Page 18 of Labyrinth of Broken Vows
“Dinner,” he says matter-of-factly, and I watch in horror as he settles down to skin the poor thing.
“How could you?” I yell, my voice trembling with outrage and sorrow.
He looks up at me, his face a mask of indifference. “Just because you’re okay with starving yourself doesn’t mean I am,” he replies, his roughness cutting deeper than I’d like to admit.
I gag at the sight, turning away as the metallic scent of blood wafts toward me, overwhelming my senses. I feel my stomach churn, the bile rising in my throat. Without a second thought, I stand and move toward the clearing near the mossy tree, seeking solace in the shadows as I attempt to distance myself from the gruesome scene. I settle against the rough bark of the tree, its texture digging into my back as I try to find some comfort. Sleep; it feels like the only escape from this twisted reality. But just as I start to nod off, the smoky aroma wafts through the air, jolting me awake. My stomach protests loudly, a reminder of its hunger. I glance over my shoulder and see Grom tending to a stick over the fire, the meat sizzling and crackling as it cooks. The smell is absolutely intoxicating, drawing me in against my will. I turn away, guilt twisting in my gut. He brutally slaughtered that creature; I refuse to eat it. The hypocrisy of my own choices isn’t lost on me, after all, I’ve cooked lamb and other meats in my life, but there’s something primal, almost barbaric, about this.
Grom’s voice cuts through the tension. “You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”
I choose silence, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, I focus on the sounds of him eating—the squelching, the satisfied moans that send a new wave of hunger through me. My stomach growls again, louder this time, reminding me that I’m still a mere mortal, craving sustenance.
“Will you deny yourself nourishment just to prove a point?” he calls out, the taunting lilt in his voice unmistakable. “And what point is that? That you’re better than those in this maze? You’re not better; you’re stupid. A foolish woman chasing after a man, willing to die of starvation before you ever get the chance to prove your worth.”
I can’t let his words slide. “And what point do you think I’m trying to make?” I call back, my voice sharp.
“That you are more,” he replies, his tone devoid of any mockery, leaving me momentarily taken aback. More? More than what? More than just a victim?
After a moment of deliberation, I finally push myself off the ground, my muscles protesting as I stand. I can feel Grom’s eyes on me as I walk over to the fire, the heat embracing me like a long-lost friend. My gaze falls to the piece of meat he holds out, its charred edges glistening in the firelight, tempting and repulsive all at once.
With a tentative hand, I take it from him, feeling the warmth seep into my skin. My heart races as I bring it closer, inhaling the smoky aroma. Grom watches me, an inscrutable expression on his face, half curiosity, half amusement.
As I bite into the meat, the flavors explode in my mouth—smoky, savory, rich. It’s been far too long since I’ve tasted anything this satisfying. I chew slowly, savoring the unexpected delight.
“Maybe there’s hope for you after all,” Grom says, a teasing edge to his voice, breaking through my reverie.
eight
Thorne
From the heights of my throne, I peer into the shimmering depths of the crystal ball atop my staff, The swirling mist within reveals Brielle, her stubborn spirit flickering like the flames of the fire she now huddles beside. A low chuckle escapes my lips, rich and dark, echoing through the hollow chamber of my quarters.
She finally gives in to her defiance, succumbing to her primal needs. What truly piques my interest is Grom, the troll I’ve kept under my thumb, his meekness a trait I’ve learned to tolerate. Yet, in the presence of Brielle, he blossoms like a flower in the darkness, bold and defiant. His words ring through the crystal, imbued with an unexpected sharpness. Perhaps I’ve been too harsh, too quick to scold the loyal troll. There’s a spark within him that shines brighter when he’s with her; a glimpse of potential I hadn’t anticipated. I lean closer, intrigued, as thedynamic between them unfolds. Grom’s usual quiet demeanor gives way to something more vibrant, more alive. It’s as if Brielle brings out a part of him long buried beneath layers of fear and submission. How amusing to witness the power she holds, even unwittingly, over the hearts and minds of those I’ve ensnared within my maze.
“A queen,” I murmur, my voice a low rumble of amusement and admiration. “She will be the light to my dark, the balance this maze has needed.”
Yet, a flicker of unease stirs in my chest, a reminder that I am a king first and foremost, a ruler of shadows and whispers, not a friend to the likes of Grom It is my duty to command, to lead, not to indulge in the warm comforts of camaraderie. A king does not make friends; he makes choices, sacrifices, and difficult decisions. The maze requires that of me, just as it demands submission from those who dwell within its winding paths.
