Sloshing stomps turned to echoing clip-clops.

Sudden cold paralyzed my muscles. It accompanied me along a passage into darkness and crept into my veins as panic flooded my head. I shouldn’t be here. Felt it in the marrow of my bones that I was in the wrong place.

The whistling of wind followed us for long moments but faded away the deeper we ventured. In its place, a violent crshh echoed from the surrounding stone.

“Wine. Always… wine.” The voice was a low rumble, followed by another crshh, like shattering plates. “Did they all run out of mead? Wasn’t there a single ale to be had?”

“If mead’s what ye want, ye have to keep the rot from me body long enough so I can go another day past the nearest village. As if I dinnae have enough trouble already finding enough wine for ye muddled head.”

The deep voice growled, “Mind your tongue, Orlaigh.”

A final clop and Augustine stopped.

His swishing tail blocked most of my view, though I could make out white steps where pieces of clay jugs lay scattered. Wine dripped from them, red puddles on the pale alabaster surrounding it all.

“Ach, they worked ye poor animal to death, dinnae they?” Black boots appeared between my mule’s four sturdy legs, and Orlaigh’s voice came softer. “Dinnea bother taking the harness off, huh? What a fine animal ye are, bringing weary bones to rest with yer master.”

Bones to rest with their master…?

A violent tremble grabbed my body, lungs heaving against the mounting desperation rattling through them. Was I truly inside the Graying Tower? No. This had to be a bad dream. A dream. Yes, only a dream. Just a dr—

The harness jiggled, sending such a stabbing pain into my ankle that I sucked in a sharp breath…

…and choked on it.

A gargle played around my ribs, expanded, swelled until my chest hardened against relentless pressure. Something warm and thick clogged my throat, bubbling underneath coughs until, turning my head, it all dislodged at once. It coated my gums, filled the gaps of my teeth, and dribbled down my chin like cod-liver oil as I heaved it all out.

Blood.

Too warm to be a dream.

Clop. Clop. 

Footsteps.

“Ah dhia!” Orlaigh swung both hands to her chest, her pale features streaked with the same thin black veins that feathered across the white of her eyes.

A talking corpse?

But… how?

Gray braids shifted as she turned her head toward the stairs. “Ye best come see this.”

The man sighed. “Does the mule carry mead?”

“Nay.”

“Ale?”

Orlaigh shook her head, hands slipping down until they rested upon wide hips draped in a simple, green-checkered cotton dress. “It’s a young lass.”

Pottery crunched beneath slow steps, but the grind of soles upon clay soon made room for the rushing of blood in my ears. My heart ached with incessant pounding, but only until a man stepped around the mule… then my heart stopped.

No, it couldn’t be…

Cold, colorless eyes locked with mine, set in a face with a straight nose and firm jaw, all framed by long black hair. It brushed over a white, untied shirt, barely hiding his well-thewed chest, hem shoved into black breeches.

No rich embroidery.

No gold chains.

No embellishments.

Nothing gave him away as more than a man—a wicked creature not of this world—yet I recognized him as who he was. Not from his proud posture, the arrogance on his arched brow, or even the liberties his eyes took as they roamed over me. No, what gave him away as the King of Flesh and Bone was the very air around him, like a chill coming off him in ripples and waves. That, and the twisted curl of disgust tugging on his upper lip.

He tilted his head, hands clenched into fists by his sides. “How did this mortal enter my court?”

Orlaigh scratched Augustine’s rump and gave a one-sided shrug. “Kin tied the lass to the mule.”

The King’s gaze wandered to the leather straps which dug into my skin before his eyes snapped back to mine. “Is this a new trickery? You dare come to this court uninvited? Unwanted?”

My lips parted, mute, each apology drowning in the back of a throat already pooling with blood again. Specks of light and dark flickered around my vision. I needed to wake up.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake—

“Speak!” The King’s shout shattered from the walls before it battered my bones. “You look at me from eyes still burning with a soul, and I demand this answer while you still have your wits about you.” He walked up beside me, the tip of his boot brushing against my waist as he squatted down. “Is this a new trickery of your wicked kind? Tell me now, and I might show mercy by taking you outside before I snap your neck. Or remain silent and learn the damnation of eternal fealty.”

“Now, now,” Orlaigh mumbled, all straightness gone from her spine, “let the lass speak—”

The King silenced her with little more than his hand rising toward her face, eyes still fixed on me. “Shut your mouth before I sew your lips together and let you choke on your own tongue. The one I want silent won’t stop pestering me, and the one I demand answers from won’t speak.” Sinking to his knees, he lowered his lips to my ear, his voice a whisper. “Listen to my words, mortal. You better answer before I find you employment at the Pale Court. If you believe wandering the Earth for all eternity is a dark fate, then let me assure you that serving me is the greater punishment for the wicked crimes of man. Ought I to refuse entry even to the beasts now?”

I swallowed past a lump of blood and fear. “F-forg… ough—”

A violent cough cut through my effort, crimson droplets speckling the King’s loose shirt, the skin of the broad chest behind loose bindings, and even half his cheek.

Orlaigh shook her head, thick brows wrinkled, and a hint of pity hushed over her face. “Lass is drowning in her own blood.”

The King reached for his face, wiping the blood off before he stared at his red-streaked fingers. Fingers he extended toward me, hesitantly, his lips now parted.

He cupped my cheek.

Skin connected with skin.

I flinched at the unexpected warmth.

So did the King.

He pulled his hand back as if I’d burned him, pushing himself up to stand, and stumbling back a step all at once. “So… warm.”

He stared at me from those unnerving eyes, irises the color of autumn clouds foreboding a storm. “Who sent you? Some mortal king? They no longer tie their harlots to the trees to lure me out, but now strap them to beasts?”

“Ye won’t get answers from a lass half-dead,” Orlaigh said. “From the looks of it, she hit every skull and was dragged over every sharp bone on the way in. Foot’s twisted. Dinnae look like a trap to me.”

The King stepped toward Augustine. “The looks of mankind are deceiving.”

He grabbed the twisted leather strap tied around my ankle and pulled. With little effort, the strap broke and my leg hit the hard alabaster. Pain pricked my skin, seared my flesh, twisted around my body like ropes. I screamed loud enough that even the mule danced once more until the sound drowned.

“No mortal will die and find rest in my kingdom.” The King’s command resonated a chamber void of life, stripped bare to the white paneling on the crooked walls, the distorted ceiling, the very ground on which he stood. “Drag her outside and toss her onto one of the piles of corpses…”

His voice faded along with everything around me. Darkness invaded once more, and with it, another voice—a strange one, like the comforting embrace of a loved one, luring me toward where darkness paled into a path of the brightest light.

“Come to me,” the voice beckoned. “Let me take your breath.”

Limbs stiff, unmoving, I stepped toward the light. Brightness encapsulated all my being, chasing away the pain, the suffering, the—