Apparently it was an unspoken agreement that I – we – were to rest after the party. I felt a bit guilty, thinking of Bianca and Gretta who had to be up at the crack of dawn.

But the thought quickly tumbled from my mind when I'd staggered to my bedroom with Bela, our heels clasped between our fingers, my body still warm, cheeks heated from the alcohol.

Gods, I hope I don't have a headache tomorrow . . . this morning . . . whatever. My tolerance is so low – barely there – that the possibility was distinct. A near promise.

Bela and I didn't let it deter us, not as we stumbled into my room, my hands instinctually locking the door behind us.

She'd claimed my mouth within seconds, her hands roving over my body, her tongue on my neck.

I don't remember all of what happened after, only snippets that embedded into my memory: Bela near ripping the dress from my torso, her tongue lapping and tickling my nipples; my own hands gathering as much of her ass as they could; my face between her breasts; feeling her fingers inside me, pumping, pumping, pumping, and then in my mouth as I sucked on my own cum; Bela riding me until she came, her hair finally unraveling as she tilted her head back and howled. We were both loud enough for the entire damned castle to hear, but we didn't care.

And I still don't as I wake up on the second morning, feeling my hair tangled and knotted about my head like a chicken had slept in it.

I slip out of bed and make my way towards the bathroom, snorting as a catch a glimpse of myself in the vanity mirror.

I look around the floor, at the evidence of our night with no small amount of pride. Thankfully Gabriella's dress isn't ruined; I'd grown to love it enough to want to wear it a second time. Bela's dress looks like a red snake crawling towards the bed, her one shoe set next to the divan, the other somehow ending up by the fireplace. Her clothes looking like a trail of where we'd been before the bed – where she now lays, still in deep sleep. Her breathing even and long, her hair spills over the pillow like a golden puddle.

Inside the bathroom, I giggle once more as I see myself in the mirror again. I peek out and check the clock on the mantle. Quarter to nine. Bela had given me the day off – of which I'm hoping Alcina had agreed to as well – but I don't know what to do with myself.

Another peek at Bela at least offers an option.

Slipping back into the bathroom, I begin to dig through my hair, finding bobby pin after bobby pin. Each pull of the little metal pins as my follicles sighing in relief. Massaging my scalp brings a ripple of goose pimples along my head and neck.

Combing will be a nightmares, so I try to separate some of the strands with my fingers before fishing out a wide-toothed comb. It snags more than I'd like to admit, a few hawthorn petals falling from the ends. And the sections stiff from the molding gel didn't make it any easier.

Turning on the water, I soak my hands and lather sections of my hair. I'll wash it regardless but putting a dent in this tangled mess wouldn't hurt.

As I work, as I look at myself in the mirror, I slowly blink as I remember dancing with Mother Miranda.

Gods, I'd danced with the woman.

I impressed even myself when I'd taken her hand, my stomach dropping to the floor when Lady Dimitrescu had offered me like a lamb to a slaughter.

A part of me worries that not having another dance with her may come back to bite me in the ass, but I'd been so swept up in the revelry that I don't think anything would've scared me. Besides, it was Bela's birthday, I doubt Lady Dimitrescu would allow Miranda to ruin her daughter's special day.

Not to mention I owe Daniela twice now; for helping with Bela's present, and for peeling the priestess from me.

I ran into her when I came back from my hunt, I had found her in the atelier – knitting.

Knitting, of all things she'd be doing. It was so unexpected, so un-Daniela-like that I couldn't help but gasp and laugh.

She tried to intimidate me, but it was hard to take her seriously with a bright pink scarf dangling over the edge of an armchair.

I swore her my silence if she'd help me find a present for Bela . . . besides myself.

Though I can't tell which she enjoyed more.

Finally having loosened some hair from the stiff hold of the gel, I walk over and turn on the tub, allowing the ends of my hair to drip water along my spine, setting it rippling with more goose pimples.

Almost immediately, my hands reach up and massage my breasts, pinching my nipple like Bela had done last night. I bite my lip and stifle my moan as I adjust the water, pouring in a small vial of oil that smells of jasmine.

Bela had been happier than I assumed when she opened my gift. My original idea was to find her a book that she'd like, but I doubted there was a book out there that she hadn't read.

I owe Duke more than I'll ever realize – I'll probably owe him much of my stock for the rest of my life, but the payment plan we'd struck will suffice until then. I really put his connections and reputation to the test when I'd come up with the idea to create the music box. And it turned out better than I expected.

It is one of a kind – the only one with my song engraved on it. And I couldn't be happier that it now belongs to Bela.

I'd overheard her threats to the poor servant girl who'd been tasked with delivering it to her room. I almost felt sorry for her, but I did spend a lot of money on that present, and it was Bela's birthday. She could do whatever the hell she wants.

Once the tub is full, I shut off the water and carefully step inside, sighing with relief as my sore feet throb against the warmth. Gods, my feet are so unadjusted to heels that I have to curl my toes to relieve their ache. I can hear the satisfying pops beneath the water.

Dancer I might be, but heels are still my common enemy. Gabriella had to readjust the height of the heel, twice.

I cross my legs and massage my feet beneath the water, feeling the oil slither between my toes and along my bare legs.

It's almost peaceful, until some suds slip down my wrist, pulling the water and oil with them, revealing the white scar on my wrist.

I lean back against the head of the tub, its shape fitting into my back perfectly.

Gods, what am I going to tell Bela?

