Dance With The Wicked

~ Roselle ~

The creaking sound of the iron cell door makes my senses snap awake. My nose twitches as I try to catch any possible scent of food, my stomach already grumbling in protest. It's been three long days since I've had a proper meal, nothing but water and scraps barely enough to keep me going.

My body feels weak, numb, even. The cell door finally opens, and I scramble toward it, even though every inch of me aches. It takes everything I have just to move.

I'm more than surprised. This is unusual. Normally, they don't bother opening the door; they just slide the food in through the slot.

So... what's going on?

Are they finally going to kill me?

My pulse picks up at the thought. It's still dark inside, and I can barely see anything... as a matter of fact, I haven't seen the sun in almost a year.

"Well, look at you, dummy..." that familiar voice drawls from the darkness, dripping with mockery.

I drag myself backward, already bracing for what comes next-a slap, or fingers tangling painfully in my hair.

The light suddenly flicks on, blinding me instantly. I squeeze my eyes shut, my vision struggling to adjust after so long without it.

Then I feel a sharp tug at my hair, yanking my limp body to my feet. Hell, I'm too weak to even stand on my own.

The slap comes immediately after. My cheek burns, heat spreading across my skin as it reddens.

"This is where you belong; you've always belonged here, you weakling. Open your eyes. Now."

Another slap lands across my face, stinging so badly it forces a gasp from my lips. I squeeze my eyes open, knowing she won't stop until I do.

Nova, my mate's fiancée... or maybe his wife now. I don't even know anymore.

With trembling, weak hands, I try to sign, to explain that I can't, that I'm too weak..

Another slap cuts me off instantly.

"Open your fucking eyes, or speak... oh, wait," she sneers, her lips curling in cruel amusement. "I forgot, you can't talk. You're wolfless. You can't even speak. How are you even a princess?"

I keep my hands to myself. I don't know why I even bother trying to explain when years of experience have taught me that trying to communicate only brings more punishment.

I force my eyes open, the light piercing through my vision. It burns, by the goddess, it burns. I blink rapidly, fighting to adjust, struggling just to keep them open.

And it's suddenly dawning on me that all this time... there's been a bulb in here, and they chose not to turn it on. Not until now.

I stare right at the woman my mate chose over me.

Long auburn hair. Flawless skin, everything mine isn't. She's two years older, confident, able to speak without hesitation. Her wolf is strong, her bloodline powerful.

Everything I'm not.