Chap­ter 6, the estate that loomed before me was noth­ing short of breathtaking—a vast archi­tec­tur­al won­der nes­tled with­in rolling fields of end­less green. Its alabaster walls gleamed under the gold­en light, adorned with ivy creep­ing up its tow­er­ing columns and ros­es spilling over bal­conies like a cas­cade of blood and silk. Wind­ing stair­cas­es, ele­gant balustrades, and sprawl­ing ter­races stretched across its expanse, a stark con­trast to the cold, gray exis­tence I had left behind. Yet, despite its beau­ty, an eerie still­ness clung to the air, a silence that seemed unnat­ur­al, as though the estate itself was hold­ing its breath, wait­ing.

As I approached the tow­er­ing entrance, my cap­tor moved with an air of effort­less famil­iar­i­ty, lead­ing the way as though he belonged to this world in a way I nev­er could. The doors, mas­sive and ornate­ly carved, swung open of their own accord, ush­er­ing us inside with­out a whis­per of protest. The grandeur of the exte­ri­or was matched only by the splen­dor within—marble floors gleam­ing under the chandelier’s gold­en light, tapes­tries woven with scenes of ancient bat­tles and for­got­ten gods, and doors lead­ing to unseen won­ders. Yet, no mat­ter how extrav­a­gant, I could­n’t shake the sen­sa­tion that the air was laced with some­thing invis­i­ble, some­thing watch­ing, remind­ing me that I was an intrud­er in a realm that was not my own.

Push­ing aside my unease, I allowed myself to be guid­ed toward an opu­lent din­ing hall where an elab­o­rate feast had been laid out, a dis­play of excess that was both mes­mer­iz­ing and unset­tling. The scent of roast­ed meats and exot­ic spices filled the air, min­gling with the fresh aro­ma of ripe fruits and hon­eyed pas­tries, tempt­ing enough to make my stom­ach twist in long­ing. Yet, the tales of old warned against con­sum­ing faerie food, whis­per­ing of enchant­ments and traps hid­den with­in every bite. Across the table sat my cap­tor, no longer the beast who had stormed into my home but now a strik­ing­ly gold­en-haired High Fae, his fea­tures masked in both mys­tery and com­mand.

His com­pan­ion, a red-haired faerie with a sharp smile and an even sharp­er gaze, watched me with bare­ly dis­guised dis­dain. Lucien, as he was intro­duced, wast­ed no time in mak­ing his con­tempt clear, his words laced with a mock­ery that sent my pulse rac­ing. Between his bit­ing remarks and my captor’s unread­able expres­sions, I learned the weight of my actions—the life I had tak­en, Andras, had not been a mere beast, but one of their own, and my pres­ence here was not sim­ply fate but ret­ri­bu­tion. It was a rev­e­la­tion that set­tled like iron in my stom­ach, shift­ing the bal­ance of my fear into some­thing cold­er, more cal­cu­lat­ing.

Yet, despite the veiled threats and barbed words exchanged across the table, I rec­og­nized a game being played, one where I was both pawn and oppo­nent. The High Fae had cho­sen, for now, to keep me as a guest rather than a pris­on­er, grant­i­ng me space to observe, to lis­ten, to learn. If they thought me defense­less, they were wrong—I would play the role they expect­ed of me, feign­ing docil­i­ty, all while search­ing for a way out. I knew escape would not be easy, but knowl­edge was a weapon, and I intend­ed to wield it well.

After the tense meal, I was placed in the care of a faerie ser­vant named Alis, whose prac­ti­cal demeanor was the first gen­uine kind­ness I had encoun­tered since my arrival. She led me through wind­ing halls to cham­bers more lux­u­ri­ous than any­thing I had ever known—silken sheets, a pri­vate bathing cham­ber, and dress­es spun from fab­rics so fine they felt unre­al beneath my fin­gers. It was an illu­sion of com­fort, a gild­ed cage meant to lull me into com­pla­cen­cy. But no amount of lux­u­ry could erase the real­i­ty of my situation—I was alone in a world ruled by beings who could destroy me with a flick of their fin­gers.

Even as the night deep­ened and I lay beneath the soft embrace of the unfa­mil­iar bed, I could not find rest. The air itself hummed with mag­ic, an unseen force that pressed against my skin like a whis­per of warn­ing. This was no sanc­tu­ary; it was a place of pow­er, of secrets, of rules I had yet to under­stand. And if I want­ed to sur­vive, I would need to unrav­el them before they unrav­eled me.