Thank you so much to Erin for editing!
Thanks to everyone who is following along. I hope you enjoy this next section. There is one more section to this one shot (ha) after this one.
Have a great week! This chapter contains mature/possibly stressful content. Just a head's up :)
Tonight, the tavern is exceptionally crowded.
I pull my sweater tighter, wishing I'd had the foresight to bring mittens and a scarf. Inside, the space is warm and crowded, but I'm still cold. I weave through a group of overeager men vying for Karl's attention, and he throws me a bright smile when I nod hello. He looks happy behind the bar; thriving and busy, with a dishtowel slung over his shoulder as he fills another beer mug for a patron. He's dressed like the other bartenders, in all black with his hair combed back, and they are mirror images of each other. Only the one on the end looks different, and Paul throws me a confused hello when I wave at him.
Ten days have passed since my father vanished, and since then, my life has been turned upside down.
A few days ago, Eric went to the castle to try and find him. He returned in a particularly sour mood. He stomped around, ate a muffin out of spite, and finally snarled that they made it inside, and found nothing. An empty castle, not a soul in sight, and plenty of dirt. The stitches above his eyebrow pulled taut as he ranted about what an absolute waste of time it was, and I stood there, feeling oddly responsible.
Eric was taking the hunt seriously, and he was displeased that he wasn't making progress fast enough.
This wasn't his normal hunt, so I understood his frustration when he stormed out, shoulders up near his ears, and his jaw so tight it seems like it could snap. I even understand when he sat silently through dinner, chewing his meatloaf with a vengeance, and his eyes flashed in annoyance as I cleaned up. Our agreement hung between us, and he made good on it by insisting I now stay at his house morning and night. I left to work in the bakery, while his friends tended to the farm, and I returned to make him dinner.
I felt less optimistic when we walked up stairs to go to bed last night, and he lowly informed me to bring his dinner to the tavern. My hesitation in going to a very public place with his meal was understandable, but he didn't care. He was mad he hadn't found my father and now had to start over, and he was punishing me by making me bring his meal to his bar. Where half the town would be. It was sure to start some real gossip, especially considering everyone here knew we didn't like each other very much.
Which is why I'm now clutching the plates to my chest as I head toward the back of the tavern, where I believe his office is.
He hadn't been very clear.
Eric liked to exude his total authority by making me guess things; like what food he actually likes, where he lives, or where he actually does his work.
It takes much longer to get there than I'd like. I draw more than a few stares, especially when I head down the hallway, past the Ashleys. One shrieks that I am not allowed back there, and my guess is they've been this way before.
I smirk at the second shriek, laced with envy and jealousy as I near the door marked office, and my knock seems extra loud. I juggle the plates with one hand, and when I go to knock again, Eric opens the door.
"You're late."
"By one minute," I answer quietly, waiting for him to move. He's dressed casually, his dark shirt and dark pants clean and warm looking, and the stitches above his eyebrow look painful. "I couldn't find a few things in your kitchen, so it took some time. I tried to hurry."
"Fine." He waves me in by pointing to the chair beside his desk and instructs me to sit down. "Did you eat?"
"Not yet." I sink into the chair, carefully setting the plates on the desk. His office is nice, impressive and decorated with the trophies of exotic animals, and much warmer than the main part of the tavern. "I figured I'd eat with you. Unless you want me to leave."
"What?" He blinks, like he's considering it, then shakes his head. "No, you'll stay and eat here. I have a few things to discuss with you."
"Sure."
My stomach drops, because I have the feeling he's going to call off his search for my father. It's been almost two weeks, and despite finding a few things in the woods, things aren't looking great. Eric's main guess was the castle, and when that proved to be a bust, he went back into the woods. He'd returned the other night looking annoyed, but that was nothing unusual.
"Do you think he's still out there?" I sink further into the chair, plating his dinner for him. I don't mind serving him his dinner, because he's not even looking at me. He's busy scrawling in a ledger, and when he glances in my direction, I catch a glimpse of his profits.
I freeze in place, noticing an excessive amount of money for a village bar.
He's made more in a month than my father and I have in years.
When I look away from the numbers, he's staring right at me, lips pressed together.
"Yes."
"Do think he's alive?" I ask the real question, and his shrug is disheartening. "Because you haven't found any signs that he's not dead, right? There's no real evidence?"
"There's no evidence either way. I can track an animal by their movement, but there's nothing to indicate where your father went. The signs led to the castle; we found fabric there, blood, a broken gate, window panes smashed. Everything that would hint he made it there after getting hurt or lost. But we found nothing past that."
"How long were you in the castle?" I separate my mashed potatoes and green beans, mostly because it gives me something to do. "Do you think there's a chance he's somewhere you didn't look?"
"Maybe," Eric mutters, slamming the ledger shut. "We were there for an hour. Parts of the castle are too run down to go into. You risk the floor collapsing. We went as far as we could, but Jack panicked. I could go back…" He thinks aloud as he takes the plate from me, then leans back in the chair. "Did you finish your orders at the bakery?"
"Yes." I take my own plate off the desk, and slowly begin to stab the chicken. Joe had watched me cook this one, and I had the distinct feeling he knew him. "I prepped tomorrow's dough, so I'm a little ahead. That way I don't have to hurry over there."
"Fascinating."
He doesn't care.
Our ten nights have not made him like me any more than before. He rolls his eyes, then wordlessly reaches for a knife.
The two of us eat in silence, until someone knocks on the door. I stay seated when he moves to open it. He greets someone, then steps aside as Jason bounces in with a huge grin on his face. He stops with his hands on his hips to stare when Eric sits down beside me, and his posture radiate pure glee.
"Oh shit, she really is in here," he pauses to look at me, and his smile grows even wider. "Ashleigh is out there sobbing hysterically. She's close to throwing herself in the fire. I came in to have a beer with you, and found her screaming at Karl about some weirdo you came in here with."
"I'm not a weirdo!" The insult is quick, especially considering whichever Ashley he's talking about doesn't even know me. "I just don't spend all my time here, drooling over Eric like those idiots."
The room is dead silent.
Eric looks at me, so dark and malicious and mean that I should wince, but I don't. I just cut up his green beans, so I'm not entirely afraid of him. "Funny."
"They're weird. They all have the same name," I shrug, eventually wilting under his harsh stare. He looks oddly furious, even more so when I accidentally bump his leg with my knee. "You know, maybe you should give one of them a chance. I think…the one…Ashley with a 'y', can read. She came into the bakery once to look at the menu."
"Oh, thank you, Everly. If anyone's opinion on who I fuck matters, it would definitely be yours," he snaps, and my whole face feels like it's on fire.
I hate him, but for some reason, hearing that he's slept with any of them makes my stomach hurt.
"Oh."
Eventually, Jason snickers, and his face turns red when he tries to stop. "My god, this is even better than I imagined. Everly, can I order muffins for tomorrow? I want to take them to Meghan's family for a gift. If you have time."
"Sure, what kind?" I struggle not to feel oddly defeated, and I can't figure out why. "I have a lot of blueberries. Or would you like pumpkin? Raspberry?"
"Surprise me." Jason's delight falters when he looks from me to Eric. "What? What's wrong? Everly isn't that far off. One of those bimbos would marry you. If that's what you want. You don't have to look so pissy that she pointed it out."
"I don't want to marry anyone," Eric answers, his tone laced with venom. "I want to eat my dinner without anyone's commentary on what I do in my free time."
"You mean, who you do," Jason laughs, and it feels like the walls are closing in on me. "Everly, can I come by at noon? Does that work? I'm fixing your well tomorrow, but I'll be done by then."