How am I going to tell Bela? I'd sworn to Lady Dimitrescu that I'd never tell her daughters of her partake in their experiments. I'd sworn my silence to her for the sake of my life. How can I tell Bela without breaking that vow? Lest I want my head served on a platter for their next dinner.

I try to think of ways I can tell Bela as I wash my hair, lathering the length with a conditioning oil and carefully rinsing so I don't slip as I leave the tub. Maybe I could just be vague with her; she doesn't really need to know the reason why, she just needs to know that I'm sworn to her. She can pull the answers from her mother on her own.

I give myself a final rinse before grabbing a towel and drying off. I let the tub drain as I comb my hair again, sighing at the sleekness and detangling power of the oil. I'm dried and dressed in a matter of minutes – back in my usual pants and loose tunic – braiding my hair down my back as I step back into the bedroom.

My eyes wander over to the bed and find Bela still sprawled across the pillows, but her eyes are open, and they are already upon me, as if she'd been waiting for me to leave the bathroom.

I giggle as I approach the bed, Bela purposely turning on her side to reveal the length of her long, bare legs. We'd slept naked last night, and still my core pulses as the corner of the sheet falls off her shoulder, revealing her bare, pebbled nipple.

She runs her hands up her bare leg, along the peak and valley of her hip.

"You know," she purrs, "the whole point of a day off is to enjoy it." She props herself on an elbow, pointing an accusatory finger at me. "And one way to enjoy it, is to stay. In. Bed."

She emphasizes her point by poking her finger on the tip of my nose. I make to bite it, but she withdraws with a giggle.

"I'm always up this early, and I'm restless. I didn't want to wake you." I admit.

I'd just be tossing and turning until she whacked me upside the head with a pillow.

"Besides, I can get us breakfast." I add, kneeling on the edge of the bed to place a kiss on her forehead.

"Just order it to your room, and we can keep ourselves busy until it arrives." She purrs, shifting to her hands and knees, giving a clear line of sight to her tempting cleavage. Her gold hair slips over her shoulder as she bites a corner of her mouth.

She kisses me deeply, biting my bottom lip to accentuate just what exactly she'd do to distract us. But I force myself to peel away as I say, "I'll be right back then. I have to give a payment to Duke."

"The Duke? For what?" she asks, but blinks with realization a moment later. "Oh."

"But after that, I have the day off. What did you want to do?"

In answer, she drags the tip of her tongue from my chin, to nose, to forehead.

I wipe it with a small show of disgust. "Fine, but anything else?"

Bela pouts. "I thought you would enjoy a day in bed with me."

"It would still be considered work."

"Right, because laying on your back sure seems like hard work." Bela snorts as she folds her legs beneath the blanket, snuggling down deep due to the morning autumn chill that still seeps between the stones of the castle.

Which reminds me to jog over to the fireplace and put on some more logs. But not before flashing her a vulgar gesture of my finger. I kneel before the fireplace and say, "I would do more if someone wasn't a control freak."

I hear Bela scoff behind me. The emphasis reeks of sarcasm. "I'd hardly call it controlling."

I lay a few fresh logs onto the fire, angling them right so the draft might fuel the flames. "Well, I'm sure it's called something."

Bela giggles, and a large shadow passes before my window, a harsh whooping of air verification that I didn't just imagine it.

I'm about to ask Bela if she saw it too when the windows to me room explode.

One minute, Bela and I are talking. One minute, I'm about to go rip into her for her excessive proactiveness in bed, a seemingly one-sided effort. One minute, I am smiling and laughing and happy, trying not to drown in the weight that had yanked me under that too-familiar black surface. No amount of running could free me from it, buy me a sip of air.

The next, my ears hollow out, the ground rips from beneath me, the ceiling rains down, Bela scream, my blood sprays, and I am twisting, lunging for Bela—

Shrill, incessant ringing fills my head.

The world has been tipped on its side.

Or maybe that is because I lay sprawled on the wrecked floor, debris and shrapnel around me.

A searing chill slaps across my face, and Bela is screaming, screaming, screaming.

That shrill ringing won't stop. It drowns out every other sound. Coppery slickness in my mouth—blood. Plaster coats my skin.

I blink and look towards the opening where the window had been and see a creature plucked from a nightmare.

It looks part reptile, part machine, with long taloned nails that dig into the side of the castle like a squirrel to a tree. Its head is covered in metal fashioned to look like a harness and a helmet, only its lower jaw – lined with three rows of sharp, needle-like teeth – is free to move, allowing it to give a guttural roar that nearly has me wetting myself.

It can only stick the tip of its long, alligator-like snout into the hole it made in the side of the castle, its nostrils flaring, smelling.

A heavy thump sounds ahead of me, cutting through the screaming and the shrieking, and I look in time to see Bela's body, still naked – wrapped in the sheet – hit the floor like bag of sand.

The sound she makes is a combination of a scream and a sob, her form dripping and fading like sand.

Her flies dying as the cold sears its fingers into her body, into every crevice left by her hollow shell. She seems absorbed in her own pain as she brings her hand before her face and watches pieces of her hand fall apart.

Seeing her in pain, seeing her suffer and helpless –

I'm about to spring for her, but strong hands wrap around my shoulders. I thrash against them, reaching for Bela—

I catch the familiar scent of cigar smoke and musk, entangling with that I can only assume is oil.

"It's time to play a game, sweetheart."

I fumble for the knife in my pocket —

Something cold and wet presses into my face.

It burns my nostrils, flaying open my mind.

Darkness sweeps in, and I am gone.