Chapter 9 Failed escape leads to punishment

Zephyra

The darkness of my chamber was absolute, thick and suffocating, yet it offered no comfort. Hugging my knees, I wiped my tears for the nth time, still unable to recover from the sight I was welcomed with in the throne room.

Inferno is no different-if anything, this place is worse. That realization had settled deep in my bones, a cold, heavy truth.

"I have to do something," I murmured at the de*d of the night, my bed lamp shining dimly beside me as my thoughts run wild with thousand possibilities-but one stood out the most. "I have to leave."

A desperate thought, a tiny, flickering ember of defiance, began to burn in the suffocating darkness. Escape. It was a fool's choice, but what was the alternative? To stay? To become another one of Malachi's broken toys, waiting for the day he discarded me?

"I can't stay here anymore."

My determination and unyielding will, forged in the fires of Moonstone's dungeon, refused to be extinguished.

Slowly, carefully, I slid off the bed. The rough fabric of my plain white fit rustled faintly, a sound that seemed deafening in the silence. My bare feet kissed the cold stone floor, sending a jolt of awareness through my body.

"No time to lose," I reminded myself as I twisted the handle, the faint clicks echoing in the oppressive quiet. I pulled the door open, just a crack to peek outside. The corridor was empty, dimly lit by torches spaced far apart, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to twist and morph with every flickering flame.

Now or never.

Stepping out, I moved like a ghost, hugging the walls, my senses hyper-alert. As I approached a wider intersection of tunnels, I heard voices.

They were faint at first, then growing clearer as they come closer-hushed, furtive whispers linger like the voice of nature. I froze, pressing myself against the rough stone wall, trying to melt into the shadows cast by a particularly jagged outcrop.

"-he was furious. Haven't seen him like that since the Northern raids," a female voice murmured, low and anxious.

"Aye. That fool, Theron, thought he could skim off the top. He could've known by now that the king doesn't tolerate disloyalty, not when it comes to base resources. His Majesty makes examples of those who forget their place," another voice, distinctly that of an older maid, replied, a hint of grim resignation in her tone.

"They say the new one? That Moonstone girl...he had her clean it up herself," the first voice whispered, a shiver evident.

"Barely a day here and already cleaning up a blo*dbath. He's showing her exactly what happens here."

A cold wave washed over me. Ah, so that's why new maids were sent to the throne room first: he wasn't just assigning tasks; he was sending a message.

"Shh! Someone's coming," the older maid hissed.

My blood ran cold. I heard it too now-the distinct, heavy tread of armored boots. Knights.

I pressed myself deeper into the shadows, holding my breath, my body rigid. The light of a lantern swung into view, casting long, distorted figures down the corridor.

Two knights, their faces grim, their spears held loosely in their hands, walked past the intersection, their conversation low and indistinguishable. They were barely fifteen feet from me. My muscles screamed with the effort of remaining absolutely still. They passed, their footsteps fading into the distance.

I exhaled slowly, a silent prayer of relief. The maids were gone too, having slipped away during the knights' approach. The corridor was empty again.

.

.

.

I passed the bustling kitchens, now quiet save for the soft crackle of embers. The training pits were dark, their silence eerie. I could hear the faint, rhythmic breathing of sleeping rogues from behind closed doors, a constant reminder of the hundreds of eyes that could open at any moment.

Finally, I reached the outer perimeter, the place where the cavern walls opened up to the night. A massive, reinforced gate, guarded by two hulking rogues, stood between me and freedom.

My heart sank. I knew I couldn't get past them. Their massive forms were silhouetted against the faint moonlight filtering in.

But then I remembered the smaller, less obvious exits Maria had pointed out on our tour-the old service tunnels, ventilation shafts, places used by former hunters and scouts. They were smaller, less guarded, perhaps even unguarded at this hour.

"Maybe I could go there,'" I breathed.

A new surge of hope propelled me forward, my eyes scanning the rough cavern walls. I found a narrow passage, barely wider than my shoulders, tucked away behind a stack of supply crates.

I squeezed through, scraped, and pushed, feeling the rough stone against my skin, the cool, fresh air growing stronger with every inch. The tunnel finally opened into a dense thicket of trees, bathed in the faint glow of a crescent moon.

As I neared the exit, I scrambled out, gasping for breath, my lungs burning, but a wild, exhilarating sense of triumph surged through me. "I did it."

I was finally out! I pushed through the undergrowth, not caring about the scratches, just wanting to put as much distance as possible between myself and Inferno, between myself and Malachi.

Amidst the sting of my bare feet pounding on the soft earth, I endured and kept on running, the cool night air a mix of soothing balm and stinging scraper on my skin, and the scent of pine and damp leaves kept on filling my senses.

Before I could celebrate further, I tripped, making me hiss as I rubbed my knee where a section of my white pants began to stain red.

"No, I can't stop now."

Desperate, I stood up, eager to run until my legs broke.

But then, a sudden, low chuckle, deep and resonant, stopped me dead in my tracks. It came from above.

My head snapped up. There, perched on a thick, ancient branch directly over my head, was a dark, impossibly still figure.

His eyes, two glowing embers in the moonlit gloom, were fixed on me. "Are you brave or foolish? I can't tell at all."

He dropped from the branch with a silent, effortless grace, landing directly in front of me. His presence was overwhelming, radiating power that seemed to suck the very air from my lungs.

He took a slow, deliberate step closer, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Running away, little maid?" he rumbled, his voice a low, dangerous purr that sent shivers down my spine. He reached out, his hand closing around my wrist, his grip firm, inescapable.

"Didn't I make myself clear? You can't escape. You're my maid now and I keep what's mine."