"That's fine," I take a careful bite of some carrots to avoid looking at Eric, because my guess is that his expression is terrifying. "What's wrong with the well?"
"You don't know?" Jason looks at me like I'm speaking another language, but I honestly have no clue what could be wrong. "Has your water seemed weird? Part of the well has caved in, and needs to be fixed so nothing can fall in."
"I must have missed it. Thank you for fixing it." My appreciation for him is strong, because I haven't even noticed anything was wrong. "I guess I've been busy."
"No worries. I figured you didn't have time to fix it. I haven't had a chance to until now. I'll be there early tomorrow. Eric, are you searching the woods in the morning?"
"In the afternoon. I'm meeting Ian for lunch, then I want to check out his town. I haven't seen him in a few days, so I'm picking up a few things while I'm there." Eric sounds bored. He leans back in his chair, turning enough to face me. "Do you need anything?"
"Me?" I ask in surprise. "I think I'm okay."
"Fine." Eric's answer is oddly flat, as though he were expecting me to ask for something. "Jason?"
"No, I'm good. This moment is enough," Jason laughs, then bows dramatically. "When you're done, will you two join me at the bar?"
"Sure."
"Um… yes."
Eric and I answer at the same time. I've never drank anything from the bar, but Jason looks eager for us both to join him, and I figure it would be rude to refuse his offer. I decide to finish my dinner before drinking anything, and I'll stay for exactly one drink.
If Eric is distracted enough, I might even be able to sneak home.
Pleased with his idea, we lapse into silence. Jason leaves after a quick reminder to meet him at the bar, and Eric and I resume eating. I look forward to sleeping in my own bed, and the thought perks me up considerably. My good mood returns, and I'm optimistic things will turn around soon.
It gets me in a lot of trouble an hour later, when my second drink has me so dizzy it's hard to see straight.
"You idiot."
Eric's insult is not nearly as razor sharp as I would expect. It's spoken slowly, his words dulled by the fourth or fifth glass of dark bourbon, and gritted between clenched teeth. He says something else –something muffled and mean spirited, when I nearly fall off the barstool –then grabs me by the arm.
"Everly, you're going to hit your head. Knock it off!"
He hisses these words, but I can barely understand what he's saying.
I've had two drinks.
Maybe three.
Or four.
I can't remember. The two drinks I know I've had were deliciously sweet, warm and syrupy, and in sparkling cups that Karl slid across the bar. He served them to me with a grin, utterly delighted that I was here, and took the time to talk about Courtney. While he wiped down the counter, he gushed over how much he liked her. He talked about how pretty her blonde hair is, how lovely it was when she brought him lunch, and how sweet he found her when the two of them rescued a stray cat stuck on a roof.
I listened, silently sipping on a drink that was both sour and sweet, while Eric downed glass after glass with Jason. It didn't take long for the room to feel overly warm. I teetered on the chair, trying to keep my balance as my throat burned with each sip, and suddenly, everything became very funny.
Karl was hilarious. I don't think he was telling a joke, but everything he said made me smile. Eric grew irritable when I giggled at Karl asking if I'd ever consider letting him tour the farm, but even he was funny. His hair was too dramatic, his skin was too tan. He was too tall. His arms were too big, and the shirt he had on was too fitted.
When he turned to glare at me, gritting out something about how I was embarrassing him, I stared at his face a minute too long. The cut above his eyebrow was going to leave a faint scar, and in my tipsy stupor, I reached over to touch it. I was proud of the work I'd done, but less proud when my barstool tilted, pitching me forward and into him.
"What the fuck did you give her?" Eric snarled, shoving me back onto the chair, and keeping his arm there. His hand is warm, and when his fingers curl around my skin, I decide he's too strong for his own good. "She's drunk."
"I didn't even put alcohol in the last one!" Karl answers defensively. "You're the one who brought her here! Does she drink?"
"How am I supposed to know?" Eric, now visibly annoyed, glaring when he tries to steady me again. "Everly, have you ever had anything to drink before?"
"No," I laugh. I shake my head but stop once it makes the room blur. "I had some wine once. I think. Just…a sip, though."
"Lovely." Eric isn't at all pleased. He stands, still much taller even though I'm sitting at the bar. "Jason, I'm taking her home. I'll be back once she's not wasted."
"That's going to be a while," Jason snickers. He's been watching Eric and me intently, though he sometimes focused on talking to one of the other bartenders. "Have her drink some water. She might be sick if she doesn't."
"I'm fine," I attempt to stand on my own, but the floor becomes my enemy. It moves beneath my feet, and I trip into Eric. He's as solid as his disposition; his chest hurts when my head collides into it, and the grip on my arm turns painful. "Eric! Let go!"
"I'll be back."
Eric's words sound threatening, but they make me laugh. They're robotic, like he has to come back here whether he wants to or not, and they hint that he wants to go home. Maybe he does. Maybe he's had enough of being at his own tavern, or maybe he'd like to go home and go to bed early for once.
It becomes hard to think clearly when Eric leads me through the backdoor of the tavern, refusing to let me tarnish his reputation. It's obvious we've come this way to avoid being seen, and I welcome the darkness. I stop in place, letting the cold air surround me, until Eric snaps my name again.
"Everly, what the fuck are you doing? We need to go. You're going to –"
"I don't think he's alive anymore." I blurt out. Eric steps back like he thinks I'm going to vomit, but the only thing that happens is I feel like crying. I do everything in my power not to. He's not anyone I'd ever want to cry in front of, especially now. "This is my fault. I should have looked harder. I should have tried to find him day and night. I should have –"
"Stop." Eric's tone is harsh, and he returns to me, taking hold of my arm. He yanks me close, and his words are tense. "Listen to me, because this is the last time I'm going to say it. If your father is alive, I will find him. But if he went off without telling you and left you alone, that's on him. That's not your issue. You've done your part. At some point, you have to realize there's nothing more to be done. Stop blaming yourself."
"But –"
"No. You've done what you can. When I find him, he can pay me as well for this headache."
Hurt smacks me in the face, but so does hope. Eric's grip tightens, not painfully, but more like he's afraid I'll run away. He keeps me close to him, and behind us, the woods come alive. They whisper amongst themselves, leaves rustling and branches creaking, and the moon encourages this. It hangs high in the sky, casting a sliver of light onto the tavern, like some strange beacon in the night, as Eric unconsciously draws me closer. I can feel him breathing, the long, deep inhales meant to slow down whatever emotion he was trying to hide, each one longer than the next.
His hands curls into my skin, marking their claim with each press of his fingers, and when he looks down, his eyes swim with a thousand emotions. Irritation, a beguiling sense of protectiveness, desire –both to prove me wrong and maybe to prove me right, and lust. Heavy, unabashed, drunken lust.
Maybe I really did have too much to drink.
The night darkens, and right as Eric's lips part to say something, Jason bounces outside, announcing Tobias has shown up to give Karl a hard time.
"Sorry, am I interrupting things…. again?" Jason leans into the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. "As much as it pains me to do this, Eric, they need you inside. I don't think Karl can handle it."
"What?"
Eric looks up, jolted out of whatever trance he was under. His expression changes, and the spec of humanity is gone. He sneers at Jason, but it's Tobias he's really mad at.
"Throw him out. I told him after the last time, I won't tolerate him hanging around. He broke half the glasses throwing a fit over that…whoever that girl is."
"Tris," Jason answers cheerfully. "He was mad she was talking to Jeremy. Okay, so I have permission to kick him out?"
