Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

T hey come for me in the middle of the night. They always come for me in the middle of the night, right when the shadows are at their darkest so they can hide their cruelty from their gods.

Even though I expect them, my heart thrashes like it's the first time they've come for me, and fear overtakes my body.

I grip my bedsheets tighter underneath me and flick my gaze to the window. The crescent moon hangs low above the forest, its pale light barely reaching the bars on my window. Of course, they would come for me regardless of if the moon was full.

This is the last night they can do this to me.

They wouldn't miss out on that.

I'm sure this punishment will be for some insane, made-up reason they will no doubt have gathered witnesses for. Sometimes I think about screaming and running from them—again. Sometimes I think about fighting back like I used to do in the beginning. But if my failed attempts have taught me anything—it's that no amount of running, screaming, or begging for help will stop them.

Not even my uncle can help me, though he never talks about what happens to me on the night of a full moon. I think he's too ashamed to admit he can't protect me like he once did. The former Captain of the King's Guard is just as powerless as the rest of us. Only Lochlan is able to help me, usually the next day, but even he can't stop them.

I close my eyes as soon as they enter and picture the life we've often talked about—the life that is finally within reach; a home with no bars, a future with no pain, and a place where I can be loved instead of hurting. Lochlan promised to make all that come true, and soon, it will…

It will. It must. Please!

Cold hands grip me by the ankle and pull me out of the bed. I manage to steady myself before they grab my hair to pull me upright again. The priestess' two favourite acolytes, Sister Breea and Sister Michael, sneer at each other before they each grab one of my shoulders and drag me outside. My bare feet slap the stone ground as I'm dragged off down the familiar, haunting passageways, down the ice-cold stairs, and past the main hall as if I'm being pulled by them through a million sins I never committed. Then they reach the last passageway, the one barely lit with only a single sconce hanging from the wall, and I know we've arrived.

The room they use is always the same one. Dark, cold, empty, with no windows or ventilation. The walls are so thick that my screams are never able to leave them. I swear this room is haunted by a thousand echoes of those screams. I'm thrown into the familiar old wicker chair that stands alone, right in the middle of the room, on a damp stone floor. The sisters tie my arms tightly to the arms of the chair, a precaution they adopted early on in case I try to escape again.

I lift my head, looking up at the tiny bit of sunlight that claws through the iron hinges of the door. I always focus on it as if that tiny bit of light is my single ray of hope. Years ago, when they first brought me here, I used to pray to their stupid god to save me from them. He never did either. I soon learned that the only one who could save me was myself. And one day, I'd muster the right amount of courage to do it.

As soon as Priestess Gabriella enters the room, the last of her acolytes, Sister Faye, seals the door behind her and then they all turn to face me. Two of them hold lanterns that she'd just enough light to let me see the flames flickering and dancing across their hooded frames. Their pristinely white robes. I used to think they were ghosts when I was little, sent here to haunt me upon every full moon, until I realised that ghosts were not real and that the figures standing before me were very much real, and they were worse.

The priestess leans down so that her gaze is level with my own, and her murky, almost black eyes bore hatefully into my own. When this first happened, I was ten years old, and I cried for so many nights and days afterward that my eyes remained bloodshot for weeks and I couldn't see properly. She told me it was a punishment from the gods for simply being who I am—or rather, who my blood says I am—and every punishment since has been for that blood in my veins and the title I never asked for.

I stare back at her. After so many of these torture sessions, I no longer speak, scream, or cry out during them. Silence is all I have to hold on to within these four desolate walls. Silence, and a tiny ray of light.

"Tomorrow, you will receive a great honour from our king. One you do not deserve. One you are unworthy to behold, much less receive. There are many in his kingdom who would agree with that statement, but do you know what I think? I think you were unworthy to be born into this world, let alone our next queen."

She grabs my chin roughly, forcing me to look at her in case I dare pull away again. Meanwhile, one of her acolytes rips the back of my nightdress to reveal my back. She loves causing me pain there and I assume the others don't mind watching. None of them flinch or appear even the slightest bit bothered, not even when blood runs from my back and down my legs to the floor.

The priestess stands and clasps her hands behind her back. "Today, in class, you once more displayed how undeserving you are of the honour that awaits you. In fact, I would almost say you seemed… unhappy, about fulfilling your destiny tomorrow. It seems to me that I again must remind you of how happy you should be. How grateful."

What remains of my dress is torn from my back and I'm completely exposed. I shake from the cold, unable to help it, and I catch the flicker of pure and utter pleasure that gleams in the priestess' gaze. She loves it when I show even the slightest bit of emotion. But when it's fear? She all but drowns in it.