The crow lands with a soft rustle above me on my throne, I allow a small smile to tilt the corner of my mouth, a fleeting moment of pleasure amidst the shadows that envelop me. My gaze drifts to the crystal ball, where Brielle’s image flickers, radiant and defiant. I can almost feel the warmth of the fire she huddles beside, yet what truly envelops me is the warmth of her beauty from such a distance; a bittersweet balm and a torturous reminder of what I cannot have. This longing has become my agony, a relentless ache in my chest. My hands itch to caress the tears glistening on her cheeks, to taste the salt of her sorrow on my lips. She perceives me as her enemy now, a role I will gladly embrace for her. I will be the monster she needs to unearth her strength, to help her discover the fierce spirit buried beneath her layers of fear. Make no mistake, she is mine, and it is this truth that grants me the patience to endure, even as that patience wears thin with each passing day.
The knowledge that she is within my maze heightens the struggle within me, making it agonizingly difficult to resist the urge to reach out. My mind thinks back to how many nights I have sung her to sleep, wishing desperately that she could curl up in my arms, feeling safe and cherished. The ache of that desire gnaws at me, a hunger that cannot be sated by mere observation.
I remind myself; she will have it all. I will ensure that she rises from this darkness, transformed and unbreakable. But until then, she must endure this suffering. It is a necessary path, one that will forge her into the formidable queen I know she can become. In the depths of my heart, I believe in her resilience; I believe she will prevail.
With a subtle wave of my hand, Brielle’s image flickers away from the glass, leaving me alone with my own reflection. The darkness of my eyes stares back, an abyss filled with secrets. The black horns that crown my head twist ominously, sharp points slicing through the dim light, while the elongated, pointed tips of my ears catch the flickering glow. My obsidian gaze is cold and unyielding, a reminder of the monster I am. Will she ever accept me? The thought lingers nagging at me..
From his cage, Henry must sense my insecurity as he picks at the meager scraps thrown to him tonight, his voice dripping with disdain. "You’re a monster. She’ll be disgusted by you," he spits, venom lacing his words. “You’re nothing but a vile creature.”
I stand, ready to retreat into my bed, but before I do, I take a deliberate step toward his cage. My voice drops to a low growl as I reply, “You may think of me as a monster, but when I get my hands on your wife, she won’t think of you at all.”
Henry’s eyes widen, fury igniting within them like a wildfire. I continue, each word laced with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation.
“She will be a changed woman, and you’ll be forced to witness every delicious moment. Just picture her striding in here, head held high, radiating a power she’s never dared to embrace; because she finally will. You’ll watch her claim her rightful place beside me on the throne I’m having specially crafted for her, fit for a queen. And oh, the best part: you’ll see her blossom into her confidence, eagerly riding my cock like the regal goddess she’s meant to be, taking her pleasure with every sultry bounce. Just imagine that sight, Henry; her lithe body moving with grace, your wife utterly transformed. The sheer envy on your face will be such a sight”
He wants to hurt me. Pathetic. I can see it in his beady little eyes, the way his fists clench like he's actually capable of something more than whining. It’s almost cute, watching him simmer in his own impotence, thinking he’s dangerous. But all I see is a joke—a sad, miserable excuse for a man who thinks glaring at me will somehow even the playing field. Like he’s worth more than the dirt beneath my boots. The fact that I could rip the flesh from his bones, string him up by his entrails, and still walk away without so much as breaking a sweat; that makes his pathetic attempts at intimidation downright comical. He’s not a threat, he’s a fucking bug waiting to be crushed. A joke, a pitiful jester, prancing around thinking he's more than nothing.The only thing funnier than his rage is how little it means to me.
I start to walk away, but of course, the little man with his pathetic delusions of grandeur has to open his mouth one last time. His voice cracks as he tries to sound threatening. "When I get out of here, and I will, I’ll tear you and your kingdom apart. You don’t deserve to—"
I’m on him before he can finish that worthless thought, faster than his brain can register. My hand snaps around his throat like a vice, squeezing until his breath becomes a weak, chokinggurgle. His pathetic choking sounds fill the room as his face shifts through lovely shades of red, then purple. I lean in, my lips curling. "No, no, puppy," I snarl, leaning close so he can feel my breath on his skin. "It’s you who doesn’t deserve to breathe."
