Broken pillars and smashed glass littered the floor. The wax from the thousands of once-burning candles pooled at his feet.
Merav sat in the middle of the room. Her crimson dress billowed around her, until it too became a part of the pool of blood that flowed freely around her. The shattered remains of the colossal chandelier lay beside her, twisted metal dripping in red liquid.
On her lap she cradled the head of a man who lay sprawled out on cracked tile. He didn’t move. Killian’s flesh prickled icy cold.
“Dmitri…”
The soft sound of the empress’s sobs seemed to fill the entire ballroom. No one spoke, watching as she gently rocked Dmitri against her chest. A jagged piece of glass jutted out from his chest, scraping against her cheek, and the blood flowed anew.
Then Killian saw Fedya. He stood away from the crowd, looking down at his brother. Killian couldn’t see his face. But then he saw the thorns biting into flesh and fresh droplets of thick, deep burgundy falling to the ground. It oozed from Fedya’s hand, his fist tightly wrapped around the thorny stem of the enchanted rose.
K
illian watched as the droplets fell, a rising horror swelling inside. He reached a hand out.
“Fedya—”
The rose burst open, swallowing Fedya whole in howling, black light. Fedya screamed in agony, the swirling light wrapping tighter and tighter. The light sizzled and snapped in pure, raw magic, and a second later his screams were overtaken by a snarling roar.
Killian blocked his eyes from the overpowering storm, but as the deafening roars filled the ballroom, he forced himself to look. The swarm of clouds began to subside, and gasps of terror echoed through the crowd.
Fedya was gone. In his place stood an enormous creature, covered entirely in inky fur, with the legs of a boar, and the claws and fangs of a lion. Sharp, misshapen horns protruded from its boxy head, and a gleaming mane of pure black fur swallowed up any light that touched it. Somehow the creature stood upright, almost twice the height of any mortal man.
It stared at them for just a moment, blinking slowly. Then someone screamed in terror, and the creature leapt back, down on all fours like a wild animal. A rumbling growl welled up from deep inside it and it pulled its head back, erupting into a howl so thunderous, the floor trembled. Killian shuddered as the roar rattled his chest.
The creature stopped and looked down at Merav and Dmitri. It clamped its jaws shut, its short, furry ears pinned back against its skull, staring. Merav didn’t move, staring up into its icy blue eyes, still clutching Dmitri’s body close to her chest, drenched in tears and blood. Slowly she reached out her hand, her fingers caked in red, trembling. She brushed its nose once, then it turned with another deafening roar and fled the room.
Killian stood, numb. There were still spatters of blood where Fedya had stood. And a single rose petal, once blush now turned scarlet.
Someone screamed.
“It’s a monster! Where did it come from!”
Killian twitched, jostled from his stupor as he looked around and a horrified tremor pulsed through the crowd. “What?” His voice was no more than a throaty whisper. No one heard him. More screaming.
“First Prince Dmitri, now his brother. This land is cursed!”
“No one is safe. We must return home immediately.”
“That beast is going to murder us all! Someone must kill it!”
Killian’s chest was tight, but he swallowed and outstretched his hands, turning back to the crowd. “Wait, stop. He’s not going to hurt anyone.”
“How do you know?”
He spun around, but there were too many faces, all of them speaking. Their words overlapped, impossible to detangle, a ball of fury and fear. They sobbed, clutching each other close, wringing at ripped ballgowns, bruised skin and raw scratches.
“I just…” the words tangled in his mouth, confused and lost. “I know him…”
They didn’t listen. Angry. Shrieking. He could still see Fedya’s tracks, bloody pawprints out the door, vanishing into darkness, a perfect trail to follow. They were going to go after him.
They were going to kill him.
“Find him.”
Killian froze as something soft—slender fingers—gripped his hand. He jerked back, but when he turned around, Merav stared at him. Her eyes were wide and glassy. Dmitri still lay on the ground at her feet, head turned, eyes closed. Killian’s stomach coiled, hot bile rising to his throat.