"Yes."
Eric's grip lessens, making my stomach turn over. I feel oddly abandoned, but he gestures for me to follow him, and I know the walk to his house isn't far.
"If he's not gone when I return, I'll handle him. Until then, you're in charge."
"Will do!" Jason is pleased, but not just at being left in charge.
He watches us with a Cheshire-like grin as Eric's hand finds my lower back. It's reassuring, but it's not meant to be. He could guide me home, or use it to shove me right into the woods and off a cliff.
I have no choice but to go with him, stumbling over the uneven stones, and occasionally bumping against his side.
I awake to the sound of silence.
My head pounds a few times, so I keep my eyes shut. The memories of last night slowly begin to come back, and I remember eating dinner in Eric's office, sitting at the bar with him and Jason, and sipping at my second, no third, or was it fourth, drink. With a groan I open my eyes, and I'm met with the realization that I have no clue as to where I am.
The walls are a dark wood, adorned with all kinds of awards and hunting trophies. Thick, dark curtains are drawn over a large window, and the beam above the bed is familiar. I don't recognize the sheets in here, not even as the guestroom in Eric's house. Horror smacks me dead in the face when I realize there is an arm draped over me, and I nearly throw up when I realize I'm not alone in the bed.
Behind me, pressed firmly against my back and with his leg thrown over mine, is Eric.
I can tell without looking.
The heavy arm, the fingers splayed across the sheets, the smell of alcohol and fire, and the sigh when he moves. Eric shifts closer, then stops when his chest hits the back of my head. I'm dwarfed by him even in sleep, and he lets out a grunt of annoyance when his leg nudges mine.
I stay perfectly still, willing myself not to move or throw up.
This can't be happening. There is no way I willingly went to lie down beside him, even in a drunken stupor. I try to plan an escape, but there is none. I am trapped, pinned beneath a sleeping beast, with no way out.
After what seems like ages, Eric finally moves his arm. He draws it back, and with a groan, rolls to the other side. The bed shifts beneath his weight, and he throws the covers so they land on me. I can only assume he's trying to wake me up, but I pretend to be asleep.
Facing him will be mortifying.
I have no idea how I wound up in his bed, or why I'm at his house. My guess is he assumed I'd still make breakfast, but I'm so exhausted I can't move.
Not to mention, he'll have a few choice words to say the minute I sit up.
After several minutes of him sitting there, he storms into the bathroom. The door slams shut, and he stays in there so long that I finally fall back asleep.
The next time I wake up, I am alone. The bed is cold, the room is dark, and the curtains are still drawn. I sit up slowly, examining his bed for just a moment, and I find myself oddly disappointed there is no one here.
"Is she here?"
"Can we see her?"
"Wait, is she in your bed?"
The voices float up the stairs. They make me freeze in place, fingers pressed along the wall, hovering on the third step from the bottom. It creaks slightly, but not loud enough for them to notice. I try to peer around the corner, and with some careful balancing, I catch sight of Eric sitting with Jason and Rylan in the living room, eating breakfast.
"What?" Eric looks up, and the back of his head somehow even looks annoyed. "Well, that's certainly creepy. You've seen her before. So, no."
"Yeah, but she spent the night. Ashley one, two, and three are gonna lose it." Jason is eager as he waves his fork, and I wonder who made them breakfast. "Rylan, don't you want to see her?"
"I guess. I mean, I have seen her. But I want her to let me keep Kevin. So, no. I'm not going to be a weirdo." Rylan shrugs. He's eating a heaping plate of pancakes, and his hair is undone today. "Besides, she's very small. I don't think this will work. I like her, but she can barely reach the counters. I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to have her sleep in your bed. Is that her payment?"
"Hardly." Eric's shoulder rise, and his defensive posture is surprising. "I let her sleep there because she got drunk, and I didn't want her to hit her head and die during the night. I didn't have her sleep here because I enjoy her company."
"Oh, but you do," Jason snickers. "You even said yourself that she's –"
"I said, she's fine. She's keeping up her end of the bargain, and that's it. I'll find her father, he'll owe me too, and you and Rylan can do whatever you want. Take all the farm animals. I don't care." Eric snarls at his friends, clearly not happy with the way this conversation is going. "She looks like she's going to cry half the time. This isn't at all enjoyable."
"How is she paying you?" Rylan looks around, like maybe it's written on the wall. "Is she baking for you? Because she made me breakfast and it was really good. And she's not awful looking. I like her better than Ashley."
"Which one?" Jason stuffs muffin in his mouth, chewing as though it's made of dirt. "These are nasty. Who made them?"
"Daniel," Eric mutters. "He dropped them off this morning."
"Are you going to answer me?" Rylan huffs, not at all happy to be ignored. "How is she paying you? And do you like her better than Ashley? Because I would. I'd work to keep her around. She's too small, but you can fix that. Maybe she can wear taller boots."
"Oh, or maybe, you could marry her and we could have her farm. It has potential. She just can't do it on her own," Jason points out. I feel a flash of indignation at his words, but he's not wrong. I'd struggled to take care of everything, and the animals were the last thing I had time for. "I bet she'd agree. She seems lonely."
"She's not lonely. She has…" Eric pauses, and his shoulders tense. "I don't fucking know. I don't know anything about her."
"Did you ask?"
"No," Eric snaps at Rylan, and I feel a flash of appreciation for him. He's kind enough to point out that I'm a person with feelings, but this whole conversation has me reeling. "Why do you care?"
"You should keep her. Even after you find her dad," Rylan throws out. "And she has friends. Courtney is her friend. I know, because Karl won't shut up about Courtney and how worried she is that Everly made a deal with you."
"She's not a pet," Eric retorts. His sixth sense must kick in, because he glances back toward the stairs. I lean back, hoping he didn't see me. "She's –"
"You're awfully defensive over her," Jason tells him. His voice is loud in the house, but I'm glad I can hear him easily. "Harrison thinks you'll find her dad this week. He said you'll be sad when she's gone."
"I won't," Eric shoots back, and the conversation falls into a lull. No one speaks, and I retreat up the steps when I hear boots thudding over the floor. "I'm going to change. Are we good on today's plans?"
"Yep."
"I guess. I don't really feel like dying, but okay."
I back up the stairs as fast as I can. Eric's footsteps are heavy on the stairs, and he walks faster than I'm ready for. I reach the doorway to his bedroom right as he reaches the landing, and we both stop. He meets my stare, and his expression is unreadable.
"Hi."
"What are you doing?" He demands. "Are you going to be sick?"
"No, I just woke up." I hope he believes me. I wouldn't normally lie, but I'll gain nothing by telling him I was eavesdropping on him and his friends. "Um, thank you for letting me sleep this off. I've never drank anything like that before."
His mouth turns downward.
I suppose common decency doesn't apply to him, or maybe no one has ever thanked for him being kind. It's jarring to think he was kind, but we both he know he let me stay purely to keep up his end of our agreement.
"You have a busy day at the bakery, right?" He questions, but not really asking me. He knows I do, but I don't know how. "I'll see you tonight. Have dinner ready for everyone. Ian should be here, too."
"Is there anything in particular you'd like?" I stare up at him, wondering if he remembers how we slept last night. He shakes his head no, and my guess is he's doing his best to forget about it. I hate how I suddenly feel disheartened by this, because he's horrible. He's an arrogant prick, who's making me cook him dinner and breakfast in exchange for finding my father. Just because he made sure I survived the night doesn't mean things have changed. "I can make a roast. I think. I've made one once and –"
"Whatever."
