“How… How is that possible!? If this is supposed to be a joke, it isn’t funny, Your Highness.”

Pricilla crossed her arms, her nostrils twitching with disdain. If she could only channel her feelings through her eyes, that damn Beast sitting on the bed before her would now be squirming in flames. She hurriedly hid her emotions behind her long lashes before he became aware of them. But on the inside, the storm raged on.

How dared he!? Treating her like… like an afterthought. He never inquired how she felt, even though she was sure the information about her fainting had been reported to him. Nor did he ask her whether she wanted to stay in this damn temple and listen to the howls of those wretched peasants. He had simply ordered her to keep to her room until further notice. If that cupboard could even be called a room.

“So, I am a prisoner here?!” She managed to sound more distraught than furious, but a few out-of-place notes almost made her mask crack.

“I’d like you to see it as an opportunity for recuperation and spiritual cleansing,” the Duke replied calmly. “And you aren’t alone in your misery, my dearest Lady Orten.”

“I feel more at ease performing my spiritual cleansing at Ildemar’s chapel.”

“I’m afraid that the road to Ildemar has been buried by a landslide.”

“Then I would take a boat.”

“Unfortunately the storm caused substantial damage to the harbor too, so we are stranded here anyway.” The perpetually calm replies infuriated Pricilla even more. He was treating her like a petulant child!

Breathing heavily, she poured her ire into something more useful than the tantalizing temptation to scream and claw that ugly face of his. In the next second, the tears were already rolling down her cheeks.

“B-but I am afraid to stay here any longer, my lord.” Without much effort, she managed to make her voice quake pretty convincingly. “What if… What if another accident occurs?”

“I understand your fears, Lady Orten.” She could hear the irritation rising in his voice. “Alas, the situation requires us all to remain put. For our own good and for the good of others. I have come to know how resilient the ladies of house Orten can be and, knowing you to be of purest Orten blood, I have no doubt that you will manage to endure this slight inconvenience.”

“But…”

“Forgive me my rudeness, dear Lady Pricilla, but I had a difficult night. And by your own words, the accident has shaken you quite a lot.” The Duke motioned at the door. “Let us both have some much-needed rest before indulging in further discussions.”

Pricilla’s heart quivered, but it wasn’t just out of anger.

She had assumed the Beast was warming up to her. The past week and a half, he had been acting gallantly, wearing her handkerchief for all to see, and had regularly invited her to dine together. But now, he sat there, aloof and cold, and did everything to avoid meeting her eyes.

Gritting her teeth, Pricilla cursed and felt the skin on her breast tingling under the soft cover of her dress. The damn enchantment was a failure. And even without it, he should already be groveling at her feet already. Was he even a real man?

From under her half-sunken eyelashes, she glared to the side. Just a step behind her stood Bessie’s hunched and slightly fidgeting figure. The little wastrel had crept back sometime last night while Pricilla was still recuperating. But before she could question the girl about the task she was given, the summons from the Beast had arrived. Why was everyone and everything around her colluding to ruin her plans!? From the very moment she had set foot in this barbaric land, everything had gone wrong.

This time, the tears streaming down her cheeks were real. Pricilla sniffled and with a quick curtsy left the room.

Like a shadow, Bessie followed her.

By the time Pricilla reached her designated room, a new bout of fury had already dried her face. The moment the heavy door closed behind their backs, she erupted. Her fists indiscriminately hit Bessie’s body, her fingers pulled the maid’s hair and ripped her clothes.

“You good-for-nothing, useless garbage!” Her shouts drowned Bessie’s pained cries. “It’s your fault! You and the likes of you, and your useless magic! If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t need to be dragging myself after that damn Beast! Your damn charm is useless. You are useless! Weren’t you supposed to assist me? Protect me? Where were you when that damn tower almost crushed me to death!?”

“M-mercy, m-my l-lady!” The maid panted, curled up on the hard floor. “Y-you send me out for the datura herb.”

“How dare you speak back!” Pricilla stomped the floor with all her might right next to Bessie’s hand. “Did I allow you to speak up? If you continue being this unruly, next time my foot won’t miss!”

The maid just squirmed and cried incoherently.

Her anger like a burning storm gnawing on her insides, Pricilla motioned to kick the girl but a sudden painful pull in her lower stomach made her stop.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Her baby!

What if her baby became sick because of those nerve-wracking wretches? All the rage, fear, and anxiety were not good for her poor little prince.

Taking in slow breaths, Pricilla tried to quell the turbulent waves in her chest. While stroking her stomach, she sat on the hard, narrow bed and guided her thoughts toward her dearest Lionel. The memory of his passionate embrace and the sunny, sweet smile blooming on his lips did their job.

