Something With a Prince

Chapter Forty-One: Wicked Designs

Tallethea

I awoke to gargantuan walls surrounding every side except one. Their grey stone faces were wrapped with tendrils of blue-green ivy, and blackthorn trees skirted the single opening. This no doubt led to a maze, and by the looks of it, one I would have to figure out myself.

Gravel dug into my knees and palms as I stood up, the feeling of strength in my muscles a strange sensation after what I felt in the cellar. After what I felt in the cellar. The urge to look for Lansing was strong, and foreign, given the circumstances. I was so used to avoiding him, pushing him, and evading. Now all of that was changed, becoming a past life that haunted me in the present.

Still, the familiar pull to feel hate over anything resembling care or...dare I say it...love, was concrete in my makeup. Gods. How easy it was when all I cared for was success in the military and making my father proud. Embittering sentiments now. Three days, if that, to break it all apart and expose the truth.

Sharp wind blew through the corridors of the maze, making a wailing sound that raised the hair on my arms. Whatever this was, it was not part of the original plan. The silence, the setting, it didn't make sense. Beyond the horizon was a barren sky, grey and stormy, but not impending. The world stagnated, and it felt like I was the only thing moving in it.

Lifting the corner of my crimson stained shirt, (I guess another vest would have been too much to ask), my eyes shot a glance at where the wolf clawed me. Despite knowing that I was healed, there was a part of my mind that insisted it wasn't real. Just a pathetic hallucination in my last moments. Hell, maybe this was heaven. Maybe standing in my dried blood, lost in an unending maze is just the afterlife I was meant to find. But then I looked again and realized the claw mark had left a scar. Four deep pink lines running over my side. This is real.

The nearby blackthorn trees were also quick to disprove my theory of the afterlife, as well as my plan of escape. Meaning, when I fell out on my ass, not even a branch in, I knew I was living. I also remembered that climbing trees was not a strong suit of mine. Ever.

When I turned back around, I noticed two blades laid out side by side in the shadow of the wall. My sword and dagger. Another fight. The thought sent my stomach roiling. Tucking the feeling away, I steeled up, rolling my shoulders back, and took a deep breath. My hair was wild around my face, tangled and matted, and reeked of blood and dust. Ripping a strip of my shirt off, I used the material to tie back my hair as best as I could. For once in my life, I wished I had paid attention to mama when she tried to teach me to braid. A low bun would have to do.

Looking at the blades again. No aches or pains could excuse my hesitation at gripping my sword by its handle. A queasiness preyed upon me at the sight of a sharp edge. Forcibly, suddenly, my body was back in shreds, lying upon the floor and suffocating in dust. Then it was a doorknob, flashes of mangled skin, pushing the blade's end into the chest of my father...

I took it, nonetheless, pulling the dagger off the ground with a metallic ring as well and sliding it into my belt.

Then I walked.

My only option was to go straight, not seeing a single bend or hint at another path. So, led into the belly of the beast, I took the time to go over what I knew, what I did not know, and everything in between.

Firstly, the things I knew:

There is no safe place.

Emotion is a privilege.

Numbness is arguably better than said privilege.

Failing this meant my ultimate destruction.