He storms by me in a huff of impatience. I'm nearly knocked out the way, and his fingers graze my hand. We both ignore the fact that neither of us say anything, and I head into the guest room to get dressed.
He leaves without saying goodbye, and it's better that way.
We don't eat dinner.
Eric returns with Ian, Andrew, Jack, and Jason. He hands me a piece of paper, and my heart sinks.
"That's his."
It's a letter, worn and folded a dozen times over. I hold onto it gently, but my hands shake as I skim the words.
It's from my mother.
Written years ago, a sorrowful goodbye telling my father to take good care of me.
I stare at it for a long time, long enough that Eric doesn't ask for it back.
The third week proves the most challenging.
I sit on Eric's couch, engrossed in a novel about a boy, a fairy, and the children they've stolen. The book is heavy; the spine is thick, gold threaded through the title, and the pages are stiff. I can tell it was pricey, and it doesn't seem like anything Eric would read. I turn the page carefully, trying not to get a single fingerprint on it, when he sits down beside me with a huff.
"Where did you get that?"
His demand is lazy. Sated by a heavy dinner of minestrone soup and bread, he's not as on edge as he normally is. When I don't answer him, he leans into me to see the book, squinting at the title.
"You're reading that? It's for a child," he scoffs. He goes to reach for the book, and I pull it back. "It's not yours."
"Can I finish it?" I hate that I sound pleading, but there's something fascinating about the story. An island where children live on their own, no adults other than vicious pirates hunting them, and a crocodile on a mission. I wonder if someone had given Eric the book as gift, because he doesn't seem like the type to sit and read. "Please? I found it on the shelf."
"Fine." He relents, throwing himself back against the couch before sighing in exasperation. "If that's how you want to spend your evening, go right ahead."
"It's a good book," I side eye him, but he's busy staring at the fireplace.
The flames roar as the wind picks up. He'd lit it upon returning home, and I'd longed to sit in front of it for a while. His house is always cold, but even more so when he returns.
"Where did you get it?" I settle back against the couch, well aware that he's touching my side. He slings his arm along the back of the sofa, and purposely knocks his leg into mine. "Was it expensive?"
"My father gave it to me years ago. He said I could use the distraction," Eric answers, his tone far away. "I don't know why. He certainly doesn't sit around reading children's books. Neither do I. But I know you know how to read quite well."
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, and I nod.
I'd learned to read when I was young. My father made sure I knew how, and I learned by reading his recipes. I was proud when I learned not everyone caught on as easily as I had, and some in our town could not read at all.
"Do you have any others?" I close the book halfway, keeping my finger between the pages. He's clearly not going to let me read, but not for any reason other than he's bored. "Do you like to read?"
"Sometimes."
His fingers touch my hair. I can feel him pick up the ends, twirling it around his finger, then pulling on it. He's goading me, vying for my attention over the world of fantasy, and I give in. I shut the book completely and turn to face him.
"How old are you?" I figure I might as well use this time to my advantage. I know how old he is, but I want to see if he'll answer my question. "Are you twenty?"
He shoots me a dirty look. His face is lit up by the fire, and the rough stubble makes him look like he's emerged from the woods after a long day of hunting. "Please. I'm twenty-four. You should know this."
He's cocky enough to think I know every detail about him, but his assumption is that everyone in the village does.
In reality, we know nothing other than superficial facts about Eric.
"Do you like owning the tavern?" I inch closer, knowing this is dangerous. I don't like him, and he doesn't like me, but he's not moving away. "Is it a lot of work?"
"Sometimes," he leans in, and his face is dangerously close to mine. "Do you like owning a bakery? Is it a lot of work?"
"Tons," I confess. "If Jason and Rylan weren't helping me with the farm, I wouldn't be able to keep up with it all. Baking takes up most of my time."
"I know." His fingers touch my neck. I jump, and his smirk tells me he knows exactly what he's doing. "They said they enjoy it. Rylan is convinced you'll let him have it out the sheer kindness of your heart."
"Really?" I'm not surprised he'd think I want to give it away. They've been doing the majority of the work, and it wouldn't be that far-fetched for me to admit I'm in over my head. "I can't give away my father's farm. When he's back, he'll take over."
"I told them you couldn't," Eric answers lowly. His fingers still on my neck, pressing for a moment. "Rylan has his own farm. Kerrie would willingly let him run it if he asked."
"Why doesn't she?" I turn further, until I'm looking up at him. We're way too close, especially when his gaze drops to my mouth. "Does she run the farm?"
"Harrison does. He helps her out in exchange for…whatever. Oils. Poisoned drinks. Dinner. Whatever she conjures up." Eric's stare sharpens, turning intense when the fire crackles. "It works for them. He likes having someone to come home to, and she needs the help."
"Does he live there?"
I know a little about Harrison and Kerrie, but I've never seen him around their farm. Maybe he goes a route I can't see, or maybe I've never paid enough attention.
"When he wants to. I think he's lonely, and she's a good distraction. Rylan likes him, and he said it's nice to have someone take care of his mom. He worries about her being alone," Eric says, and something clicks in my head.
The air between us sparks, and I realize Eric has made a very similar deal with me.
"I wouldn't be in any rush to give him Kevin, either. He has enough pets." Eric announces, but his tone turns curious. "You don't have any siblings? A brother who lives in the forest, or something?"
"No. It's just my dad and me." I swallow when he leans in, but we bolt apart when there is a loud crash. "What was that!?"
"Fuck if I know."
He breaks the spell to step away from me. Eric heads to the front door with a funny look on his face, and his posture if rife with annoyance. When he answers the door, he snarls at the person to get the fuck off his property.
"The whole town is your property!" The whine comes from Tobias, oddly brave considering Eric doesn't seem to get many visitors. "What am I supposed to do? Leave the village? I came to warn you! You need to listen to me! Don't take her. Don't believe the stuff you're finding! It's a trap!"
"I said, fuck off."
Eric's answer is short. He slams the door in Tobias's face, then faces me. Our time together is over, and it's evident he's got something on his mind.
Eric informs me he's getting ready for bed, and it would be smart for me to the same.
The list of things I can make Eric for breakfast grows painfully thin.
Muffins.
Eggs.
Eggs and bacon, but not Kevin bacon.
Sausage and toast.
Waffles, though Rylan eats most of them and Eric appears confused, like I've served him children's food.
Omelets with peppers.
Omelets without peppers, when the air turns so cold everything freezes, and my supply of vegetables is meager.
Eric's kitchen is well stocked. I've used his vegetables off and on, but I don't know if I'm allowed. Despite our tense agreement, I find myself a little too familiar with his kitchen. On the morning when I make him pancakes and eggs, I rifle through the cabinets. There's an ease to knowing where everything is, but I loathe knowing he's running low on sugar, and it'll be me who brings him some flour.
I pull out a few things –some syrup, and the last of the powdered sugar –and close the cabinet. When I turn, he is right there, watching my every move. His stare glides over to my fingers, wrapped around the bag and clutching it to my chest, and his lips turn up.
It's not at all a smile, but a warning.
My time with him is almost up, and he's going to make the most of it.
"Like that?"
My inexperience at life bites me in the ass. I might be skilled at baking, the blueberry pie we'd had for dessert was evidence that I was proficient at something. I can cook a dinner, edible and filling and reasonably healthy. I can clean. Mend shirts, fix buttons, and scour baseboards. Fold Eric's clothes, scrubbed by hand with disdain since I didn't want to touch his belongings, and wash his boots where the mud stuck.
