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Chapter 3

TEN lashes later, Ivy and Branch left. Forreston and I were left alone.

I would never, in my whole life, be able to forget the scratchy sound of the whip being drawn out from his belt. Usually, it was handed to his mother or father, but today, he got to do the honors. Forreston, the few times he did this, always took a savage delight in this. In hurting me. And I never knew why.

No matter how many times they did this, it always hurt. A lot. It was strange how elves thought if you were hurt once, it wouldn’t be so bad if you were hurt again. That wasn’t true. Perhaps you could manage the pain better, but it always got worse.

And yet I was determined not to scream. I hardly ever did, because they took that as an act of submission and left. And much as I would like that, there was no way I would ever submit to them. Especially not now. I wouldn’t let them win in these last few days. I could hold out.

So, there I was, biting my lip so hard it was bleeding, while Forreston aimed the whip at my back. The stings burned, and they were perfectly timed, so there was no breathing space to get over one lash before another came.

My back, I was sure, was a bloody mess, the back of my gown torn away. This was the main reason I never wore deep-backed dresses. The scars were all too visible.

“Twelve,” Forreston said. I could hear the grin in his voice. Obviously to remind me, because I could not count in my present state. All I could do was cling to the stones of the already bloodied wall and keep from collapsing.

The most they had ever done was two years ago, when I had tried to escape with Juniper. I didn’t know the exact number, but it was too much. I’d nearly died then.

I could barely keep myself up. My legs were weakening bit by bit, sinking slowly onto the more merciful stones. I knew I couldn’t hold out much longer.

“Done yet?” Forreston asked mockingly.

“Don’t even think about it,” I said raggedly, even though inside I was screaming in agreement. So, he continued. I took a ragged gasp as my legs gave away under me.

I collapsed on the stone floor, banging my head, though the pain was nothing compared to my back. I heard Forreston give a satisfied grunt above me, and I heard his footsteps fading away.

I clutched my side, gasping. I couldn’t handle this.

My thoughts floated back to my sisters—mostly Juniper. She gave me strength. Her voice floated back to me. El, you can do it. Be brave.

I heeded her advice, about never losing hope. And it all faded to black.


A stinging burn woke me up.

Just on my right wrist, a searing pain caused me to open my eyes. Slowly, as they adjusted to the light, I saw Forreston standing over me, smirking. He dropped the hot iron rod and turned away.

I tried to breathe.

Iron was irritating, to elves. Forreston always wore gloves while using it. But on the skin of an elf, well, it wasn’t very pleasant. Luckily, the bars of my cell and the bench was made of rock. I had always avoided the iron chains, though.

My wrist had a long red burn over it. That wound would heal eventually, and the scar would fade soon. I turned my attention to more pressing matters.

I made sure I couldn’t hear his footsteps, and finally propped myself up on one elbow, fighting another small migraine. Luckily, I hadn’t had one of those during the Ceremony, or the whipping.

A soft, dark blue gown had been laid out on the bench. Maple had been here, then. And there was a large mirror. Grimacing, I pushed myself up. I was very careful not to stretch my back. But it still hurt.

Limping slightly, I made my way to the mirror. Holding my breath, I turned around and looked at my back.

It was covered in blood.

That much was expected. But it was dried, which was also a disadvantage, because I couldn’t tell where the wounds were. I had never had any healing after these . . . incidents.

But I healed quickly. The one piece of luck I’d had. The lashes, though they stung, weren’t fatal and would heal on their own. I’d only ever been close to death after Juniper’s murder. After our attempted escape.

Gasping, I changed into the deep blue dress laid out, and looked at myself in the mirror again.

How much it concealed.

But sleep lines ran over my hands, my face. How long had I been out?

I looked at the iron rod, an idea striking me.

I pulled the long sleeve of my dress over my hand and grabbed the rod. Holding it, I banged it against the bars of my locked cell. A guard came running immediately.

“What is it?” He said testily.

With as much dignity as I could muster, I replied, “Just how long was I . . . asleep?”

The guard pursed his lips. “Well, since last night. So almost a day?” He plodded away, his steel boots clanking on the floor.

It felt as though something was squeezing my heart. A whole day.

With so few days left in my life, I treasured every moment. Now I had lost a whole day.

I sat down on the stone bench. Three more days left. Just three more days of my life.


I was still sitting on that bench. The guards had changed posts three times.

Strange.

A powerless princess, who posed absolutely no threat whatsoever to the Queen and her plans, was being watched over by about a hundred guards. And that princess had horrible headaches, too, which sometimes even rendered her incapable of movement.

As it was, my thoughts were distracted my something different.

I was hungry.

And thirsty.

I’d been out for a whole day. I was practically fainting now. I could barely move my limbs. It had been worse, after Juniper’s death. But hunger had become quite familiar to me.

I was growing hungrier and thirstier by the minute, and even the air was tasting stale. I knew that if I didn’t get anything, I’d likely be out for another day.

Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long. As if on cue, a guard ran up with a tray in his hands. Without saying anything, he slid the tray on the floor, under the bars, and ran back to his post, wherever that was.

Trying not to look too eager, I walked over to the tray. It was covered by an upside-down plate, right on top of it. I reached out quickly and grabbed the plate.

I shrieked.

It appeared that the plate, too, was made of iron. I breathed deeply, cradling my palms. A thin, red line had appeared on them both. I was a recipient of the soon-to-be King’s hospitality, it seemed.

It didn’t matter. I had to eat.

I pulled my sleeves over my hands and pushed the plate off. On the tray was a loaf of bread, and, next to that, a jar of water.

I thanked the Forest Spirit Nalvia for the provisions, however small they were. I grabbed the jar and took a long swig, thankful it, at least wasn’t made of iron. But not two. I didn’t know how long I’d have to subsist on that one jar. Then I grabbed the loaf.

I had no reservations about eating the whole thing. Better it be in my stomach. I’d get more. I’d learned long ago that while they wouldn’t hesitate to give me more food, they rarely provided me with another jar of water.

Soon I was satisfied. My hunger wasn’t completely gone, but it had settled. Unfortunately, this also turned my attention to other matters. Like what was going to happen next.

I sighed and leaned against the wall, closing my eyes, waiting.

Soon, maybe half an hour later, I heard the telltale click of Forreston’s boots and Ivy’s soft footsteps.

I tensed, and finally they appeared, both grinning proudly.

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