Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
I narrow my eyes.
“Well, fuck it,” I mutter under my breath. “Might as well see what secrets you’re hiding.”
I push the door open, and the scent hits me first. My sensitive nose wrinkles—it’s not just one scent—it’s many.
Rosewater and burning sage…iron filings and earth…honey gone sharp with fermentation. None of them go together but they all linger in the air, which buzzes faintly with energy.
More magic—a hell of a lot of it. The fine hairs on my arms are prickling in response.
I look inside.
The room is circular—domed high above with interlaced branches and glowing glass globes that float without chains to anchor them, casting ever-shifting light. Shadows shift lazily across the floor. I step inside slowly, my gaze sweeping across the chaos.
It’s a workroom—a fucking sorceress’s playground. Of that, I have no doubt.
Tables—long, narrow, and crooked—are stacked with tomes and scrolls, some open, some bound in iron clasps. Ink-stained quills write in midair with no hand to guide them. One of them scratches a looping sigil into parchment that smokes and curls at the edges.
I pace forward, slow and silent, letting my gaze land on object after object but I’m careful not to touch.
A glass jar pulses softly on a nearby shelf, filled with what looks like glowing moths—until one flutters too close to the side and a tiny mouth opens in its belly, revealing a circle of needle-like teeth. Fucking lovely. Dream-eaters? Soul larva? I don’t know—but I’m not touching the damn thing.
A mirror sits propped against the far wall, tall and narrow, with a gilded edge. It reflects nothing but fog—swirling silver and violet, like trapped storm clouds. When I shift left, the fog moves right. When I shift right, it moves left. It follows me…watches me. I flip it off. Let whatever is watching think about that for a while.
Further into the room, a small black box rests on a pedestal, humming faintly. There’s a single button on top, etched with a red spiral that winds inwards in a hypnotic loop. I lean close and listen—there’s music coming from inside—a woman singing low and mournful in a language I don’t understand. For some reason, it makes my chest ache.
I move on.
On another table, a row of stoppered vials glows in every shade of blue, from pale sky to deepest navy. One of them leaks something thick and silver that’s eating a hole in the wooden plank below it. It hisses faintly and the other bottles tremble, as if in sympathy. Yeah—it’s definitely not perfume.
Further on, a caged orb floats above a column of bone, chained in silver netting that shimmers in and out of visibility. It pulses like a heartbeat—first green, then red, then black, then back to green again. I don’t know what it does, but the hair on the back of my neck stands up every time it throbs. There’s real power here—something has been bound and it’s not happy about it.
Again, I make damn sure not to touch it.
But then I see it—a doorway at the far end of the chamber. Tucked between two bookcases, it’s half-concealed by vines and shadow.
I walk closer. The door itself is made of some kind of obsidian glass, framed in iron thorns, and etched in a language I can’t read. Also, it’s glowing.
Purple light comes from it—faint at first, then stronger. After a moment I realize it’s throbbing in time with my heartbeat.
Come, it seems to whisper. Come see what I can show you…come seek the answers you need to know…
The pull is instant—magnetic. I feel it like a thread winding around my ribs, yanking me forward. I know it’s stupid. I know it’s fucking dangerous. But I want to open that door.
No, not want…need.
I’m halfway across the room before I realize I’ve moved. My hand lifts, slow and sure, reaching for the iron handle, which radiates cold even from inches away. Every instinct in me screams to stop—and yet I keep walking.
One step…two. I’m right there.
My fingers brush the surface of the handle. A jolt spikes up my arm like lightning. My jaw tightens.
“I should not be fucking doing this,” I growl under my breath.
And yet, I’m doing it.
And then…Irena screams.
The sound is faint—muffled. But it’s unmistakable. Her voice—full of horror—cuts through the enchantment drawing me to the door like a fucking blade.
“Fuck!” I jerk back, stumbling away from the door. The purple light flares, then dims like a dying star.
I whip around, scanning the room, trying to orient myself. Her voice came from the left—but I feel dazed. I find my way and move fast, slamming through the open door and back into the hallway, heart hammering like a drum in my chest.
I don’t know what the fuck is behind that glowing door, but it can wait.
My Princess needs me.
And nothing—not thorns, not magic, not even the Lady of Thornmere herself—is going to keep me from getting to her.