Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
But there has to be a gate. There has to be a way out.
I run down the stone steps to the first garden level, my silk dress catching on rose bushes and my heels constantly getting trapped between the stones. The paths are gravel and stone, awkward to navigate in dress shoes, but I don’t stop.
The gardens are bigger than I thought, stretching out in all directions like a maze. I follow what seems like the main path, passing fountains where stone nymphs pour water from urns and statues of women in flowing gowns seem to beckon me deeper into the maze.
The trees grow thicker as I move away from the house, their branches overhead blocking out more and more of the sky. The path splits and branches, and I take turns almost at random, just trying to find the wall, find the gate, find some way out of this beautiful prison.
When I finally reach it, I understand why Wren wasn’t worried about me running.
The gate is massive—two curved sections of wrought iron that meet in an arch. But it’s what’s written there that makes me stop dead in my tracks.
The metal has been twisted and shaped to form words, their letters flowing and elegant against the darkening sky: “Once Upon a Time.”
The gate is locked, of course. Not just with a simple latch, but with a complex mechanism that looks like it requires either a key or knowledge of some specific combination. The wall stretches away on either side, disappearing into the forest, and those iron spikes along the top suddenly seem a lot sharper than they did from a distance.
I grab the bars and shake them, but they don’t budge. The metal is ice-cold under my hands, and when I look more closely, I can see that the decorative elements aren’t just flowers and thorns—there are tiny skulls worked into the design, so small and delicate they’re almost hidden.
“Beautiful work, isn’t it?”
I spin around to find Blue standing behind me on the path, still in the same dark suit from the safe house but now with added splashes of blood on his shirt cuffs. His beard is as perfectly groomed as ever, that hint of blue catching the last light of sunset, and he’s fixed on me with an intensity that makes me take a step back.
“The gate was commissioned by the original owner,” he continues conversationally, as if finding me desperate at his locked gate is perfectly normal. “A man who believed that every story should have a proper beginning.”
“Let me out.” The words are steadier than I feel.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible just yet.” Blue takes a step closer, and I press back against the gate. “The men who killed your father are still looking for you, Saylor. Out there, you’re vulnerable. Here, you’re safe.”
“Safe?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I’m locked up with someone I don’t even know, in a place I’ve never heard of. I don’t know who you really are, what you do, if you actually knew my father, or what any of this has to do with me. How exactly is that safe?”
Blue’s facial features don’t change, but something glimmers in his eyes. He pulls out his cell and faces it toward me as I hear my father’s voice on a message. I don’t understand the context of everything being said, but I do hear this: “You’re the only one I trust to keep her safe. I owe you my forever gratitude.”
Tears form instantly, but I blink them away. I can’t show weakness . . . I can’t.
Okay, so he showed me proof, but that doesn’t change the fact that— “And your charming housekeeper who locks doors and acts like kidnapping is just another Tuesday.” I lift my chin, trying to appear brave. “So what’s the plan? I have to stay here forever?”
“No.” The word is quiet but certain. “I didn’t kidnap you, Saylor. I rescued you. You’re my guest.”
“Guests can leave whenever they want.”
“Not when leaving means dying.”
We stare at each other across the growing darkness. Even covered in blood, even standing between me and freedom, Blue is magnetic in the most reckless way possible. But I’ve already been stupid once where he’s concerned.
“I’ll take my chances,” I say.
“I won’t.”
“That’s not your choice to make.”
“Isn’t it?” Blue steps closer, and now I can smell his cologne mixed with the metallic scent of blood that makes my stomach turn. “Your father asked me to protect you. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“My father is dead.”
“Which is why someone needs to keep you alive.”
The casual arrogance in his comments makes me want to scream. “And you’ve appointed yourself my guardian?”
“I’ve accepted the responsibility, yes.”
“I didn’t ask for your protection.”
“You didn’t ask for your father’s death either, but here we are.”
For a moment I can’t breathe. The image of Dad’s body, the blood, the way his eyes went wide with shock and pain—it all comes rushing back.