Page 52 of The Pureblood Princess
Amidst her cravings, she thinks of Theodore. Of his green eyes. Of histouch. But no matter how ferociously she screams into the void, he doesn’t respond.
It’s like she’s calling into a never-ending darkness in which there is nothing and no one. She’s the only one there to hear her cries, and yet she persists.
Can you hear me?she says into the quiet.I need you. They’re going to kill me, Theodore. Please.
Still, Theodore does not respond. It’s as if he were never there.
Across the room from where she sits upon the narrow bed, a spider creeps along the stone, and she watches it move upthe wall as the silence in her head becomes more pronounced, pressing in on her, becoming almost suffocating in its intensity.
Though Sister Kazamir did not poison her, the symptoms of her prior poisonings still linger. Her body is weak, fatigued. At times, her vision becomes cloudy, and her head swims as though she may faint. Combined with her thirst, the effects are incapacitating, and she can scarcely find the strength with which to climb out of bed.
As her mind shifts between thirst, Theodore, and debilitating terror, a sound pierces the silence—footsteps in the hallway, and then the lock on the door clicking. She jolts to attention, her gaze going to the door as it begins to open. A small part of her hopes it’s Marek. Perhaps he’s brought her food and wine, or maybe he’s just come to check on her. It feels like she’s been alone for so long...
The heavy door creaks open, and her chest constricts. It’s not Marek who’s come.
Konrád stands in the open doorway, his golden hair dulled in the darkness, his blue eyes sharp and cold.
Trepidation washes over her.
Why is he here?
“Miss Magdalena, I’ve been meaning to stop by. My apologies for the delay.” His smile is quick and shallow, and something about it sends a shiver down her spine.
Nadia narrows her eyes, not shifting where she sits upon the bed.
“What do you want?” she asks, and her voice is raspy, her throat raw with thirst.
Konrád shrugs, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets. “Well, I’d come to tell you I saw your pretty viscount, but if you’d prefer I left—”
“No!” She lunges forward, reaching out a hand as if to stop him from closing the door and locking her in this room oncemore. “You saw...” She takes a moment to swallow, wincing at the raw pain in her throat. “Lord Rosetti?”
A quick smile flashes across Konrád’s lips. “I did. Come with me, and I’ll tell you all about your dear Theodore.”
She knows Konrád is not to be trusted—the cunning glint in his eyes is reminder enough of that—yet she feels unable to resist. If he did speak to Theodore, she must know what was said. Is he looking for her? Does he know she’s here? Or has he truly decided to marry Honora?
That last thought turns Nadia’s stomach, and she tries to put it from her weary mind.
Intrigued and desperate for respite from her confinement, Nadia climbs shakily from the tiny bed, her legs unstable beneath her. Once she finds her footing and slips her feet into the slippers Marek brought her, she moves slowly toward Konrád, who steps through the doorway and gestures for her to follow. She hesitates for a moment before cautiously stepping out of her room.
The dimly lit corridor stretches out before Nadia. Gray stone walls flank either side of the walkway, and the flickering torches lining the passage cast dancing shadows.
“You’re not going to blindfold me?” Nadia asks, feeling suddenly small in the dark space with Konrád looming so close.
His laughter is harsh and without humor. “Why would I?” He turns to regard her, his blue-eyed gaze raking up and down her body. “It’s not like you can escape. Though you’re welcome to try. It might be fun.”
The smile he gives her makes her skin crawl, and she tears her eyes away.
“I won’t run,” she whispers. She wants to—oh, how she wants to—but her legs are like pudding, and her vision swims from thirst. There’s no way she could make it out of this place without being caught.
“Where are we?” Nadia asks.
“My family’s manor,” Konrád says casually before turning and starting down the hall. “Well, one of them.”
I’m in the Kazamirs’ manor, Nadia says into the void, and somehow, she’s still disappointed when Theodore doesn’t respond. Perhaps she should finally stop trying. It may be less painful that way.
Taking a breath, she sets off behind Konrád.
The dim illumination gives an eerie life to her surroundings. Dust motes dance in the feeble light, casting ghostly figures upon the floor and the closed doors they pass. The air is heavy and cold, and though Nadia should be used to it by now, she still shivers. Her toes curl in her thin slippers as she trails Konrád, whose boots click with each step.
