Page 12 of Hell Fae Captive
He opened the door to lead me inside.
I paused on the threshold, startled by the array of gargoyles lurking in the dimly lit foyer. Most of them didn’t even come up to the middle of my shins, their tiny frames reminding me of stone garden gnomes. But their expressions were decidedly unfriendly.
“Warden,” one of them welcomed in a gravelly tone.
“Sir Davis,” the Warden returned with a nod. “Ms. De la Croix is here to be shown to her room.”
A few of them grumbled in response.
“I see word of her proclivities has spread,” the Warden said with a sigh. “I’ll accompany you.”
My eyebrows rose. “My proclivities?”
“For harming guards,” he returned.
“You mean the fae who tried to kidnap me?”
“Yes, theguards,” he reiterated.
“To be fair, none of them mentioned a deal or bride trials.”
“To be fair, you never gave them a chance,” he returned as one of the gargoyles took off in a flurry of stone wings, leading the way up an unending set of stairs.
I started to climb, wondering if I could see the top after a few more steps, but the stairway just kept going… and going… and… “Is there an end?”
“Yes. When we reach your room,” the Warden informed me.
I frowned. “But the outside was only three or four stories tall.”
“And you let your eyes tell you what to believe?” he asked, arching a brow. “How very human of you.”
“I am a Halfling from the mortal world,” I reminded him.
“Indeed you are,” he agreed, continuing upward.
After at least a hundred stairs, the scenery began to change and revealed a platform that led to a single door.
“It’s worth noting that these rooms are all enchanted to lock down at curfew, and that lockdown will happen with or without you inside the room.”
Well, that was an ominous statement. “What happens if I’m outside the room when it locks down?”
He glanced at me, his blue-black irises flaring. “You don’t want to know, Ms. De la Croix. I suggest you always be in your room by fifteen hundred hours.”
The gargoyle sailed through the door half a beat later, causing my eyes to widen. “He just…”
“And there you go letting your eyes tell you lies again,” the Warden drawled before following the gargoylethroughthe wooden door.
“Uh-huh.” I’d witnessed a lot in my twenty-one years, but that was certainly fucking new. “Whatever.” I wanted a copy of that deal, and if I had to walk through wood to get it, then so be it.
Energy pulsed around me as I entered, some sort of gate seeming to close at my back. I turned to study it, only it was the same door as the one from the hallway. I frowned. “Did it lock?”
“Yes. But all you have to do is touch it to unlock it again.” The Warden walked over to demonstrate, his fingers running across the wood. “It’s programmed to recognize you or someone with authority to open the door. It’s a way to keep you safe once the trials begin.” He looked up at the ceiling overhead and then back at me. “We anticipate that there will be literal backstabbing throughout the process. That’s the other reason for the curfew. It’ll help us know who has survived the day.”
He took a step back and glanced around the small living room before sauntering over to the kitchen, where the gargoyle stood waiting for something. “What do you fancy, Sir Davis?”
“Spritemead.”
“Been talking to Queen Aflora, hmm?” The Warden pulled out his wand to magic the gargoyle a giant pint of beer-like substance. “Satisfied?”
