“That was worth waiting for,” Dryas says as he strokes the curve of my hip. He’s talking to himself as much as to me. He glances at me. “Don’t you think? After all, you’re the one whose innocence we just lost.”

He kisses my shoulder absently. In an instant, his words manage to shame me.

He thought I was a virgin. Is that the only reason he wanted me?

My cheeks heat. Father Derrik took my honor from me years ago, stole it away when I was too young to resist. And then he reminded me of the offense, again and again, every time he would take my confession.

“I did as God wanted me to do. Now you are ruined forever,” he’d whisper. “Always remember me as the only man who would even touch you.”

As if I could ever forget. Even now, hundreds of miles away, I shudder. Dryas assumes that I am cold, pulling me closer and warming me with his body heat. That is the opposite of what I want, though.

I want quiet. I want space, mentally and physically. The last thing I need right now is to be drawn into Dryas’s depraved world.

Pushing him away, I start to get to my feet. The look of puzzlement on his face is almost heartbreaking. He raises his head, trying to figure out what I’m doing.

“Where are you going?” he asks, his voice gruff. My fingers tremble as I pluck my ruined dress and my panties from where they were left. I’m overwhelmed, feeling a thousand things at once.

“Upstairs, maybe,” I reply softly, not looking at him. “I need some time by myself.”

“What, that’s it then?” He doesn’t sound angry, exactly. But definitely aggravated. Shaking my head, I start to head out of the room “I got you a cake to celebrate turning twenty-one. You won’t even have a piece of it?”

I stop, my fingers becoming like claws in the bundle of fabric I’m holding. Turning back halfway, I consider him. Dryas rises up off the floor, his naked body nothing short of glorious.

Something black crawls up inside me, rising from a black pit of despair that is so deeply rooted in me, I can’t even hope to stop it.

“No, I don’t want your cake.” I hiss the words, my lips growing numb from the sudden toxicity lodged in my chest. “And I don’t want you, Dryas. You may have had me, you may have gotten what you wanted, but I didn’t want it.”

My eyes fill with tears. Dryas looks angry now and bewildered too.

“You begged me!” he swears.

I curl my lip in a silent snarl, the wounded beast inside hungry for a kill. “I don’t know if you remember, but you hold my entire life in your hands! Of course, I begged you!”

His face morphs into one I’ve seen on him before, uncaring and threatening all at once. It swings into place, hardening and changing him instantly. “I don’t need this. Maybe you should go upstairs.”

Whirling on my heel, I start to run, my red hair trailing behind me like liquid copper through water. My emotions churn, the black creature inside me giving a gurgling laugh.

Shame.

Humiliation.

Mortification over things that I’ve said and done, today and in memory.

All of that is smothering me, filling my throat and weighing down my heart.

So, I run.

I go first to my bedroom, then to my closet. Cursing the person that chose my clothes, I pluck a yellow sundress and a chunky-knit white sweater. Throwing them on stubbornly, I know I look wretched. But at least I’m comfortable.

Instead of being sleepy, I am restless. Still angry and shaken up from the argument that I had with Dryas.

Just thinking his name brings nothing but confusion to my heart. There’s a certain soreness between my legs that keeps me in motion, a knowledge and finality of an act.

Passion. There was plenty of passion, but there was a lie too.

I lied by omission when I let Dryas believe that I’d never lain with a man. True, this was the first time I willingly went to a man’s bed…

But Dryas’s assumption, backed by his words after we lay together… they were almost too much for my heart to bear.

Too restless to sleep, I am drawn downstairs to the massive front door. Pushing it open, I suck in a breath of the fresh night air. I’ve been covered in my own shame, drowning in it. Smothered by it.

Stepping outside, I feel like at least I can breathe a little easier. As I look up into the darkened sky, I wonder for a moment if the stars look down on me, judging. What would they see, if they did?

A woman in disgrace, hugging her arms as she stares back at them?

Or maybe a sad, lonely little girl, lost in a world that is bigger than she knows.

I feel as though my skin has been turned inside out, and every little thing nettles the raw, pulsating wound that is my body. I feel as though I should be wearing scarlet rather than white and yellow.

A deep, true red. The color of blood and shame and regret.

