Chapter 4

Anya’s POV.

“Uh—excuse me, Miss?” A faint voice spoke from behind me. “Would you mind sitting down, please?” There was a beat of silence, then, “We…we have to bathe you before…well—”

“Before Garrick comes back and beats us again,” I finished for her, nodding numbly. I lowered myself into the steaming copper tub filled with rosewater, goat’s milk, and honey.

“Thank you.” She tried to smile, before turning away.

“Mary, quickly pass the soap,” another maid whispered, immediately getting to work washing me down. They all seemed sympathetic at the sight of my knees once they got to them, which were horribly swollen and already turning a deep, angry purple.

I could barely stand up to get out of the bath without the support of the staff once they were finished. Every time I tried to put weight on my legs, a sharp tremor of pain shot up my thighs.

From there, they dressed me in a breathtaking white lace gown, concealing my ruined body. The maid named Mary slipped soft, flat slippers onto my feet, then set to work on my hair, weaving it into intricate braids adorned with fresh white lilies, while another did my makeup.

When they were done, they guided me to a polished silver mirror. I froze, staring at myself.

I looked beautiful. I felt beautiful.

But I also wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and cry until my lungs gave out.

How had I even ended up in this nightmare? My mind raced, trying to piece together the impossible logic of what had happened back home. Could it be my strange abilities? Was I actually able to travel to different places now?

It had only happened once before, when I was barely fifteen, out of pure fear. But even then, it was just from one room to the next in the same house when my mother threatened to beat me half to death.

Had that same primal terror triggered something inside me tonight? Had I gotten so consumed by panic that I traveled not only through space, but through time itself, as I suspected might be the case?

Before I could spiral further, the door flew open and Garrick barged in. His eyes raked over me, and he grunted in approval. But the brief calm vanished instantly when he checked his pocket watch and began roaring at the maids, his face turning a hideous shade of crimson. “You useless wenches! We are running late!” To speed them up, he shoved one of the maids into a wall and smacked another across the face. “Hurry up, for fuck’s sake! The carriage is waiting!”

My chest tightened as the poor women stumbled back, crying silently. Watching him, dread settled deep in my stomach. If this was how my supposed father acted, I was already prepared for my new husband to be just as horrible.

A savage world could only breed savage men.

The ride over passed in a blur. I sat in the dim, cramped cabin of the carriage, staring at my lap and doing everything in my power to force my tears back. I couldn’t give Garrick a reason to hit me again.

When the iron wheels screeched to a halt, Garrick barked at me to get moving, shoving me forward toward a massive, looming fortress. Even through my panic, I noticed how drastically the scenery had changed.

The lush, vibrant greenery surrounding Garrick’s territory was gone. Here, the land was dry, cracked, and barren, the air thick with a faint scent of ash.

As we walked through the grand corridors, I overheard a passing maid whisper to another about Garrick, calling him a wasteful fool who squandered his territory’s rare resources on lavish living while his people suffered.

I noticed these servants were well-dressed, carried themselves with pride, and didn’t seem to fear their own shadows like Garrick’s staff at his castle.

Just then, Garrick leaned in close, his sharp, filthy fingernails digging painfully into my arm. “If you try anything funny, I will have you killed on the spot,” he hissed into my ear. “Do not test me, girl.”

Terrified, I gave a stiff, quick nod.

We reached a pair of towering double doors, which swung open to reveal a sprawling ballroom. Hundreds of people were already seated at long tables, their eyes instantly locking onto me as Garrick began dragging me down the center aisle. I kept my gaze ahead, refusing to look at the crowd watching my forced march.

At the front of the room stood two men.

The first looked like an old-fashioned preacher, draped in crimson robes, holding a leather book and a quill. The second man stood with his back turned to the room, attentive to whatever the preacher was telling him.

Even from behind, his presence was overwhelming. He was exceptionally tall, with broad, powerful shoulders and short, dark hair. He was dressed grandly, the fabric of his coat absorbing the flickering torchlight.

My throat went dry, and I swallowed hard, a fresh wave of terror paralyzing my heart.

Was this the back of the monster I was about to marry?

My chest heaved and my mind raced as I was forced closer to my next prison, desperately searching for a way out. Could I run? Break away from Garrick’s grip and sprint for the doors?

No. I wouldn’t make it five feet.

There were too many people watching, my swollen knees could barely hold me up to begin with, and the terrifying truth was that I had absolutely no idea where I even was.

As we came to a halt at the front, the towering man stepped up to stand beside me. He turned around, and the moment my eyes landed on his face, I sucked in a sharp, involuntary breath.

He was shockingly handsome. His features were sharp, his jawline perfectly chiseled, and deep, dark brown eyes framed by thick, sooty lashes sat beneath defined brows. He belonged on a magazine cover rather than in this brutal, medieval nightmare.

But I quickly snapped myself out of it, a cold wall of defense slamming up inside me. Beautiful or not, men so far had taught me exactly what they were capable of. Alpha Garrick was a monster. Carl was a murderer. My father never cared for my existence. This man was no different simply because he just came wrapped in a much prettier package.

A maid slid up from the side and pressed a small bouquet of white lilies into my hands. My fingers were shaking so violently from fear that the stems immediately slipped through my grasp. The flowers hit the stone floor with a soft thud.

Before I could even think to bend down, my soon-to-be husband moved.

Without a single word, he stooped down, scooped up the bouquet, and shoved it back toward my midsection without looking my way.

A sudden, hot flash of fury flared through my absolute terror. This man was about to become my husband, and he couldn’t even bother to glance at the woman he was binding his life to? It was deeply insulting, and it irked me more than I wanted to admit.

What followed passed in a suffocating, meaningless blur. The robed preacher spoke in a deep, booming voice, reciting vows and ancestral laws I barely understood. I forced out a mechanical “I do” when prompted, my voice barely audible, while my almost-husband muttered his own responses with a cold, detached indifference. Throughout the entire ordeal, he remained a rigid statue beside me, keeping his gaze locked on the preacher. Rhydian—as I learned his name was when he was addressed—was rude, arrogant, and treated my presence like an inconvenience.

When the ceremony was complete, my husband turned on his heel and walked away without giving me a second thought.

As the maids moved in to escort me out of the ballroom, a fresh wave of terrifying dread crashed over me, replacing my anger. The mockery of a wedding was over. I was officially trapped.

How was I ever going to escape this place? And worse, what on earth was going to happen to me now?