What I was not skilled at is this, myself perched atop Eric's lap while his teeth sunk into my neck. The action hurts; he's not at all gentle, but he's given me the freedom to decide if this is what I want.
Unfortunately, I do.
I had a glass of wine with dinner, a dark red the same color as dried blood. I sipped it slowly, then without care. My mind was growing fuzzy with each passing day, becoming less and less capable of remembering that I loathed Eric. It accepted him and his meager scraps of decency, like I was starved for affection.
I was.
It's been almost four weeks since my father has vanished.
The thought of him missing no longer sends a wave of fear through me, but instead, pure, raw agony. All encompassing, ands gut wrenchingly painful. I have failed to find him, failed to keep up his farm without help, failed to keep myself strong. I have spent my free time taking care of a man who is only doing this for payment, and in turn, he is my only source of sanity. Each night I wait, dinner in hand, dressed in something nicer than I would normally wear, silently begging for good news. The town villain comes home to me, all dark smiles and sharp teeth, knowing he has the upper hand.
But now, as the days turn to nights, and the nights slip away just like my sanity, the smirks and snickers have lessened, because the stakes are higher. The clues are appearing daily, like someone is leaving them out for Eric to find. He returns each night with small pieces of my father, and I feel like they're carved from my own skin.
A bit of his coat, the one where I'd mended the sleeve with thread that didn't match.
A lock of his hair.
The lace of his boot, worn and caked in blood.
His watch, a rare luxury he'd given himself in a moment of spontaneity.
Other things, like a wilting flower with my name carved into the stem, and a rose without thorns. Eric handed me the flower wordlessly, then demanded I sit closer to him during dinner. His thigh pressed against mine, his arm bullied my own each time I reached for a diner roll, and my sigh made me collapse against his side. It wasn't out of shame or exhaustion, but the need to feel someone living. Someone tangible, someone beside me, recognizing that I was right here.
Eric is alive and well.
Blood pumps through his veins, and courses through his body. Beneath me, he is rigid and stiff. His legs are spread wide, his hands trail up my back to pull down the nightgown I have on, and his chest rises and falls. He seems larger without his shirt on, and the dark pants will be gone soon. I know what he has on beneath them, as I've washed his boxers dozens of times now, and my own fingers rest on his chest.
"Yes. Just like that. Don't move." He commands, sinking his teeth into my skin like the wolf in my dream. "Everly, I said –"
"I'm not."
"I said, hold still." His commands come lustily; the noise growled from this throat. One hand slips into my hair, cupping the back of my head, and I refuse. I shake my head no when he moves, and he's understanding.
"Good. I don't want to kiss you, anyway."
"I know." I am mostly silent. I try to stifle down the noise of want from my own throat. It's wrong, and he's wrong. I should not be here, drunk off his expensive wine and dark stares. I should not be letting him touch my hair like this, knowing his fingers have skimmed down the blondes the same way. Or maybe they haven't. There are moments where he stumbles, where his touch falters in uncertainty, grazing the edge of my shoulder like this is forbidden.
I writhe on his lap when he returns to my neck, teeth scraping the skin as he bites me. His actions turn animalistic, but still controlled. I whimper when he sucks at my skin, and one hand pushes me closer to him. He's hard beneath me, and I hate how good this feels. My own skin is on fire, the sheer act of being so close to him making me want to urge him on, despite knowing he hates me.
He doesn't care who I am, just that he gets his way.
"Have you done this before?" He mutters the words into my skin. My head tilts when he reaches the juncture of my neck, and one of his hands moves to my thigh. He likes the nightgown on, preferring to shove the fabric out of the way, and I shift closer when his fingers keep going. They stroke inside my thigh, sending a wave of shivers up my spine, no matter how much I try to remain unaffected. "Everly, have you –"
"No."
My experience is laughable. I spend all my time trapped inside a bakery, and the realization makes me disheartened for myself. I have lost who I am trying to keep someone else alive, and even now, I am failing the both of us.
"Have you?" I reach for the nightgown myself. The fabric is thin and flimsy, threadbare and ready to be throw out. It's my favorite, a sheer pink, so delicate it had to be made ages ago and then hidden away from everyone. I wore it tonight because I wanted to feel alive, and I do. I feel like I'm on fire, ready to burn into consumption. I stop when he stops, and his fingers retreat. "With them?"
"Not like this," Eric lies, but I don't care. His hair is combed back, but it moves beneath my fingers. I touch it freely, noticing the way his eyes close for a moment, and he's oddly exposed when his head tilts. He catches himself, knocking my hands away like one would shoo a pest. "Not in my bed."
I don't know if that makes it any better. He's demanding as he takes my face in his hands, and we both know this is it. Tomorrow, he will find my father. He will return triumphant and pleased, and I will have paid my debt to him. My father will owe him, so I won't be done with Eric, but we can pretend otherwise.
"It was only one of them. At the bar. It was late, and she was there," he murmurs, fingers sliding into my hair to pull me closer. I shake my head again, refusing to kiss him. I don't think he wants to kiss me, he just wants to be in charge. "It didn't matter who she was."
"Does this matter?"
I break free from his grasp to touch his chest. The muscle is well earned, defined and firm, and intimidating. He watches me intently, chewing on his cheek as my hands skim downward to the waistband of his pants. Not to be outdone, he pulls the nightgown over my head, a battle of arms and hands that he wins. I sit perched on his lap with nothing but my underwear on, and he wins again. He stands up, and I land on dark sheets and dark pillows, all while he hovers over me.
He's an impressive sight.
Pale skin thanks to the lack of sunlight these days, broad, defined shoulders, and a piercing stare. The muscle of him proves he is the best hunter in the woods, maybe the entire world. I struggle not to admire his dedication to his physical appearance, but I lose when he lunges for me.
My eyes close, and just like that, I'm pinned beneath him.
When I open them, he's everywhere; hands trail over my skin, tracing over each curve greedily. I've never even thought of anyone touching me this way, especially not him. There's something curious about his eagerness, like there's more to his touch than merely claiming my flesh for his own. When his fingers pull at the waistband of the pink underwear that I bought months ago, his lips slip into a half smile. He discards them alongside his own, and the sight of him naked is something else.
He's completely arrogant in his own confidence.
There isn't an ounce of shame or embarrassment. He rears back to stroke himself, and my cheeks burn. The action is easy, familiar, and his attitude is one I imagine his prey sees seconds before he kills them. He's in charge, and he will be the victor of this game.
When I scoot back, he watches with hooded eyes, then his stare returns to my throat. He stops touching himself to move over me, and I wince when his lips touch my throat. His mouth is wet as it trails down my neck, and his hands move between my legs. There's a moment of embarrassment when they touch slick wetness, because I should be repulsed by him. I should be pushing him away, and instead, my legs fall open wider, and my head tilts back.
Lust keeps me alive, one stroke at a time.
I focus on him to keep myself from blurting out his name. The muscles in his back move beneath my fingers, and I can feel the hard length of him against my leg. His hips thrust toward me, and his grunt of annoyance tells me he won't be patient for very long.
He's not.
By the time I am close to gasping his name, he mumbles mine.
"Everly…"
I wait for him to say more, but it's hard to pay attention. He's still touching me, his fingers rubbing and stroking in a pattern that has my skin feeling six sizes too small as I fumble for him. My hand eventually finds his erection, the skin surprisingly soft. He sucks in a breath when I wrap my hand around his length, and all it takes is a few strokes to have him swearing. He's dripping wet when my fingers curl around the head, and my inexperience at this seems to have him all riled up.