“Don’t let him get away.” Her grasp was tight, her voice steady. When she released her hold, Killian’s hand was smeared with Dmitri’s blood.
“Please,” she whispered, “He still has a chance.”
Killian swallowed hard, but he nodded. His hands shook, and he pulled them into tight fists, sucking in a sharp breath.
“I will go after him.”
Her eyes welled with renewed tears. But no one else had heard. He tried to clear his throat, but it continued to burn. “I will go,” he repeated, louder. Sobs filled his ears, terrified gasps and angry confusion. Kill him. Stop him.
“I will make sure everyone is safe,” he shouted, his words slicing through the crowd like a blade, and they fell silent. Their eyes bore into him, but he didn’t shrink away. He remembered Fedya’s trembling hand as it clutched the rose, the dripping blood. He remembered Fedya’s eyes.
“Please.” His voice suddenly shook, his final ounce of courage waning fast. He spoke fast. “If I go after him, I will not allow him to harm anyone. But you must promise his safety in return.” His throat tightened, his vision beginning to shake. “Please. I can bring him back safely.”
The crowd rustled, exchanging glances and staring at the ground. Killian tensed, but then Merav stepped forward. She somehow stood tall, even as the tears continued to fall silently down her blood-streaked cheeks.
“We will wait for you,” she said, but she spoke outward. “Please. Honor Eskor with your patience. Without Duke Fyodor, their legacy is gone from this world forever.”
Killian’s knees weakened. Their legacy?
“Fyodor is the last living member of the royal family; without him, the country of Eskor will be forever scarred. I implore you, please allow Prince Killian to bring him back to us without violence. He has been touched by dark magic, but he is not lost to us forever. Please.” Her voice cracked. “For Dmitri.”
Another murmur rustled through the crowd, strained yet contained. Merav turned back to Killian, folding her hands tightly in front of her. She nodded again. “Don’t give up on him.”
He wanted to reach out and take her hands again, to embrace her tight or even just nod in reassurance. But he couldn’t move at all, his voice completely lost. From the corner of his eye he still saw Dmitri, lifeless on the ground, that enormous piece of glass protruding from his flesh, his hands splayed at his sides. Killian’s fingers twitched at his sides. He’d held those hands less than an hour ago. Those hands were supposed to wear his wedding ring.
Someone brought out a mare, helped him onto the saddle. He grabbed the reins without thought. The crowd began speaking again, calling out to him, but he didn’t understand a word of it. He cast his eyes to the floor, at the bloody paw prints sprinting out the door. He wanted to see Melchior and Annette. Were they safe? Did they even know what had happened? But then he was outside, and the horse bolted, kicking up snow, and the dark gardens swallowed them whole.
The castle was gone. Icy wind and sharp branches whipped Killian’s face, and he pressed in closer to his horse’s neck. The howl of Grimbeasts tore through the trees, and his horse whinnied and ran faster. Snow stung Killian’s eyes, blinding him, and he gritted his teeth, trying to find those bloodied paw prints. He found yellow eyes instead; one pair, then two. Then even more.
Long, wolf-like forms sprinted through the trees, sleek shadows on spindly legs, leaping faster than any mere animal. A flash of white teeth leapt out, lunging straight at them. The mare squealed and kicked, he
r hooves colliding with the monster’s skull. Killian yelled, forcing them onward.
A gleam of metal flickered up ahead. He squinted, steering them toward it, and a large wrought-iron fence came into view. That didn’t make any sense. There weren’t supposed to be any inhabitants around for miles. No time to think about it now. They raced toward it, and the wide gates flung open as they approached.
They dashed inside without stopping, straight into nothing but pure blackness. Killian looked back over his shoulder, just in time to see as the gate doors swung back shut. There were no Grimbeasts in sight.
Killian eased up on the reins, and the sound of pounding hooves slowed to a muted thud. Soon, only his thundering heartbeat and the ragged panting of his mare filled the air. He had lost sight of the trail, the paw prints, anything. Instead, they were surrounded by nothing but blackened snow and a starless night sky. He couldn’t tell which direction they had come from, or even where the gate was. There was only shadow.
