The world stopped. One second Delphine was hauling a sloshing bucket of grey water across the merchant's yard, and the next, the weight was gone. The smell of horse manure and stale hay vanished.
Now, there was nothing but ash.
It coated the ground like grey snow, with no wind to even move it. No sun in the sky to light it. Just a flat, dead horizon that felt like the end of everything.
Delphine didn't move. Experience had taught her that moving just made him show up faster. She stood perfectly still, her breath hitching in the quiet void.
Crunch.
A footstep. Then another. They sounded heavy and deliberate.
She didn't turn around. Mostly because she didn't even have to. A long and jagged shadow stretched over the ash until a man stepped into her line of sight.
He wore robes the color of a fresh bruise, threaded with veins of deep, pulsing red. On his head sat a crown that looked less like jewelry and more like a forged weapon.
He didn't look at her like a person. He looked at her like a miracle he was about to break.
"Firefly."
Delphine's jaw locked. She kept her eyes fixed on the grey horizon. "I'm not your Firefly. Stop calling me that."
He stepped closer, circling her like a wolf deciding where to bite first. "You glow even when you pretend not to. I can see you in the dark, Delphine."
"I told you to leave me alone," she snapped, her voice cracking the silence.
"I can't." He stopped right in front of her. His face was a mess of things that shouldn't go together—worship and hunger. "I missed you. You were gone for three nights. I searched every corner of this place."
"I don't come here on purpose. It's a trance. Or a curse. I don't care what you call it."
"I know," he whispered.
That was the worst part. He knew she was a prisoner here. He didn't care.
"You won't leave me alone?" she asked, finally meeting his eyes. They were dark, bottomless, and terrifyingly intense.
"I can't," he repeated. "Even if I tried, I couldn't pull myself away from you."
Delphine felt a cold shiver run down her spine, but she didn't let her face twitch. "Fine. If you won't leave, then I will. Just stay there. Don't move. All you have to do is not chase me."
She turned to walk into the grey void.
The man didn't move a muscle, but his voice followed her. "Go ahead, run. It doesn't matter how far you go. I'll always find you."
Delphine stopped. She looked back over her shoulder, a bitter laugh escaping her throat. "You're delusional."
In a fast blur, he was back in front of her. He reached out, his fingers hovering just an inch from the back of her hand. The heat coming off him was intense, like standing too close to an oven.
"It's only a matter of time, Firefly. You're already under my grasp. You just haven't realized the trap has snapped shut yet."
His fingers brushed hers. The contact felt like a brand.
"I'm not—"
"Be my bride."
"I'd rather die," she hissed.
She opened her mouth to say something worse, something to hurt him, but the world suddenly cracked down the middle.
"Move it, you useless brat!"
A hand slammed into her shoulder, yanking her backward. The ash field shattered like cheap glass.
The silence was replaced by a deafening sound of voices, the smell of heavy incense, and the sting of sweat in her eyes.
Delphine stumbled, her boots slipping on polished stone. She wasn't in the field anymore. She was in the Great Hall, and she was being shoved toward a line of girls who looked like they'd been dipped in gold and perfume.
What was happening?
"Get in line!" the merchant barked, giving her another shove that sent her reeling.
Delphine steadied herself, her heart hammering against her ribs. She looked down at her hands. They were stained with soot and calloused from years of hauling crates. Her dress was a rag compared to the silks around her. She smelled like the stables she'd been sleeping in.
Great, she thought. Just great.
Her life had been a series of doors slamming shut since the day she was born. Her mother had died bringing her into the world.
Her father, a man who loved ale more than his own blood, had sold her to a merchant for a handful of silver when she was barely ten. Since then, it had been kicks, scraps of food, and enough work to kill an ox.
And now? Now the Tyrant King was looking for a wife.
"Why am I even here?" she muttered to the girl next to her.
The girl, who was currently hyperventilating into a lace handkerchief, didn't even look at her. "He's calling every maiden. No one is exempt. If you're of age, you're here."
"I smell like a wet dog," Delphine said, mostly to herself. "He'll probably throw me in the dungeon just for standing on his rug."
And if you get chosen? a small, nasty voice in her head whispered.
She swallowed hard. That wasn't an option. She'd never even seen the King, but the stories were enough.
He was a monster. A man who sat on a throne of bone and ruled with a fist of iron. Nobody got close to him and stayed whole.
"Move!" a guard shouted.
Delphine was shoved again, harder this time. She tripped, her knees hitting the cold stone floor with a sickening thud. She ended up right in the center of a massive, etched circle.
Twelve Elders stood around the perimeter, their faces hidden by heavy hoods. Each one held a thick, white candle in their bare palms. The flames flickered, but the wax didn't move. They began to chant—a low, humming vibration that made the floorboards shake.
The air grew thicker, reminding her of the ash field in her mind.
Delphine's breath caught. She looked up, her eyes wide as she scanned the room.
There, at the far end of the circle, sat a throne of black stone.
And on it...
Her blood turned to ice.
The robes. The dark, jagged crown. The way he sat, leaning forward with his chin resting on one hand, watching her like a predator watching a rabbit stumble into its burrow.
It was him.
The man from her trances.
He wasn't a dream. He wasn't a hallucination brought on by exhaustion and hunger. He was the King. And he was looking at her with a grin that said I told you so.
The chanting stopped abruptly. The silence that followed was so heavy it felt like it was crushing the lungs right out of her chest.
Every person in the hall dropped to their knees. The Elders bowed their heads.
The King stood up. His boots clicked against the stone as he walked toward the circle. Every step felt like a hammer hitting a nail. He stopped right in front of Delphine. She was still on her knees, staring up at him, her mind screaming at her to run, but her legs wouldn't move.
He leaned down, his face inches from hers.
"I told you I'd find you," he whispered, loud enough only for her.
Delphine's voice was gone. She could only stare.
He reached out, his hand hovering near her face, before he straightened up and looked out at the silent, terrified crowd.
He looked back down at her, his eyes locking onto hers.
"Be my bride."