He lets me touch him for a few more seconds, then knocks my hand way and pushes his head between my legs. There is no time to feel anything but bliss. A minute later, I come against his face, giving into the feeling of him sucking and licking with the only goal of getting me off. When my legs stop shaking, he rears back. He moves over me, covering my body with his, and when I mumble his name, incoherent and not at all sounding like his actual name, he pushes himself inside me.
The wolves attack.
I see a wave of red, thick and syrupy, as my body reacts. There's a dull pinch, one that's over quick and gone with my gasp, then the feeling of him deep inside me. He's overwhelming as he slides in and out, gritting his teeth and growling my name. I swear he says it feels good, but I can barely think straight.
It does feel good.
He feels safe, strong, like he'd be able to fend off the wolves if I asked.
I loop my arms around his neck, and bury my face there while he moves over me. He grunts my name again, rasping out that he's close, before tensing up. Every inch of him stiffens, muscles contracting and hardening, and then I feel him stop. His own orgasm is impressive; he rides it out with slow, careful thrusts, until the absolute last second. Then he collapses, and I'm crushed beneath him.
Swallowed by darkness, and the familiar scent of him.
I have no desire to move. I'm dimly aware when he pulls the covers over us, and there's some muttering about cleaning up. I have no clue what he's talking about, so I nod my head and try to keep my eyes open. I finally see him when he moves off me, and the air between us is cold.
It hits my skin in a painful rush, like knives stabbing me.
"Eric…"
I sit up when his eyes meet mine, fully ready to climb out of bed, but he knocks me back down. The bed shifts and dips beneath him, moving to pull me against his chest.
"Later. It's late."
He doesn't say anything else, but neither do I. His hand clumsily finds my hair, resting against the side of my face, and he exhales in triumph.
He's won this round; victor and his spoils, with nothing left.
Despite the horror in having given him everything, I fall asleep against his chest, warm and sated.
For once, I dream of nothing.
"Don't move."
Eric instructions come as he helps tie the cloak around my shoulders. When he's satisfied, he pulls the hood over my head and mutters something under his breath. I'm immediately engulfed in warm fur meant to keep me safe from the snowfall. Not liking something, Eric messes with the tie while I stand perfectly still, grateful for the cloak. He's had it made for me, and I only know this because I heard him muttering about it to Rylan.
Rylan stood to the side watching with a smile, and he winked when I walked past them with their dinner.
My final and fourth week with Eric was intense.
Each day I made breakfast. Worked in the bakery. Checked on the farm, and was always surprised at how well it was taken care of. Rylan and Jason had been working hard to make some improvements, and now that it was snowing, they were working even harder to keep the animals safe. Their pens were upgraded, especially Kevin's, and straw was added to keep the animals warm. After admiring their work, I went to Eric's to make dinner. I ate beside him, sometimes with his friends, sometimes with just us, then I went upstairs, took a warm bath, and went right to his bed.
Our nights together were spent beneath his sheets, lustily giving into one another. I told myself I was fine with it because we were on borrowed time; I was merely crossing off days until our agreement was over, he was merely looking for someone to warm his bed while he looked for my father. There was mutual benefit here, especially when he made sure I was satisfied.
The nights were each distinct in my mind, especially last night. I've learned how to touch him, my hand slipping into his boxers while he laid beneath me, grey eyes watching my every move. I learned how to coax my name past his lips, a grunt of desperation as he neared climax in my hands, and he almost always knocked me away to be inside me.
We kept our distance, even while he was buried deep inside, even with each mark of his mouth and scrape of his teeth. He left his claim all over me, each time more prominent than the last. Red marks dotted my skin, the faint print of his palm on my throat glowed when I look in the mirror, and my hair tangled in knots from his hands. Still, he never kissed me. I never kissed him. I let myself feel good, coming while atop his lap, head thrown back while his hands dug into my back. I let him touch me, fingers skimming over naked skin, between my legs, and sometimes inside me, because I wanted to feel good.
And I did.
For a while.
When it was over, I hated the disconnect, the abrupt separation, even as he pulled me back to sleep beside him.
It was a deal.
A contract.
An agreement, even as last night, I looked right into his eyes while he was thrusting into me, and he slowed down. He moved the hair off my face, sweaty and messy from our time in his bed, and he hissed for me to knock it off. He didn't like the connection any more than I did, and it was a reminder that while were fine sleeping together, when this was over, it was over.
"You'll sit behind me. Hold on tight, and don't let go. If you start to slip, tell me. You've ridden a horse before, right?"
Eric's fingers touch my cheek as he brushes my hair back to adjust the hood again. I nod silently, and his mouth disappears into a fine line.
"Good. Then we'll leave now."
He steps away, knowing the same thing I do.
He's going to find my father, and this officially ends tonight.
The castle towers above me, disappearing into a black, starry sky.
I pull the cloak tighter, the maroon fabric the same color as Eric's shirt, and crane my head up. The outside is made of crumbling stone. Each grey block is cracked, including the bridge across the moat. There are turrets rising from each section, and a walkway lined with grimacing gargoyles. To the side, a garden of once thriving roses lies dormant, the stalks and leaves a crumpled brown and gray. A pathway winds through, littered with dead leaves and flowers, and ending near a small entrance on the side. At some point, this castle would have been impressive. It still is, but it's filled with a despair that is tangible. The air is heavy, like there's a sickness seeping from the inside out.
"Ready?"
Eric's voice breaks through the night. The snow falls around us, sticky flakes landing in his hair, and I swat a few away from my own. I follow him wordlessly toward the large doors, slightly ajar and heavy looking. Earlier today, the final piece of the puzzle was revealed. In the woods, Eric found a note addressed to me, asking that I come to the castle. I recoiled when he handed it to me, because it said nothing about my father. There was nothing but fancy letters announcing that my presence was requested.
Despite knowing this could be my chance to find my father, I froze.
Something nagged at my brain, making me want to toss the note into a fire. Even Eric thought it might be a trick.
But, since I had real choice, we agreed to go with the others. I dressed as warmly as I could. I donned the cloak Eric insisted would keep me from freezing, and we rode through the woods as the sun set. I held onto Eric tightly, resting my cheek against his back when it got too cold, while trying to memorize a few landmarks. There were burnt trees, broken stumps, and endless piles of snow. My fingers dug into him as we neared the castle, and to my surprise, it was lit up. The windows displayed the shadows of people inside, and even Eric was stunned.
He tied the horse near the bridge, then helped me down with a sense of reluctance I'd never seen from him before.
"Something is wrong."
The words slip past my lips before I can stop myself.
A sense of dread runs through my veins, burning hotter with each moment. I should be thrilled to see the castle alive. The clues left for Eric hint that my father is inside. I can tell. The sounds of faint music filter through the doors, along with laughter and lively conversation. I shiver when Jason pushes the doors open further, then steps inside. A second later, he returns, and announces it's safe.
"Come on. He's here." Eric takes hold of my arm, pulling me forward when I don't move.
My stomach flips over unpleasantly.
"Eric…" I whisper his name as we step through the doors together. His grip on me is tight, possessive even. We're immediately bathed in warm lighting, warm air, and greeted by a man Eric's size. He waits with a sickening smile, and his stare goes right to me. I take the hood off as Eric stops a careful distance away, and the man bows.
"Welcome. We've been expecting you. All of you." He grins, his teeth a little too sharp and uneven, and straightens up when none of us move. "My apologies for the state of the foyer. I know a few of you have been here before. We're working to…renovate. Was your journey pleasant?"
