────────────────⋆˖☽ ​𝑨 𝑭𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅 ☾˖⋆────────────────

The door swung inward, revealing the same room where I’d first awoken. It was a gilded cage, and standing at its center was a new keeper. Her back was to me, her attention fixed on the window. The crisp black and white of a maid’s uniform was softened by two immaculate, sun-gold braids that cascaded down her back.

Mira cleared her throat, a sharp, precise sound that cut through the silence.

The woman flinched, spinning around with a startled cry. A silver tray she’d been polishing clattered to the floor. Without thinking, I surged forward. “Are you okay?” The words were out before I remembered the ropes biting into my wrists. I stopped short.

She looked up from the floor, a furious blush creeping up her neck and flooding her cheeks. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, with warm, hazel eyes wide with alarm and a dusting of freckles across her nose. “I’m fine, miss. Truly.”

I wanted to offer a hand, but mine were useless. She scrambled to her feet, frantically smoothing the front of her apron before dipping her head in a bow. “My deepest apologies.”

“It’s nothing,” I said, my voice softer than I intended. I studied her. There was a genuine fragility to her that was jarringly out of place among the hard-eyed people I’d met so far.

“This is Celia,” Mira announced, her tone as starch. “She will attend to your needs for the remainder of the day.” My gaze snapped to Mira. She stood with her hands clasped, a thin smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “I will be just outside.” It wasn’t a promise; it was a warning.

I gave a curt nod. Mira turned and exited, and the heavy thud of a deadbolt sliding into place echoed in the room. My attention immediately returned to the hunt, my gaze sweeping the space, cataloging potential weapons. 

“Miss?”

My focus snapped back to the timid girl.

“I am Celia,” she repeated, offering a wobbly curtsy. “It is an honor to meet you.”

“Alanah,” I replied. “My name is Alanah. And please, don’t call me ‘miss’.”

Her eyes widened, and her hands flew to her mouth in a theatrical gasp. “Oh! But am I permitted? To use your given name? No one has ever allowed such a thing.”

A genuine, weary smile touched my lips. “I’d prefer it.” It will make her trust me, a cold, calculating part of my mind whispered. A bitter taste filled my mouth, souring the potential kindness of the moment. My gaze fell to the floor.

Just then, a deep, savory aroma snaked through the air—roasted meat and herbs. My stomach betrayed me with a loud, hollow grumble.

A small, knowing smile touched Celia’s lips. “You must be famished. Please, have a seat.”

She gestured to a small table by the window, now set with a plate of sliced meat, cheese, and a cluster of deep purple grapes. A faint, sickly violet haze swirled around the food, a miasma of influence I could see as clearly as the plate it clung to. It was faint, far less potent than the choking, jet-black shroud that clung to Celia—the same shadow that marked everyone.

“Remember,” I said softly, meeting her eyes. “Alanah.”

She nodded, a quick, jerky motion. “Yes… Alanah.” Her gaze dropped to my bonds. “Let me help you with those, so you can eat.”

She stepped closer, and I held out my arms. Her fingers fumbled with the knots, clumsy and uncertain, until the coarse rope finally fell away. I flexed my raw, chafed wrists, a fiery ache blooming in the skin. Shoving the discomfort aside, I sat. My body screamed with hunger, but my mind screamed louder. It’s a trick. They need me for something, but they don’t need me healthy. I stared at the food, my eyes darting up to find Celia watching me, standing rigidly by the table.

“Aren’t you eating?” I asked, my voice a challenge.

“Oh, no! I couldn’t possibly,” she stammered. “This is for you.”

“I can’t eat all this,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. “I would appreciate the company.”

Hunger warred with ingrained obedience in her wide eyes. After a moment of fidgeting with the hem of her apron, she gave in. “If you are certain…”

“I am.”

Hesitantly, she pulled out the chair across from me. For a long moment, she just stared at the plate. A procession of emotions—curiosity, fear, resolve—flashed across her face before her head shot up, her eyes bright and fixed on me. “Is it true?” she whispered.

My spine went rigid. “Is what true?”

“That you attacked Zarina?”

The name meant nothing to me. “Who?”

“Mikaeus’s dragon,” she clarified, her voice dropping to a hush of pure reverence. “The Aurelian dragon. She’s been with the family since the beginning.”

Of all the things I had expected her to ask, this was not one of them. The sheer absurdity of it stole my breath. “Yes,” I said, my voice low. “I did.”

To my astonishment, her expression didn’t shift to fear, but to something that looked alarmingly like delight. My own brows furrowed.

“I can’t believe it,” she breathed, her eyes shining. “You’re so brave! No one would ever dare.” In her excitement, she reached for a grape, but it slipped through her fingers and rolled across the table.

“Brave isn’t the word I’d use,” I replied, watching the grape wobble to a stop. “I just don’t care for dragons.”

She finally captured the grape and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I know,” she said after a moment. “Everyone is talking. How Master Mikaeus brought home the woman who tried to slay his companion. They’re all furious.”

I leaned forward, my elbows on the table. “And you? Are you furious?”

“Hmm.” She tapped a finger on the tabletop, her gaze drifting. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m furious. You didn’t succeed, after all.” Her eyes met mine, startlingly clear and honest. “And you don’t seem like a terrible person.” A bright, genuine smile bloomed on her face. “So, I like you.”

This girl was a wildflower in a venomous garden, too innocent to survive here. I leaned back, crossing my arms.

“You haven’t taken a single bite,” Celia noted gently.

“I…” My voice failed me.

She leaned in, cupping a hand to her mouth as if sharing a grand secret. “Don’t worry,” she whispered conspiratorially. “There’s nothing in it. I’m not from here, either.”

That snagged my attention. “Where are you from?” I murmured, instinctively lowering my own voice.

A shadow passed over her face. “A small town in the eastern territories. It was… it was swallowed by a Cursed Moon, five years ago.” Her voice was barely audible. “Our village was overrun by Nyxraith. The screams… the scent of ash…” She shuddered, and the black miasma around her seemed to pulse. “Master Mikaeus and the others found me under the rubble of our bakery. They brought me here.”

My empathy curdled at the mention of her rescuers. Then I looked at her face—at the unguarded honesty shining in her eyes.

“If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be in Luminethra,” she finished softly. “I wouldn’t be alive at all.”

Her sincerity pierced my armor. “I’m glad you are,” I told her, and the words were true. I finally reached for a grape. It burst in my mouth, shockingly sweet.

A relieved smile spread across Celia’s face. We fell into a comfortable quiet as I ate, but my mind was a maelstrom. She was an ally. A kind, innocent girl trapped in the same viper’s nest. My eyes scanned the room again, landing on a heavy ceramic vase filled with flowers on the mantel. It could shatter a skull if I swung it hard enough.

My appetite vanished. I set a half-eaten pear back on the plate.

As if sensing the shift, Celia stood. “Allow me to clear this away. You should rest. I’m sure you’re still unwell.”

I nodded, rising and crossing to the bed. The mattress was a cloud, so soft it felt like it was trying to swallow me. A luxurious confinement. I stared at the locked door, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. Through the window, an eerie, blood-red glow began to seep into the room. The moons were rising.

From across the room, I could hear the soft clinking of dishes as Celia cleaned up. At least she’s kind, I thought. But kindness won’t protect me. Not from Mira, and not from the mysterious person I saw in Mikaeus’s office.

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