I walked along the forest path, my hand in Tarian’s unfamiliar grip. Firm, but not painful, like his brother’s would have been.

  I rubbed my shoulder where Narvi had gripped it. I could already feel a bruise forming.

  “See that dog?” Tarian asked.

  I looked up at him, then followed his gaze. There, slinking through the trees, was a massive grey canine. It was wolf-like, with massive paws and a lean build, and it stalked rather than walked.

  The wolf-dog turned its head, looking at us intently. Its red-brown eyes bore into me, like I was a rabbit it would eat for dinner.

  “The fanghounds patrol this forest,” Tarian said, his voice low. “If you leave the grounds of my cottage, they will hunt you down.”

  I nodded slowly, watching as the wolf-dog slunk off deeper into the forest.

  We rounded a bend, pausing at a fence gate. The fence was made of elaborate swirls of metal, waist high, and surrounded a cottage made of grey stone and dark wood. The large yard the cottage stood in was dotted with trees and patches of wild flowers. At the far end I could see a larger set of gates and a driveway leading to a detached garage, and to my right was a small shrine carved with the phases of the moon.

  Tarian tugged on my hand gently, guiding me through the little gate and into the cottage.

  “Do not go beyond the fence,” he said, closing the gate behind him. “And do not go into my study. Anywhere else is fine.”

  He dropped my hand and walked past me, heading toward the house.

  I stood by the gate, staring at the cottage. It looked normal, cozy even.

  It was still a prison.

  I glanced behind me. Three wolf-dogs stood at the edge of the forest, watching me intently.

  I turned back to face the house, palms sweaty, breaths ragged and too fast as my heart beat so fast it ached. I took a step forward, then another, and another. I ran to the cottage, slipping inside the same door Tarian had entered. A little entryway at the back of the house. I could see a laundry room through an open door to my left, and a homey kitchen through a wide archway to the right. Everything was made of dark wood or covered in wallpaper. Coats and umbrellas hung from hooks on the wall, a shoe rack tucked underneath.

  Straight out of a storybook.

  Tarian was standing in the kitchen, talking to an older lady stirring a large pot with a ladle.

  The woman, a short and slightly plump human with greying hair tucked into a low bun, looked up and met my gaze. She wore a simple, loose fitting blue dress, a white apron, and brown tennis shoes. Something about her seemed warm and inviting, like nothing bad could happen while in her presence.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Come on in,” she said, waving me over. “Leave your shoes at the door.”

  I slipped off my tennis shoes and tucked them next to the shoe rack, then stepped up to the archway leading to the kitchen. I hovered there, half in, half out, as the smell of stew and baking bread tried to draw me in.

  This could be an act, but…

  The older woman’s clear blue eyes twinkled. “You must be Runa, Master Tarian’s new bride. I am Mrs. Smith, the head housekeeper and cook of Basile Cottage. My husband William is the groundskeep. Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?”

  “Yes,” Tarian said before I had a chance to reply.

  “How delightful. Be a dear and keep stirring for me, I’ll take Miss Runa up to your room.”

  Mrs. Smith handed the ladle to Tarian. I watched as he took it and began to stir the stew.

  She acts as if he’s his grandson, despite calling him “master” like a servant from the Victorian era. And my presence is accepted, as if I was a guest. Does she even know I was kidnapped?

  I followed Mrs. Smith backed out into the hallway I had entered, letting her lead me down it.

  “This door leads to the servants’ quarters,” she said, pointing to a door on the left. “That door on the right is the dining room, and the one at the end of the hall leads to the main entryway.”

  She pushed open the door at the far end, revealing a slightly larger, more empty entryway than the one I had first entered. A set of stairs led up into a second floor, next to a set of french doors. On the opposite side of the stairs was a smaller door.

  “The parlor,” Mrs. Smith explained, pointing to the smaller door. “And those doors lead into a small ballroom.”

  We made our way up the stairs, into another long hallway lined with doors. At the far end was another staircase and a round, stained-glass window depicting a red rose.

  “The library and the master’s study are on the left,” Mrs. Smith continued the tour, walking down the hall. “Upstairs is mainly storage and empty rooms. And on the right is a sitting room and the room belonging to you and Master Tarian.”

  She opened the door, revealing a large, rectangular bedroom decorated in dark wood and an array of blue and gold. Three large windows framed by heavy blue curtains tied back with gold curtain ties sat on the opposite wall. On either side of the middle window stood a wardrobe made of dark wood, a vanity positioned between them. A large, matching canopy bed dominated the far wall, the same heavy curtains tied back with matching gold tiebacks, and edged with gold embroidery. A nightstand and lamp stood at each side of the bed, and a long, plush white sofa with a low back spanned the entire length of the bed, pressed up against the footboard. Plush rugs littered the floor, and sparse paintings of nature scenery and flowers decorated the walls.

  I stepped inside the room, glancing behind me. A second door near the far end of the room was open, revealing an attached bathroom. I could see a massive tub shoved into an alcove partially blocked from view by heavy drapes.

  “Your wardrobe is the one on the left. We’ve had it stocked with a suitable wardrobe for you,” Mrs. Smith said. “Dinner will be served in about an hour. Someone will come get you and bring you down if you don’t join us before then.”

  “You said this was Tarian and my room?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I would like a different room.”

  Mrs. Smith paused, then spoke slowly. “I understand the circumstances are… less than ideal. However, the master has good reasons to keep you close. Your request has been denied.”

  With that she shut the door, and I was finally alone.

  I slid to my knees, tears streaming down my face.

  I can’t escape.