He looks pointedly at Eric.
"Is Hank here?" Eric asks, clearing his throat when the man doesn't answer. "Who are you? Do you live here?"
"Apologies, again. My name is Colton. I've lived here for years. I've pledged my life to serving Landon and his family. I'm sure Everly will feel most at home with them." His eyes dance with glee, then drop to Eric's hand on my arm. "Landon will be incredibly grateful you've taken such good care of her. He and Hank put a lot of thought into this arrangement. You'll be rewarded, I'm sure."
"What are you talking about?" Eric asks, and I step closer to him. I try not to be afraid, but I can't help it. What Colton is saying sounds impossible, like this is all a bad dream. I keep waiting to wake up, praying that if I close and open my eyes that I'll be back in Eric's bed, but nothing happens. "What agreement?"
"This way. I know you must have endless questions, and Landon will be happy to answer them," Colton gestures for us to follow him. I shake my head, and this time, I reach for Eric. My hands cover his, and Colton notices. "Dear girl, do not be afraid. I promise, things will work out. They always do. You're meant to end up here. Your father told us you want more than life in a small village. You'll soon have an entire kingdom at your fingertips."
I say nothing. I hold onto Eric tighter, and even his friends are silent.
They glance at us, mouths tight and shoulders tense, but they nod when Colton instructs us to follow him.
I want to run, and I want Eric to drag me out of here.
But we have a deal, and he will fulfill his end of the bargain.
My father sits at the end of a large banquet table, alive and well.
His cheeks are plump and rosy, healthier looking than I've seen him in ages. His hair is clean and combed, and when he sees me, he rises from the table with a jovial smile.
"Everly! You're here! She's here, everyone!"
The room blurs and sharpens as he stumbles over to me. His goblet is full of wine, and he's warm when he gathers me into his arms. He smells rich; the scent of strong alcohol and a gluttonous meal fills the air. I hug him back tightly, my eyes screwed shut with relief at seeing him alive, but something is wrong. His hug is awkward, clumsy even. He smiles widely when I pull away, and behind him, is the person I'm assuming is Landon.
He sits at the head of the table, like a king.
His long hair is luscious and wavy, and his shirt and pants are finely tailored. A staff surrounds him, refilling his cup and fixing his meal. The woman to his left watches me with a guilty grin, and to her left, is Marcus. I freeze in place when my father hugs me again, not so subtly trying to guide me away from Eric.
"Everly, you know Marcus. This is his wife, Evelyn. I'd love for you to meet their son Landon. He was very sick as a child and must be kept away from the public. He's getting older now, and it's lonely here. I thought you might like to keep him company," my father speaks evenly, unbothered by my stunned expression. "You know Tobias, I'm sure. He worked at the tavern a few years ago."
"Where is Tobias? Is he here?" My words are quiet, and beside me, Eric is silent. He's glaring at Marcus with an unmatched hatred, but Marcus merely smiles in response. "Why doesn't he live here?"
They all glance at each other. Evelyn's expression holds a flash of guilt, but it's gone in a heartbeat. She clears her throat, smiling tightly, and her husband answers for them.
"He was unhappy living so far away from town. He said he'd be fine on his own, so we let him. There's no need to coddle a child," Marcus answers, condescending as ever. "I sold my share of the tavern when he refused to come back. I told him if he wanted to be on his own, then I'd let him. How is he, Eric? You still see him, don't you?"
"Did he know Hank was here?" Eric demands, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. His posture changes as he figures everything out, and I can tell it's not good. "What's the arrangement? She stays in exchange for her father?"
"Please, sit. We're getting ahead of ourselves." Evelyn smiles warmly, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Everly, we found your father in the woods, badly injured. He was near death, without much chance of survival. We brought him here, nursed him back to health, and he offered to repay us. We never thought it would work out so well."
"What?" The word gets stuck in my throat. My father pushes my forward, toward a towering wood chair. "What did you offer them?"
"I knew you'd come find me," my father beams. He's never been like this, so disconnected from reality, and my stomach turns over when he forces me to sit down in the chair. "I told them, Everly is my world. It's her and I, no one else. She'll be worried sick if I don't return. And Evelyn, Evelyn said…"
He pauses to let her speak and a large glass of wine is set before me. In the background, Eric and Jason and Rylan watch, and I silently beg for one of them to say something.
"I told your father since he had nothing to pay with, we'd gladly accept you. We don't need a farm or goats or whatever lives there. Landon has been wanting a wife, and Hank said you're just as lonely. You'll be happy here. We have hundreds working as staff. There's a large garden that blossoms in the spring, and you can swim in the lake. I think you'll love it."
"Daddy, are you serious?" I look at him, terrified that he's agreed to this, thinking I'll want to stay. "You can't be. I'll pay them. I can pay…. I can think of something. We'll go home. Eric will help us. I'll make us all dinner, and you can tell me what happened. Please…. please tell me…"
"Eric, you and your friends may go. Thank you for bringing her here," Marcus dismisses everyone, but no one moves. "Do you wish to say goodbye? We knew Everly could not find her father on her own, and your services would come in handy. Surely, she has paid you for bringing her here."
"That's quite the assumption," Eric snaps, but when I turn, he looks anywhere but at me. "She owed me for finding her father. Hank now owes me as well."
"You can take him back with you. She stays, and I'll make sure her debt is paid," Evelyn announces. "She belongs here now. Does she owe you anything else?"
Eric and I lock eyes. I silently plead for him to yell that yes, I do owe him. I owe him so much, that I need to leave with him this very second, but he shakes his head. His stare flicks over to Landon, busy staring at me in a way that makes my skin crawl.
"I never agreed to this," I announce, rising from the table. "I'm not staying here. I don't even know you. I –"
"If you leave with Eric," Marcus says slowly. "Then we kill you father. Is that really what you want? Are you that desperate to live out a life of monotony, slaving away to bake cookies? You can make them here. You'll be treated like a queen. You'll be –"
"Everly, please thank Eric for his services," my father interrupts. "This is just how it is. I promised I'd take care of you, and I am. You'll be happy here. I'll go back with them, and get back to baking. I'm assuming the farm is in working order."
"This can't be happening. You have no idea what's gone on. You have no clue what it's taken to keep it going." I say, but he pays no attention to me.
My father stands as well, and his next words are brittle. "Everly, I've spent my whole life raising you. Do you really wish my death as payment? Is that the thanks I get?"
My chest hurts.
It hurts so bad I can barely breathe, let alone speak.
"No, but –"
"Then thank Eric and go sit back down. I'll see myself out." He waits for me to challenge him, but I can't. If I refuse, Marcus will kill him. If I stay, it's likely I'll die here. Despite his strange attitude, I can see the struggle in his stare. He wants me to stay here, because he thinks this is the best thing for me.
"Fine." I leave the table, the roast in the middle overpowering, and head over to Eric. He nods, and his friends are already gone. I can hear them walking down the stairs, their voices frantic and tight as they agree this isn't what they thought they'd find.
"Eric –"
"Come on." He reaches for my arm, pulling my down the steps. My shoes echo over the stairs, and I nearly trip when we reach the bottom. "You don't have a choice. If you leave, they'll kill him. If you try to leave with him, they'll kill the both of you. He's made them a deal, and he has to keep his word."
"You can't help me?" I blurt out, digging my nails into his arm. "Eric, please. I'll do anything. I'll do whatever you ask. I'll…"
I stop when we reach the heavy doors. Outside, Jason and Rylan wait. There is a group gathered with torches, all prepared to fight in case something went wrong. I desperately wish for them to rush inside, but they're awaiting Eric's command.
