Page 52 of Muerte
I toyed with my fork. “I didn’t take you for the happy-ever-after type.”
“I’m not, but you are. And I’ll give you one.” His smile didn't falter. "We have a way to go before we reach that part of our story, but I think we’ve gotten off to a great start," he replied, his voice laced with a promise of things yet to come.
Happily ever after? That was more Anya’s way of thinking. The concept was foreign to me. My life had always been about navigating the immediate, tangible realities, not indulging in fairytale fantasies of rescue or romance. Yet, here I was, swept away by a man who seemed more akin to a dark sovereign of some underworld.
If I were to consider him a prince, it would be the prince of hell itself. And in that case, Alexander didn't just fit the role; he seemed to embody it. A question rose in my mind and loomed over me like a shadow: what part did that leave for me to play?
Was I meant to be some pitiful damsel in distress, bound by circumstances beyond my control, waiting for salvation or ruin in an opulent cage doubling as my palace? Or was I being groomed to become the queen, a role that felt both chilling and strangely compelling?
The answers seemed just out of reach, shrouded in the same mystery that enveloped everything else on this Isle. I swallowed around a hard lump in my throat. The space between us, marked only by a few plates and the breadth of the table, seemed to shrink with every passing second.
Seizing upon the first topic that would move us away from the current discussion, I blurted out, “So there’s an actual prison out here?”
His brow furrowed for a second, then smoothed. He took a moment as if considering how much to reveal.
"It's not the kind of place you might be picturing," he began to explain, his voice thoughtful. "'Carcerem,' as we call it. It's a stone fortress, like a relic.”
“Why would you need a jail at all?” I pressed, unable to hide my curiosity.
His lips quirked up in a half-smile. "Because, deliciae, even in a place governed by our own rules, there must be a system to manage those who step out of line. A way to enforce our laws." His gaze hardened slightly. "And then there's the matter of tourists. Not everyone appreciates the privilege of being allowed to step foot on Stygian. Some get... overly curious, or disrespectful. They forget they are guests here."
I absorbed his words, trying to imagine this fortress-like jail on an island that already felt so removed from the world I knew. "And what happens to these... rule-breakers?"
"They're reminded of the price of their indiscretion. We take our hospitality very seriously, and in turn, we expect our guests to respect our ways. Those who can't... well, they learn the hard way that there are consequences for every action."
That was more or less what Nicolette had said.
“Is Anya—?”
“I’d rather not discuss her while eating. For all of our sakes.”
I refrained from biting back at him, if for nothing else than Anya’s wellbeing. It was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do. He truly despised her. I had to wonder if it went beyond her sexual inhibitions.
"What's the most interesting thing you learned today?" he inquired, smoothly changing the subject.
"That I wasn't chosen at random." The words hung in the air, a statement of fact that carried with it an undercurrent of bewilderment and a silent plea for understanding.
“You certainly weren’t,” he murmured, taking another sip of his wine.
I didn’t know what that meant. If this was tied into bloodlines, then I was equally as lost, because I was more or less Annie. But I wouldn’t be shocked if he knew who my family was. Actually, I was sure he did.
I failed to see the likelihood of them being linked to his. Everything I’d learned—from the little I’d seen—conveyed how secretive and well-guarded the Isle was. They were all about tradition and heritage. I highly doubted my mother or father would’ve given me up for adoption if they were part of their community.
The sound of glass shattering somewhere in the house pulled me from my thoughts. I looked at Alexander, who was already sliding his chair back.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he said politely, exiting the room in the direction Esther and Nicolette had gone.
I heard Alexander speaking to someone. His words were indistinct, and the tone was calm. I couldn't make out the conversation. Everything fell silent after that. Five, maybe even ten minutes passed when a muffled cry reached my ears. I sat up, straining to listen, questioning my own perception.
The cry came again, unmistakable this time. Propelled to my feet, I followed the sound, my steps cautious but resolute. I found myself in the hall that led to the room where I had first woken up.
A cry echoed once more, chilling my veins. Esther was standing alone, just outside the door, her expression conflicted. If she was out here, then was Nicolette the one inside? I quickened my pace. What was he doing to her?
As I approached, Esther tried to stop me with a raised hand, her eyes pleading. "Please, wait—"
I couldn't. My concern for Nicolette outweighed any reservations. Ignoring her, I shouldered her out of the way and pushed the door open, just to freeze.
The sight before me was both bewildering and unsettling—not at all what I’d been expecting.