I am thirsty the next day when I wake up. Painfully, wretchedly thirsty. Feeling my lips, I find them cracked and parched. Whatever drug they gave me has left me with a serious hangover.

I squint into the shaft of light filtering into my room like cream into black coffee. The sunlight hurts my eyes, and I have a headache too.

The only experience I have with hangovers was once when my friend Amelie stole a flask of wine meant for communion. We drank so much we vomited, and we were both sick the next day too.

This is like that, but without all the late-night giggles to make imbibing the wine almost worthwhile. Well, until Father Derrik heard about it and forced an extra half hour of confession on me…

At least, there is no Father Derrik here, I guess.

I lie on the bed, staring up at the cell’s window. Can I almost see a hint of the big blue sea outside, or is that my imagination?

Coughing, I shift my mind to thinking about anything but water. Is Ama here?

Would Ama be alone in her dark cell, scared out of her mind?

I doubt it. Amabel is so strict and devout, it might not even occur to her to be afraid. She’s a big believer in God’s plan for us. She says that it is His will, no matter what happens.

But where is His will in all of this, I wonder?

There is a bang outside my door, making me jump. As I sit up, my door swings open. There in silhouette is the same man as before, the demon. I can tell by his sheer size, by the way that he stands, so cocksure. Unconcerned, unbothered.

He steps into the murkiness of my cell, his facial expression illuminated somewhat by the light filtering down from the window. He looks at me with a wry bit of amusement.

He is very attractive, all stubble and cheekbones and heavy eyebrows over those remarkable chartreuse eyes. He wears a white button-up shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. His exposed skin looks tanned, his forearms muscular with dark, wiry hair.

Is this how the devil appears to tempt me? Because he is doing a perfect job of looking appealing so far.

“You’re awake.” His voice is deep and sleek, coiling around me like a python would a baby deer. It raises goosebumps all over my bare skin.

Rubbing at my arms, I try to keep my face blank. “Can I have some water, please?”

My voice comes out in a dry croak. His mouth kicks up into a roguish half-smile.

“Anything you want, your highness. Come with me to the kitchen.”

He backs out of the room, mockingly bowing to me. My brows knit, but if he thinks that just standing by the door so I have to pass close to him will stop me, he’s wrong. I stand up, gathering the skirts of my wrinkled wedding dress, and muster the courage to brush past him.

That mischievous smile is still on his lips as he turns and leads me away from my cell. I follow him up the winding staircase again, my legs just now a little sore from all that running yesterday morning.

As we mount the stairs, the grand foyer comes into view once more. I look around at my surroundings, wide-eyed and full of questions.

Where am I?

Where’s my sister?

And most importantly, who exactly is he?

First, though, I need water. I’m more than a little bit lightheaded from dehydration. And from the rumbling and gurgling sounds coming from my stomach, I need food too.

I hurry to follow his large strides, my mouth watering at the very idea of food. He walks through the castle, unconcerned about my getting away or the possibility of him getting caught. That tells me all I need to know about the castle’s security, I suppose.

He leads me through several rooms, the purpose of which seems to be… lounging? Enormous, carpeted spaces with entirely updated furnishings, all peach or beige or white to match the ever-present stone walls.

We reach a cavernous kitchen, which has been furnished in just the style you would think -- blue cabinets and display stands, stainless steel appliances, a big butcher block island, eclectic bar stools. It looks like a TV show’s set, but it’s all quite real.

I’m entirely certain, as soon as I walk in, that he has never even been in the room. He looks around, his gaze sweeping over the kitchen, seemingly trying to ascertain where food and water come from.

“Sit,” he commands as soon as I take a couple of steps toward the refrigerator. He motions to the bar, so I squish my skirts down and squeeze myself onto a bar stool.

Water. Food. Then questions.

Those are my priorities, in that order. I keep my mouth shut as he strolls to the refrigerator, pulling out a few bottles of water. He also grabs a black plastic food container.

My stomach growls conspicuously as he takes the lid off, revealing a pre-made sandwich of some kind. He slides the sandwich and two of the bottles of water across the island to me.

How many times at the convent was I punished for not being ladylike? So many, I’ve surely lost count. I try to take small sips of the water, tear pieces of the sandwich off.

Really, I don’t want anyone to think that I’m a ravenous monster. But I can’t help downing the water in a couple of long swallows. Once the turkey sandwich hits my lips, I groan quietly. It’s all I can do not to stuff my mouth full.

Instead, I force myself to be controlled. To savor the crisp lettuce and sweetness of the tomato, the tanginess of mayonnaise and the wonderful yeastiness of the brown bread. Not to fall into my base instincts, which say I should demand another sandwich immediately.

There is another bottle of water in front of me, which I open but do not taste just yet. Licking the corners of my lips, I turn my attention to the demon.

He favors me with a frosty smile. “I imagine you have questions.”

I keep my expression neutral, although inside I’m a deep well of emotions. It’s a coping skill I learned long ago, thanks to Father Derrik. Folding my hands neatly in my lap, I cock my head.

“Who are you?” I ask, starting with the basics.