A tiny light flickered up ahead. Killian pulled them to a stop.
It was a flame. Small yet unwavering. He couldn’t see much beyond its orange glow, but it grew no bigger and didn’t move. Killian hesitated, the frigid air stabbing his lungs, the mare quivering with exhaustion and fear. He glanced around one final time, only to be met with more unending darkness. He focused on the flame again, clutched the reins tight, and clicked his tongue, leading the way.
The flame beckoned him like a welcoming gesture, warm and hazy. Something behind it began to take shape as Killian approached, even darker than the night, looming up into the sky. He craned his neck, eyes drawn upward as an enormous mansion came into view. He could hardly see more than a few yawning windows, and the carved faces of elegant maidens nesting beside tall columns.
A second spark caught the corner of his eye, and Killian turned quickly to see another flame come ablaze a bit further off. He instinctively jerked back, a chill jolting through his spine.
“Hello?” he called out. His voice was instantly swallowed up into nothingness.
No response. But then another light sputtered to life. Then another.
One by one, a trail of lamps blinked on, casting a soft, honeyed glow on the snow, and revealing a flagstone path. It stretched out in front of him, away from the manor and toward a second building—a stable awash in bright, orange light. He hesitated, but the only sound left was the tired huffing of his mare, eager for rest. Biting his tongue, he cautiously followed the walkway forward.
The stable door was wide open, and warmth flooded out as they stepped inside. There were no other horses inside, no people or even a single barn cat, yet everything looked well-worn, used but clean. Hay dust tickled Killian’s nose.
He licked his lips and tried calling out again, a little louder this time. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
Once again he was greeted by silence. He dismounted but he pressed close into the mare’s side, scanning the empty stalls. There weren’t even any spider webs. He stopped in front of a stall in the middle of the building. Its doors were slid open, and fresh water and grain filled the trough. Instantly she pulled eagerly toward it, and Killian followed suit, still looking around.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” he continued speaking loudly, though to whom he wasn’t quite sure, “but my horse needs rest. You have my word I will replace anything I use.”
Although no one spoke in return, the barn was filled with its own comforting sounds. The crackling of the fire in the lamps, and the gentle creaking of the wood as the stable shifted all around. Killian smiled as a mouse squeaked and tittered across a beam overhead. At least there was still some other life around.
“I’m only looking for my friend. I think he might be hurt, and he needs my help.” He didn’t know whom he spoke to, the mare or some unseen person. Perhaps both. But he continued talking as he went about unsaddling her. “If you see him, please don’t be afraid.”
He found a brush and wiped her down. The smooth, methodical motion helped, the feeling slowly blooming back into his fingers and toes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cleaned his own horse, tangling his fingers through thick, coarse hair, and hoisted a blanket across the beast’s back. He smiled as she slowly closed her eyes, furry ears lazily flicking in sleepy contentedness.
He locked the stall door shut, and the moment he released his hand, he heard a bell. Killian spun around, instantly tense.
“Hello?”
There was a pause, but this time something answered him—another bell. It sounded a little further away than the first, and he turned his head in its direction. For the first time he noticed an open door, opposite of where he had first walked in. Through it, he could just make out a new trail of twinkling lamps, summoning him forward.
Killian held back, glancing back at his horse. But the animal hadn’t moved, eyes still closed in utter relaxation. He swallowed and forced himself forward, rehearsing what he’d say when the occupant of the mansion demanded to know why he was here.
He followed the new trail outside the stable and saw that it led directly up to the mansion. Like all the other doors before, these too were now wide open, a bright light that hadn’t been there before already awaiting him. Another bell jingled ahead, and Killian followed its lead. But as he walked up the steps, the dread in his stomach began to fade, the fear ebbing away.
He heard more bells, quicker now, but he didn’t mind them anymore. It was warm. He stepped inside, expecting a foyer or a ballroom. What he found instead was a bedroom.