Now somewhat calmer, she turned again to Bessie.

“Speak now. Did you find the herb?”

“Y… Yes, mistress.”

Like a tortoise crawling out of its shell, the girl stretched out a trembling hand with a dingy old pouch hanging between her fingers.

Pricilla grabbed it. Upon closer inspection, the insides turned out to be some fine gray-green powder and a small wooden container with a white salve.

“What do I do with those?”

“You… put the powder in the oil for a lamp… or throw a few pinches into an incense burner. The salve is from morenglaz and you rub it under your nose.”

“And?”

“The datura smoke makes one's mind more susceptible to magic.” Bessie licked her lips. “But it also messes up all other senses and makes the body sluggish. So the shamans using it have assistants who take care of them while the herb is in effect. The morenglaz salve neutralizes the daruta smell and effects.”

“My, my! Such an interesting weed!” A sparkle kindled in Pricilla’s eyes. “And for your own sake, I hope it works this time.”

“It does, mistress,” mumbled Bessie.”

“We’ll see about that. Now go scrub that face clean and brush that ugly hair. You are unsightly.”

“As you order, mistress.” Bessie pulled herself up but didn’t move a step.

“What are you still standing here for?”

“About…” The girl whispered almost inaudibly.

“About what?”

“Mistress, what about… my potion?” She said the last word with so much yearning that it made Pricilla sick.

“What about it?”

“I… I haven’t taken it in quite some time. I really… I really need it, mistress.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Pricilla rolled her eyes. “We are stuck here until that Beast says otherwise. You’d have to do without it.

“No! Mistress! Please!”

“Shut up and get out of my site! Or are you asking for another beating?”

“N-no, my lady.”

“Then go away. I need some rest. But beware. If I don’t find you outside this door in an hour, this will be your last time disobeying me.”

“Y-yes, mistress.”

With a dragging step, Bessie exited the room, leaving Pricilla to bask in schemes and fantasies.

***

The sun didn’t penetrate all the way through the thick foliage of the park. In the twilight under the old trees, Bessei found some much-needed refuge. Leaning her back against the rough bark, her fingers desperately pulled at the dirty-brown strands of her hair.

It hurt!

But the physical pain had nothing to do with the terror her soul was experiencing. The hunger. The yearning. It was like she was locked again in that dungeon - weak, broken, helpless. The agony from that time shot through her limbs, her fingers, her innards, her skin. Everything hurt with a familiar, excruciating pain.

Her soul was no exception to the agony. It felt again trapped in that useless, feeble flesh that could serve only as a prison. Her spirit shattered and regenerated in a vicious cycle at the hands of those damn priests and their accursed relics.

And then, salvation had come. A golden liquid that washed away the pain and nourished every fiber of her being. A potion that kept her broken soul together and turned the horrific memories into fleeting nightmares. It was her lifeline. Her hope. Her bane. Her way to escape that prison by selling herself to a master. Oh, she was willing to be a slave for a sip of oblivion.

But it was gone now!

The darkness was coming closer. Her body and her sanity were breaking. The nightmares were going to overwhelm her soon.

She remembered another dungeon. A man with a silver mask and his master. And the quiet, hissing words:

‘If you fail your mission, I’ll make sure to hunt down your soul from wherever it might be. And I’ll make sure you suffer for eternity. So be a good girl. Watch over your mistress. And should she fail in her task, make sure the Beast of Norden dies regardless. But be sure to reveal yourself only as a very last resort. I don’t want my Binshi friends to get wind of your existence, my little trump card.’

Bessie’s nails dug in her arms. What could she do? Her only way to follow her orders, to stay sane and alive, was locked far out of reach. And she had seen the knights and priests patrolling all exits. If she attacked them to fetch her potion, she would be breaking her orders. If she did nothing, she wouldn’t be able to fulfill her orders again. She was too tired, too hungry, too weak…

A sudden rustling startled her.

Lifting her head, Bessie saw a young novice girl walking through the thicket. Their eyes met and the girl jumped scared. A second later, however, she beamed a cheeky smile at her.

“Sorry. I thought you were one of the teachers. You won’t tell them that I’m skipping chores right? If you keep quiet, I’ll give you half of my pie.”

Listening to the girls chirping, Bessie’s soul grew cold. Her tormented mind drowned in hate and pain. Her eyes blurred, turning the world into a ghastly plane. Then, from the depths of her memory, a broken voice from her childhood whispered:

‘Never dare to commit the taboo… If you taint your soul with another, no matter what. This is a cursed power that belongs to the Evil Gods…’

But in Bessie’s ears, only one word echoed, drowning all else. Power.

Her whole body shaking, she stood up and stepped toward the girl.