Page 45 of The Pureblood Princess
Yet again, she finds herself locked away at the hands of a man trying to control her life. But this time, there’s no window from which to jump, no Theodore waiting with his arms spread wide to catch her.
She’s completely alone.
Chapter Nineteen
The unyielding cold nips atNadia’s toes as she paces her dark prison. Her feet are bare, and she still wears her thin ankle-length nightgown. The lightweight fabric does nothing to keep the cold at bay, and it has since settled so deeply into her bones that she wonders if she’ll ever feel warm again.
Theodore? Are you there?
She lifts one hand to her mouth and gnaws on her thumbnail. Most of her nails are worn ragged from her chewing. Her mother would be disgusted, but she can’t seem to stop.
Thinking of her mother opens a fresh wound in her heart, and tears begin to trace silently down her cheeks.
Does her mother know she’s gone? The Rosettis most certainly know, but do they think she left of her own volition? Did they fall for the Kazamirs’ cruel trick? The thought stirs a deep fear in her gut—a fear that no one will come looking, will even know she’s been taken against her will.
Since Lord Kazamir left, however long ago that was, she’s tried ceaselessly to contact Theodore. Thus far, she’s been unsuccessful.
Whatever awful concoction they gave her still lingers in her body; her limbs feel weak, and her head throbs with never-ending pain.
Theodore, please. I need you.
More tears slip from her eyes as she turns to pace back across the small space. The single candle burned out long ago, and the scant bit of warmth, light, and comfort it provided vanished along with it. Now she moves in the dark, her eyes adjusted but still slightly blurry, as if she’s looking through fog.
Behind her, the lock on the door clicks, and she whips around just as the heavy wood creaks open.
A familiar scent fills the small space before the figure has even stepped into the room.
Without thinking to, Nadia lets out a low hiss. It comes from somewhere deep inside her, an animal instinct that seems to have a mind of its own.
Honora pushes the dark hood back from her head as she slips into the room, exposing her golden hair. There’s no light in which for it to shine, but it still looks soft and full, draping in waves down her slender back.
“Miss Magdalena,” she says, her sharp blue eyes sweeping up and down Nadia’s body as she pushes the door closed behind her. Her red lips curl up in one corner. “You look terrible.”
Nadia’s hands curl into fists at her sides. “What do you want?” she snaps.
Honora’s brows rise in mock surprise. “Well, there’s no need for hostility. I just came down to say hello.” The expression on her face shifts, and tangible tension fills the small space between them. “And Father wants to know if you’ve considered his offer.”
“Then I’ll tell you what I told him. I’llneverwed Marek. If you think Theodore will be convinced by a forged letter, you’re more witless than I thought.”
Honora’s red lips pull back, revealing fangs where a moment ago were smooth white teeth.
“Witless?” Honora whispers, edging forward. She reaches into her cloak, and the flash of a silver dagger sends shivers racing down Nadia’s spine. As Honora pulls it fully from theinside pocket of her cloak and holds it out, terror zips through Nadia’s veins.
Honora clicks her tongue. “You should watch what you say to me, Miss Magdalena. No one is coming to save you this time.”
She shifts the dagger this way and that, then gasps as if surprised. “Oh, I almost forgot. I wanted to tell you that the viscount is doing well. I spoke with him just last night, and your name didn’t even come up in conversation. I suppose he doesn’t miss you after all.” Her laughter is light, much too pleased.
Though Nadia strives not to react, her eyes narrow, and Honora must see the desperation on her face, for she smiles.
“He was mine first, and he’s mine again.” She pushes her golden hair back, revealing two small puncture wounds on her neck. “He drank from me just last night. And then he—”
A harsh laugh bursts from Nadia’s throat, cutting Honora off. “Tell me, do you believe your fairy tales? For Lord Rosetti wouldneverdrink from the likes of you. He told me himself. He finds you repulsive, Miss Kazamir.”
She may be bending the truth, but it feels so good to say, and it’s especially satisfying to see the look that crosses Honora’s face.
But then Honora moves, her figure becoming a blur of dark fabric and yellow hair.
With sluggishness still clinging to Nadia’s limbs, she’s unable to move out of the way, and Honora slams her back against the cold brick wall. Her head strikes the stone, and she cries out.