Though I’m barefoot, I need to walk. To get some space from Dryas. To think. I hurry along the front of the castle, turning at the corner.

The sea is right there in front of me, it’s smooth blackness my everpresent companion. In the distance, it seems still like it is made of glass. Closer to shore though, the tide comes in, crashing against the rocks, churning and violent.

Exactly how I feel inside. I hurry to the edge of the cliff, trying to ignore the rocky ground beneath my bare feet. Peering down, I can see the seawater whipping itself savagely against the rocks below.

Biting my lip, I realize I miss the soothing pain of self-flagellation. Whipping myself allowed a lot of my anger to escape through my wounds, washing away like the blood left behind. If Dryas hadn’t warned me against it, I might be searching for a scourge right now.

I feel too hot right now, too raw. Shedding my sweater, I leave it behind on the ground. I’ll get it when I come back.

I keep walking, until the rocks fall away, leaving me nothing but the endless sea to stare down into. Looking up into the night sky, I realize that the moon stares down at me, its gaze no friendlier than that of the stars.

“Princess?”

It’s funny how a single word can make my whole body cringe, without knowing exactly who said it. A handful of letters to form an utterance; somehow, it makes my blood run cold.

Spinning around, I find a tall dark-haired man, even more, olive-complected than Dryas. He looks disheveled and dirty, his teeth discolored.

I squint at him. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him.

“Who are you?” I ask, clutching at my cardigan.

He moves closer, dragging one of his feet, and smiles at me. My stomach turns at the sight of his rotten mouth and ragged, too-long nails. “Princess, Rafi has come to save you.”

His Middle Eastern accent is heavy. I narrow my eyes. “You have the wrong woman, I fear.”

His expression turns sly. “Rafi does not think that is so, princess. Rafi has followed you now for several weeks. Rafi took your photo back to the prince—”

Putting my hand flat against my diaphragm, I feel like I’ve been winded. “Prince Henrick, you mean?”

“You mean Prince Rastoder,” he chides, all but clicking his tongue at me. My stomach drops at his words. He looks over toward the castle, his expression turning speculative. “The prince wants the princess to return. But Rafi does not want to meet the princess’s captor. Rafi saw what happened to the other man…”

He smiles anxiously, drawing his finger across his neck. “Killed for touching you, your highness.”

My anxiety is a living thing, coming to sit squarely on my chest. I look at Rafi, licking my lips nervously.

“What do you want?” I ask, my voice sounding small against the roar of the surf.

Rafi smiles impishly. “Rafi only wishes to rescue you, my lady. He has been watching you and the bad man…”

His eyes turn toward the castle, narrowing. I have to get ahead of this, somehow.

“I’m not leaving!” I blurt out.

He whips his head around to me, something in his eyes going cold and menacing. “Rafi has orders. Rafi was told he should bring you back to Rüti. Rafi is prepared.”

Rafi points out to sea. I turn my head, squinting. Ever so faintly, I can make out a spotlight. The spotlight is attached to a boat of some kind. A tugboat maybe.

And the tugboat is coming closer and closer.

Suddenly Rafi rushes close, seizing my arm. There is nowhere to go except sideways, the rocks falling away just a step beyond me. I try to dodge left, but Rafi is strong. He grabs the necklace I am wearing with a hiss.

“The Father said that the man would ask you to wear a symbol of your new faith,” he mutters. He looks up at me, squeezing my arm and giving me a shake. “Take it off!”

I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I know that I can’t give in to his demands. If I take off the necklace, the next thing I know Rafi will be forcing me into a car.

Or a boat, I guess, thinking of the boat behind me.

I muster all my wits, preparing to stand strong. “No, Rafi.”

His face contorts with rage. I yelp as he rips the delicate chain from my neck, casting it aside. His fingers dig into my flesh, his expression that of a maniac. “The Father said to undress you before Rafi brings you back. Rafi doesn’t see what the harm would be in taking a peek now…”

The next few seconds happen so fast.

Rafi tries to tear at the hem of my dress.

I scream, trying to push Rafi away.

For a second, I lose my balance, teetering on the edge of the cliff.

Rafi stumbles back.

And I begin to fall.