It doesn't come.
"I found your father. He'll pay his portion when he returns to town," Eric announces, and the time between us rushes through my head. His demeanor changes, shifting back to the Eric who sat at the tavern, sneering when anyone dared wander to close to him. "This is it. You paid your debt."
His words hang between us.
They are like a knife to the heart; pointed and deadly, and reminder of who he is.
"Okay," I swallow, resisting the urge to beg him to take me home, even his home. My eyes burn, and my head grows heavy. He stands before me with his shoulders pulled back, and his expression is void of a single emotion.
Not even triumph at having won this hunt.
"Thank you."
I close the gap between us, rising on my toes and pressing my lips to his cheek. He stays perfectly still, unmoving as a statue until I pull away.
Then he throws me a dark look, and storms off into the night, disappearing into the crowd of villagers.
The crown is heavy.
Evelyn places it on my head, neatly tucking my hair around it. I sit staring at my reflection, blinking to reassure myself that I'm still alive. Her fingers weave the hair through the heavier parts of the crown, and if anyone tries to yank it off my head, they will surely rip out my hair.
It's all on purpose.
"There. Now don't you look lovely?" She coos, stepping back to admire her work. Her smile slips when I don't smile back, and for a moment, she looks demented. Like a feather duster, tall and raggedy, trying to clean up this castle before anyone notices it's filthy. "Everly, sit up straighter."
"I am."
I can't.
I've barely eaten any of the meals brought to me in the past few days. It's been nearly three weeks since my father left, and it's been exactly an hour since the last one was brought up. They are fine looking, but not safe. An array of meats and potatoes that smell off, vegetables with a strange sheen, and tea that makes my head spin. There are desserts, too. Cakes coated in a sticky sugar that makes me fall asleep, and cookies made with a funny tasting chocolate.
My breakfast sits untouched on the nightstand beside me. Evelyn clucks her tongue when she sees it, and reminds me my lunch will be here soon.
"If you do not eat, you won't make it to the wedding." She chastises gently, keeping up the appearance of doting mother. "Landon said you're very weak."
"Well, you're poisoning me," I remind her, my words slow and weary. She's doing it on purpose, trying to keep me here. I've tried to escape twice now. Both times, I stared up at the moon from a crumbling balcony, perched upon the ledge. I could survive the jump if I tried, but each time Landon was there, screaming for help.
He was something else.
A monster disguised as a man, twice as horrible as Eric. Having grown up away from everyone else, Landon is insane. He throws tantrums when he doesn't get his way, and everything is done for him. Evelyn cuts his meals into small pieces and brushes his hair at night. His eyes glow when he stares at me, heavy with an unfamiliar lust. It's not the way Eric looked at me, but a different kind of lust. He thrives off making me bleed, using his strength to draw bruise after bruise upon my skin.
If Eric hunts for sport, then Landon hunts for blood.
A week ago, I discovered an entire room filled with the remains of those who wandered in here. Skeletons that had been here for some time, and bodies that I would have sworn were sleeping. He had a trophy room of his kills, each one a helpless victim who found themselves at his mercy. I quickly learned why no one came near this castle, why even the animals seemed to stay away. Those who came inside never left, except for my father.
He'd been able to give them what they wanted, and that was a bride for their son. Landon is older than Eric, just as strong, and if you looked fast enough, perhaps somewhat handsome. His heart-shaped face is ironic given the man is heartless, and real strength comes when you least expect it.
"We're keeping you docile. He doesn't like it when you fight back," Evelyn murmurs, clasping her hands together. "You're to be his prized possession. Who he deserves. He's done great things, you know. Tell me you were listening when I spoke about him."
"I was."
Landon has done nothing.
He rules this castle from an entire wing that no one enters without his permission. I've been sent down there twice. Once, he shoved my head into the wall hard enough that it bled. It still bleeds, sometimes dripping into my eye since no one here can stitch it closed. The other time, Evelyn came with me to make sure he didn't kill me. He let me sit by him while he cleaned several knives, smiling at me at while he polished the sharper side.
Evelyn thought he was brilliant.
She claimed he'd fended off waves of people attacking their castle. Fought off beasts in the night, and made his father proud by killing whoever tried to steal from him. He sliced open beggars and innocent lost men and women, never giving them enough time to realize what he had planned for them. He spent his days working on battle plans to take over the village, and he had a soft spot for the tavern. He wanted the tavern more than anything, assuming the townsfolk would still come when Eric was gone.
"Why are you so miserable looking? Is it the stupid hunter? You want him to come back?" Evelyn yanks on my hair so hard I nearly fall off the bench, and the room I'm in is horrifying. It's designed to look like it's out of a fairytale, but the pink makes my head hurt and the doors are locked at night. "Foolish girl. He's not coming back for you. We laid out a trap for him, and he ate it up. His arrogance will be his downfall."
She speaks rapidly, growing irritable when I don't answer her. My skin is sallow, dotted with the bruises from Landon's last fit, and thin. It'll be a miracle if I make it to this wedding, let alone survive the night.
"He doesn't care about me. I only needed him to find my father." I swallow the words, bitter and brittle, and I no longer wish to see either of them. A month ago, my heart would have burst from knowing he's alive, and now, I am drowning in his selfishness. I spent my weeks looking for him, while he saw nothing but his own survival. "And he did."
"We made it easy for him," Evelyn resumes fixing my hair, pleased that I'm speaking to her.
She's desperately needy for company, more so than Landon. Her staff is afraid of her, scuttling away the minute she walks in the room, and even her own husband seems bored of her presence. She hangs around me constantly, always goading me to ask about London. "Your father told us what you'd realize was from him. He said you'd eventually ask Eric, and we all know Eric can't turn down a challenge."
"You really don't care that Tobias was left without a place to work?" I look at her in the mirror, and her reflection is ghoulish. She presses her lips so tightly they disappear, but her shrug is dismissive.
"He's a wretched little boy. Full of hate and foul words. I'm glad to be rid of him." Evelyn pauses, and her fingers graze over the latest bump. I wince, and she mutters a low, but genuine apology. "I'm sorry. I'm working with him on not hurting you. He's just never been so close to having someone like you."
He shouldn't.
The words die in my throat, because they won't help anything. She will slap the side of my head and scream at me to listen to her. Landon, in her mind, is the golden child. A king incapable of doing wrong, and the light of her life.
In the worst of my times here, she presses on for a grandchild. A baby to fill the castle with laughter and coos. In the best of times, she winces away from Landon when he doesn't like his meal, and throws the silver platter at her.
I stay in the middle, a ship lost at sea, while their world storms on around me.
"Something came for you. I debated bringing it up here, but your father mentioned you have some friends in the village, and if we want them to like Landon, you can convince them. It's a letter from Courtney. I'll let you read it while I fetch your lunch. But only if you promise to eat."
"Will you not drug me?" I bargain, knowing she might agree.
Evelyn doesn't have a redeeming quality about her, but at the very least, she knows that what she's doing isn't right.
"Fine. But if you don't eat, I'll shove it down your throat anyway."
Her hands leave my hair. She practically skips away, pleased that we've come to an agreement. I sit still as the doors close with a loud thud, and for once, she doesn't lock them. When I'm certain she's gone, I head to the bed to see if she even brought the letter, or if it was just another lie.
Hope blossoms in my chest when I see the envelope there.
It's a cream color, with a wax seal on the back. The stamp is a rose, full of thorns in full bloom.
It's not from Courtney.