"I am happy," I say, glaring back at her. The lie is repeated so often on my tongue it sounds real this time when it leaves my lips. "I am grateful to accept my destiny, Sister Gabriella."

Keeping my voice as hollow and motionless as I possibly can takes work, but I've mastered it. It doesn't matter to her, anyway. She will hurt me either way; this is just a farce for her to pretend she has good reason to punish me in front of these witnesses. She huffs like she doesn't believe me and internally I wince. It's going to hurt tonight. It's her last chance to break me—or cleanse me— as she calls it.

Priestess Gabriella walks around me, her voice low and echoing. "There is a part of me that is happy you are finally leaving us tomorrow. Your very existence is but a stain of the past we all wish to… erase."

Well, tough luck, bitch. You can't kill me. I'm already dead inside.

I bite my tongue. If I can just get through this, I'll be free.

"All those years ago…" Her voice carries to me again. "I was a young acolyte myself when our glorious king first arrived here. He told us that we were worshipping the right gods, and that we weren't fools. Not like your parents had us believe." My heart jumps at the mention of them. "Your parents mocked our religion. They claimed dragons were not real, and we were made poor and destitute just from the shame of it. We had nothing. Nothing! Our temple was in mere ruins! But then he appeared, with you near dead in his arms, and as he carried you through the courtyard to us, talking to you, even when you could not hear him, I remember the look he gave you. Even all these years later, I remember the look." Her lips tilt into a sadistic smile. "I had never seen such hatred before. It radiates from him. Do you remember what he said to you?"

I did hear him, and I do remember, but I will never tell her.

His voice still echoes my nightmares. His words carried with them.

"This courtyard was in ruins from the war. We didn't live in this part of the castle. It was your parents' summer home. I was merely a slave to them when they decided to grace us with their presence. I wasn't even aware anyone knew about us, about how we still studied the religion in secret. But he knew. We swore to protect you, to bring you up to be a proper princess, one that he will need to unite these lands. There are still fools out there that believe your parents' rule was the rightful one, and that he is an imposter." That's because he is. "They believe that you are the rightful ruler because you are the last living heir to the royal line of Dyminien."

The cold brush of a whip caresses my exposed back and I clench my fingers, digging my nails into the wood where there are already grooves from my hands. I hold on, readying for the first whip. It always stings the worst. A cry escapes my lips, even though I beg it not to, as the leather rips through my skin with a sickening noise. The priestess rarely whips me while she talks, her attention usually fixed on one task at hand. But of course, she'd go all out this time since it could be her last.

"We were given so much gold, everything within these castle walls, and I will not have you take that away from us!" The whip slashes across my shoulder blades, and I bite my lips to smother my screams. "You will be the perfect queen I promised you will be! You will not be defiant, sullen, or ungrateful!" Another whip, another piece of leather tearing through my flesh, and blood trickles down my back. "You will be obedient and do everything the king asks of you and more, and should I hear that you are even remotely rebellious to our king — should you do anything to embarrass me —" She whips three times in a row, and this time my screams leave me, unable to be held back. "Then this will look like child's play compared to what I will do to you, Princess."

Her hot breath blows on my ear and my skin crawls while tears stream down my face. "Do not forget that the royal palace is full of our priestesses. You will not escape me there. I will always have eyes on you." She claws her nails down the wounds on my back, just for her enjoyment, before breathlessly backing away. I arch my back, sobbing. It takes several moments for her to catch her breath while I tremble in the chair, choking back my sobs. "See to her, then return her to her room. The princess needs her beauty sleep if she is to be ready for tomorrow."

Healing pads are draped over my back, sticking to my torn open skin, and I gag at the smell of them. Chamomile mixed with my own blood. The priestess learned years ago that if she leaves the wounds on my back to scar like she did when I was a child, no amount of healing pads can erase them. She's cruel, but not stupid.

They unbind me and lift me off the chair. I sway on my feet, my legs giving in underneath me. The sisters help support me as they drag me back to my room and drop me down onto my stomach. They make sure the pads are secured and working before they leave, locking the door behind them. Silence wraps around me while the embers flicker to their deaths in the fireplace beside me, and I sob into my pillow.

It's over. It's finally over.

I repeat the words until I've no tears left to cry, and exhaustion pulls me into a deep sleep where pain can no longer reach me. I have to believe I'll escape from this place tomorrow because if I don't, and the Dragon King takes me with him, I'm going to jump out of the highest window.