“Aside from your abductor?” he says, his teeth flashing when he smiles. “I am Dryas Aetós.”

The name sounds faintly Greek, which jives with his olive-skinned looks. I purse my lips. “Where are we?”

“France.” He leans back against the counter with a sigh.

God, what to ask next? I guess I’d better ask about Ama. “Where is my sister? Is she safe?”

He dips his head. “She’s fine. She’s… well, she’s not here. But she’s nearby.”

It’s everything I can do not to shoot him a glare. “And why have you taken us?”

He gives me a shrug, the blandness of my expression mirrored in his own. “Revenge. I saw that you were precious to Father Derrik, so I stole you from him.”

Surprise makes my eyebrows lift a bit. “Revenge for what, exactly?”

Dryas rubs his mouth, thinking for a moment before he speaks. “He had someone close to me killed. So, I will take you instead.”

I squint. “Take me? You’ve already abducted me.”

He takes a deep breath, something shifting in his yellow-green eyes. That manic expression that I observed earlier is back, and it chills me to the bone. He slowly walks around the island, trailing his fingertips on the counter.

He makes eye contact with me the whole time he speaks. “You don’t know me, so I will tell you now… I’m a killer. A murderer. I’ve done unspeakable things to young women who were prettier and more expensive than you.”

Immediately, I break into a cold sweat, my pulse rising. He strolls to my side of the kitchen island, slowly coming closer and closer to me. Dryas’s fingers brush my arm instead, making me feel a special kind of dread.

He’s going to me do what Father Derrik does. Of that I am certain.

I start to tremble.

“What is it about you that Father Derrik cares about?” he says, his gaze falling on my body. “Hmm? I’ll figure it out eventually. You might as well tell me.”

A teardrop wells up and breaks free, running down my face. Trying to keep my breathing under control, I blow breaths out of pursed lips. I brush the tear away, but Dryas doesn’t miss a beat.

“Mm, it must be something good if you’re crying over it.”

Shaking my head, I deny it with a whisper. “No. I don’t know why he is interested in me.”

He rounds me, coming to rest on the other side of me, leaning against the island. “No? No idea?”

I drop my eyes, shaking my head again. Unable to stand how miserable I feel, I can only rasp out, “No.”

I feel his hot hands on my shoulders, massaging me. Shuddering from fear, I think that there is no way he can know.

There’s no chance that he can know that Father Derrik started out with just that same touch, that weird massage that makes my shoulders feel even more tense. I roll my shoulders instinctively, unable to help myself.

I close my eyes and pray that he doesn’t advance beyond that. If Father Derrik is an example, I have a while to go before…

Before anything else happens. I swallow the lump of emotion that is in my throat, threatening to smother me.

Then Dryas moves away. I feel relieved like a great weight has been lifted off of me. At that moment, I know that I am broken.

F’s private confessions have broken me, made me fear the touch of all men. No matter that I find Dryas exceptionally attractive, or that perhaps he doesn’t mean what I think he means.

I let out a rattling, shuddering breath.

“Look at me,” Dryas says evenly. I slowly raise my tear-stained face, my eyes surely rimmed in red. He looks at me like a predator looks at prey like a starving man looks at a meal before him.

One corner of his face kicks up. “I don’t want you to misunderstand me, so I’ll spell it out.” He leans down on his elbows, his eyes locking on my own. “I am going to take your virginity. I am going to shred your innocence. All the piety you know, I won’t be happy until it’s gone. I plan to use your body terribly, in every way that I can think of.” He pauses for effect. “And I think you’ll come to like it. No, I know you’ll grow to love it.”

I shake my head in response, my tears falling freely. “No. No, I won’t.”

“You will,” he says, tilting his head. After another pause, he continues. “Did you know that in ancient times, my people believed that a young woman came into majority on their twenty-first birthday? That’s what it was called, coming into one’s majority. If she was unwed, she gained the right to speak in her own favor. To make decisions for herself. Did you know that?”

Wide-eyed, I shake my head. “No.”

“Your birthday is soon unless I am mistaken.”

It’s true, what he’s saying. On the fifteenth of July, just three weeks from now, I will be twenty-one. But I clamp my lips together and say nothing because that manic look is back on his face.

My heart pounds. My limbs feel odd. Heavy.

“It doesn’t matter that you don’t agree with me,” he intones. “It’s your birthday soon. Which means that I have a few weeks to seduce you, strip away your belief in God, and have you fall into living in sin. That should be enough to show Father Derrik who is best, don’t you think?”

My eyelids feel heavy. Struggling to keep my eyes open, I stare at him. I can’t breathe for a moment, his crazy-eyed gaze is so intent upon mine. Though I don’t speak, he laughs aloud.

“You should see the denial in your gaze. It’s precious, really. Innocent.” He takes a beat, looking in my eyes. “You know what I am? I’m like a virus. I infect, I corrupt. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.” He leans in close to whisper in my ear, his fingers gripping my forearm. “I can’t wait until you realize that you’re corrupted like I am.”

And then I let my eyes close, everything fading away to grey static.