“You?” he sneers.

“Me.” I say it with such confidence that I think it rattles him.

He stares at me long and hard and then shakes his head. “Lies.” He grabs me by the shoulder. “You’re going in the dungeon until we figure out who your master is. He can whip you for your impudence. I’m tired of this shite.”

With that, he drags me down the hall as if I’m a piece of luggage.

I try to break free from his grip, but it’s like one of iron. I’m surprised he’s not flying, but I’m grateful, too. Walking to the dungeon—if that’s where we’re going—gives me the opportunity to have a good look around at this new, strange kingdom I find myself in.

Because Darkfell—if this is indeed Darkfell—is very, very strange.

Nemeth had told me that Darkfell was a sprawling city under the mountains, but I wasn’t able to visualize just what he meant. Now I can see it. The mountain itself is hollowed out, the “roof” of it so high in certain spots that it disappears into shadows. The rest of it is carved, and between the square houses that are stacked like blocks along cobbled paths, there are houses farther up, lining the high walls of the mountain itself. It’s like a hive , and everywhere I look are homes gleaming with the artificial lights at their doors. There are bright cloth awnings over what look like street booths, and as my captor drags me forward, we pass a fenced-off area that resembles rows and rows of Nemeth’s mushroom-farming board. It’s all neat and tidy and industrious.

What I don’t see are people.

There are a few, of course. There’s a Fellian in the mushroom garden who disappears into shadows the moment they see me being dragged down the street by my captor. I see a few men in uniform, dark-winged and hard-faced, watching as the male at my side hauls me along after him. But the streets feel strangely empty. I thought Darkfell would be crawling with people. With their limited space and so many houses, I thought I’d see nothing but people on top of people.

Instead, this place feels nearly as deserted as Lios. And as we head further into the city itself, the sprawl continues—streets forking into narrow alleyways, buildings clustered atop one another, even more of the nest-like homes high above—and yet many of the homes have no lights on at all. Some of the houses have a strange red symbol painted on the door, and whenever we see someone, they cover their mouth and move hastily past. The mountain seems to echo all around us. Surely a crowded mountain wouldn’t echo?

I turn to my Fellian captor. “Where is everyone?”

His expression grows ugly. He raises a fist to me and I flinch, throwing my hands up to protect myself. “You’ll shut your mouth if you know what’s good for you, female.”

I try to wriggle out of his grip again. “Prince Nemeth⁠—”

“—is in the tower,” the man says, his claws digging furrows into my skin. He’s almost bored, as if capturing humans is an everyday thing with him. As if it’s no big deal to see a human near Darkfell, whose border has been closed to us for hundreds of years.

“I’m his wife,” I try once more. “Prince Nemeth—he’s my husband. Can’t you cast a spell to see if I’m telling the truth or not? Use your magic.”

The man hauls me up so quickly that I yelp. My feet come off the ground and I dangle in midair, held aloft by the hand on my bodice. He snarls at me, showing huge fangs and a nasty demeanor. “Where did you hear that?”

“About Nemeth? He was in the tower with me. We left a few months ago⁠—”

He pulls me closer, and I can smell his fetid breath. His pupils flick back and forth, studying me. “Who is your master?” he hisses. “Who showed you magic?”

Am I not supposed to know? “Nemeth showed me,” I say again. “In the tower⁠—”

My captor growls and flings me away. I skid across the cobbled floor, wincing when my head smacks against stone. That one’s going to leave a mark. I manage to pull myself upright, panting. “If you hurt me again, he’s going to kill you,” I warn. “He didn’t keep me alive for two years just for you to beat the stuffing out of me.”

“Female, I am warning you.” He points a claw at me. “Cease with your lip and get to your feet.”

If this cretin wanted me on my feet, then why’d he pull me off of them? With a huff of irritation, I stand up—and immediately get dizzy. I haven’t eaten since a few bites of fish this morning, and clearly my body has a problem with this. I shake a finger at the Fellian man. “Nemeth will not be happy about this.”

And then I pass out at his feet.

I wake up with a foul taste in my mouth and a horrible headache. Groaning, I put a hand to my forehead and remain where I am, just in case the dizziness is lingering. There’s a rough blanket under me and it’s very quiet, so quiet I can hear the drip of water somewhere nearby. Somewhere nearby, there’s a drag of chains and a low murmur of conversation.

Human conversation.

It excites me so much I almost bolt upright again, so desperate to see the faces of my people. I never thought of myself as particularly patriotic until now, when I’ve lost everyone and everything. It takes everything I have to remain still, and I turn my head, looking at my new surroundings.

My captor is gone. That’s a good thing. He was getting far too rough and arrogant for my tastes. But his disappearance also means no one knows that I’m here, or that I’ve been asking for Nemeth. Panic later, I tell myself. Figure out where you are now. A quick glance around makes it obvious, though—I’m in the dungeon. The walls are narrow stone that enclose the thin pallet I’m lying upon, and there’s very little light to see by. I stretch an arm out and confirm my suspicions—with both arms extended, I can touch the sides of my cell at the same time. Near my feet, there’s a bucket, and the bucket is by the door, which has a window covered by a metal cross-hatch of bars. I crawl forward on my bed and gag at the smell of the bucket—this is clearly not the first time it’s been used for a toilet. I use the door to help me to my feet, leaning on it for balance, and press my face to the bars, desperate to hear more of those Liosian voices.

When I look out, I see a dark stone corridor, lined with more doors just like mine. I still hear voices, though, and as I watch, a pale arm reaches out of the mesh grid toward the next cell, only to be met with another hand. They pass something between them—a hunk of bread—and then quickly disappear again.

They were human, though. Those fingers weren’t tipped with claws.

“Hello?” I call out. “Let me out. Nemeth is looking for me.”

A large, heavy figure emerges from the shadows. I know from the sound of his wings that he’s a Fellian, even before those creepy green eyes meet mine. “Quiet, you.”

I ignore that, because quiet never got a girl anywhere. “Where exactly am I, kind sir?” I flutter my lashes at him and lick my lips in what I hope is an enticing manner. “I fear I’m lost.”

He swipes at the bars with his claws, making me yelp and surge backward. “You’ll listen to me when I tell you to be quiet, female.”

“But where am I?” I stay out of reach behind the bars on the door, just in case. “My name is Princess Candromeda Vestalin, and I’m looking for Prince Nemeth of the First House. He’ll be looking for me as well.”

The guard’s eyes narrow at me and he sneers. “So you’re royal, huh?”

“I am.” I try to look as dignified as possible.

“What if I told you all the royal wenches from Lios were busy sucking cock down at the barracks? You still going to claim to be royal?”

My eyes go wide. Royal wenches? In the barracks? “W-what?”

“You heard me. Still claiming to be a princess?”

I say nothing.

“Good. Now if you want your food, you’ll be silent, won’t you?”

My stomach growls and I decide that maybe it is best to say nothing for now. I cross my arms over my chest protectively and glare, keeping to the shadows of my cell. He can come in anytime he likes, I realize, because a Fellian can move through shadows. I take another step back, twitching, in the hopes that my movements look erratic enough that he won’t teleport in and bother me.