It was small, but the bed was piled with thick sheepskins and quilts. A fire crackled in the fireplace, casting everything in a shrouded glow. No one else was inside, yet somehow Killian didn’t feel alone. Instead he felt beckoned, as though someone had taken him by the wrists and gently steered him all the way in.
His eyelids started to sag, and as he stepped onto the plush carpet, his knees began to weaken. He fought the crushing exhaustion, but couldn’t resist as invisible hands pulled him onto the bed. The soft fabric brushed his cheek and he fell back into a mound of pillows. The last thing he saw as his eyes fluttered closed was the door swinging back shut.
W
olves chased him in the dark. Gnashing teeth flashing white and dripping in deep red, clamping around his throat. He couldn’t breathe. Yellow eyes stared at him, laughter overpowered his struggled gasps. He writhed, bones aching, twisting, pulling. Something snapped.
Killian bolted upright with a gasp, and for a moment he was blinded. The monsters were gone. Bright, white sunshine streamed in through a window, flooding the room with light. He rubbed his eyes, clearing away the spots, and for the first time Killian could see where he was.
It was morning, and he was neatly tucked beneath the blankets, the sheets pulled taut around his sides. Someone had taken off his boots. His heart still pounded, sweat coating his face. He sucked in a breath and peeled back the blankets, looking around.
The room was larger than it seemed last night, though still smaller than his room back home. Plush, tufted chairs and carved tables piled with books filled the space, and thick, scarlet rugs lined the floor. Large vases were bursting with bouquets of flowers that should not be blooming this time of year, and a crystal chandelier dangled from the middle of the ceiling. A cherrywood typewriter sat on a desk, stacks of fresh paper piled beside it. But when he saw the walls, his breath hitched, and he slowly stood up.
The wallpaper was blue, though he could hardly see it all. Instead, every inch of space was filled with golden frames, so many they nearly stacked on top of one another. Each one boasted oil paintings illuminated with bright colors and textures, landscapes, cities and people, places he had only ever seen in his dreams.
Killian stared, mesmerized, heart aching with unquenchable longing. He trailed the wall, pausing in front of each one as they practically flickered to life in front of him. Images of the world, the crashing waves of the ocean, swelled up inside him. Bright dabs of
paint, the lips of smiling women and the twinkle of lights and flowers. There were forests and mountains and deserts. Music swirled between them, so strong he could hear the tang of the chimes and the boom of drums. He almost closed his eyes, wanting to breathe it in and get lost in another world. But he couldn’t let them out of his sight.
Slowly he traveled the room, taking in each painting one by one, until he reached a tall, square window and stopped. The sky was white, and he appeared to be on at least the third floor of the mansion. Small flecks of snow lazily sailed through the air, the glass swirling with frost. He could just make out the wrought-iron fence further out.
Killian craned his neck, trying to find the barn, when the door hinge creaked behind him. He spun around, and saw a door he wasn’t sure had been there a second before. Though barely open, he could hear the sound of rushing water trickling out from the other side.
Killian hesitated. “Hello?”
He stole forward and peered inside.
“Is anyone there?”
A warm blast of steam hit his face. A gleaming white claw-foot tub simmered with clear water, and a fresh suit lay folded across a stool beside it. Killian searched the room again, already knowing it was empty. Suddenly every movement reminded him of the grit and grime that coated his body, his greasy bangs flopping in front of his eyes. He grimaced and quickly stepped inside, locking the door behind him.
Half an hour later, the water was draining, the gentle scent of honey soap lingering in the humid air. The suit fit him like it was made for him. He pulled on the jacket as he stepped back into the bedroom and instantly stopped. A pair of black polished shoes were set at the foot of the bed, a folded pair of socks tucked between them. The bed was freshly made, a sweet-smelling candle alight on the nightstand. But most interesting of all was a small serving cart right in front of the door, set with a glass of juice and a covered plate.
FAIRYTALE Page 10