is disturbingly real. The humid walls reflect the light of the single candle glued to the rough stone floor, and the stench of mold is overwhelming. A bucket of relatively clean water is placed next to me, and I drink, then wash up as much as I can.
The echo of water dripping far away suggests I’m in a larger underground hall.
Suddenly I sense the gravity of an intense gaze and jump, pulling my ruined dress over my chest in a pathetic attempt to cover up.
The heavy metal bars of the door creak open, and the tall shadow of my captor swallows the meager light. Without a single word, he grabs my arm and drags me out to a wide corridor.
Dark openings gape left and right, and a glimpse of a skeletal hand still clutching a bar makes me pull back and put up a pathetic fight, thinking I might end up like the unfortunate there. Or maybe a worse fate awaits me?
Resisting is useless. The Fae is ridiculously tall, and there is that disturbing aura around him, that sensation of barely leashed power. He could snap my neck with a single move.
His fingers feel like steel under the soft leather gloves, and he hurls me into a wider hall.
I press my hands to my lips to suppress a scream. We are in a medieval torture chamber.
