My heart does gymnastics inside my chest.

  Is he crazy?

  That’s probably one of the worst things he could’ve said. Not only because we’ve been arguing and the timing is terrible, but because, regardless of our circumstances, I’ve thought about kissing him. I’ve wanted it—his pouty mouth pressed against mine—and I’m scared of the fact that I might like it. A lot.

  And what would that say about me?

  “I have a thirty-day rule,” I blurt, admitting something I’ve only told Paige. “I don’t kiss a guy for the first thirty days we’re dating. If he’s still around after that, then I know he really likes me and has good intentions. I know that probably sounds ridiculous and snobby, but I’ve seen women get used so many times. I’ve seen people give every single part of themselves and get nothing in return. My heart broke for them, and I never want to end up in a situation where I feel discarded. I’m cautious. Occupational hazard, I guess.”

  I predict Zander’s going to ask more about my job or maybe spout off something about how we’re not “dating” and we’re actually married, but he surprises me.

  “And who has passed your test?” Zander’s facial expression darkens, and I swear his pupils do that thing where they look elongated for a second.

  “One guy. He’d been a friend for a long time, and I knew he liked me. Honestly, I shouldn’t have humored his idea to take it further. I never thought of him in a romantic way, but he was nice, and we got along. It was easy to hang out with him for a month because we already spent a lot of time together anyway, and he was totally devoted to the idea of being with me.”

  “And he kissed you?”

  From the warning tone in Zander’s voice, I get the feeling there’s a wrong answer here. He doesn’t like the thought of me kissing someone else—that much is obvious. But crap. It was in the past. A looong time ago. And it honestly sucked and ruined a friendship in the process.

  “Yeah. It was… underwhelming.” I shrug. “I knew as soon as we kissed it was pointless to try to have a relationship with him. I avoided him for a couple days after, then I broke things off. Friendship over.”

  Suddenly, Zander gets up and walks out of the tent. No explanation, no goodbye. He just goes outside.

  Staying absolutely still, I wait for him to return.

  Minutes pass.

  Did he go get dinner for us?

  I creep over to the doorway and peek my head out of the canvas flap. There’s no one in sight. The fire’s crackling under the cast iron pot in the middle of the camp. Every now and then, the lid clatters when steam escapes, but other than that, I hear nothing.

  Well.

  Apparently the way to get Zander to leave me alone is to talk about kissing other dudes. Too bad I don’t have more stories about that.

  But seriously. Who is he to judge? I don’t even want to think about all the women he’s been with. Where I come from, guys can sleep with dozens of women in a year, thanks to hookup apps. They might not have modern technology here, but Zander’s a king. Kings don’t need Tinder.

  I’m not jealous. I’m not. Okay, maybe I am a little, but I don’t want to admit that to myself.

  More than anything, I feel a twinge of regret, because as maddening as Zander can be, I don’t want to hurt him. And despite how many women he’s had sex with, there’s an innocence about him. An endearing-slash-infuriating cluelessness when it comes to women and romance.

  But that cluelessness might be his downfall and my gain.

  He’s left me unguarded.

  This might be my only opportunity to get away, and I better take it before he comes back.

  Maelyn

  I’m not the most prepared hiker. In fact, I’m pretty sure my dad would give me the scolding of my life if he could see me right now.

  Twigs and sticks scrape at my jeans as I trample through the overgrown woods. They snag on the nightshirt I tied around my hips, probably ripping it to shreds one tiny tear at a time. So much for having an extra article of clothing. I have a sheathed knife shoved into the waist of my pants and a pocket full of trail mix. One of those floppy canteens is attached to my beltloop, and it keeps hitting my hip as I stagger through the bushes. At least the water sloshing inside makes me feel a little more secure about this poorly planned escape.

  Needless to say, I didn’t get a portal.

  It was risky enough approaching the horses on the outskirts of camp to snag food and water. I’d briefly thought about taking Gander with me, but I figured I’d have better success sneaking away on my own. Plus, I plan to avoid any roads, since it’s easier to stay hidden in the trees.

  A small branch whips across my cheek, leaving a sting behind. I reach up to touch it and a bit of blood comes away on my fingers. I should stop to clean it. The last thing I need is an infection, but I don’t have time. I estimate I’ve been walking for about ten minutes—not long enough to stop yet.

  If I can get to a town, I’ll try to find a trustworthy person and tell them my predicament. Portals seem to be easy enough to come by; Thayne has a whole box of them.

  “Ow,” I hiss out my complaint when another stringy branch scratches my upper arm.

  How are they cutting me so easily?

  As I pass another close one, I lean away from it while studying the length of it for thorns. That’s when I notice it’s coming toward me. Almost like it’s reaching for me.

  I narrowly avoid getting cut by that one, only to be sliced by a different branch on my left.

  “Son of a billy goat,” I exclaim out of habit, before amending my statement. “Bitch. Bitch, bitch, bitch.” The profanity feels good passing through my teeth, and it’s completely warranted.

  These trees are moving on their own.

  Recognizing the specific type of tree that’s harmful is easy because it doesn’t have any flowering blooms like the others. With limp, ropey vines instead of true branches, they remind me of weeping willows.

  I zig-zag to elude them, but there’s too many, too closely together. It’s no use.

  “Stop it!” I whisper-yell, only to realize I’m talking to plants.

  Keeping up my pace, I pull the nightshirt from my waist and slip it on. I don’t take the time to button it, but it’ll give me some protection on my arms.

  As I take down my ponytail and shake my hair out to protect my neck, Thayne’s initial warning comes back to haunt me.

  It’s too dangerous out there.

  That’s what he’d said about the forest. I thought he was talking about wild animals or exposure to the elements. Not murderous trees.

  I turn in a circle to look back, wondering if I should just return to camp.

  No.

  I promised myself I’d get away.

  Trudging further into the woods, I hunch my shoulders and try to make myself as small as possible while picking up my pace.

  Ducking away from a few more scratching branches, I notice the vegetation starts to thin out a little. A small noise of relief resonates in my throat when I see a thin dirt path up ahead. It looks natural—not manmade. It probably doesn’t go on for long and it’s surrounded by more killer trees, but it’ll allow me to run for a little while.

  The second my shoes touch solid ground instead of a bed of leaves, I take off in a sprint. I revel in the burst of energy my body is exerting. The burn in my legs and lungs reminds me I’m alive. I might be a bloody mess, but I’m free.

  I’ve only gotten about thirty feet when the ground suddenly falls away. My body lurches, and I close my eyes. Arms flailing, I wait for the pain of hitting something solid.

  But there’s no impact, and just as quickly as the path seemed to crumble, I’m standing on something solid. I’m anchored, my legs held in place.

  When I glance down, I blink at the sight of my legs submerged in the dirt.

  Only, it’s not dirt.

  It’s sand.

  Quicksand.

  The stuff looks like dry, solid ground until it’s touched. As soon as I skim my fingers over the wet surface, my dire predicament hits me hard.

  I try to lift one of my legs, but I’m submerged up to my knees, and it’s impossible. Grunting, I try again, harder this time. I put my whole body into the effort, wrapping my hands around my leg to lift it, but I lose my balance and almost face-plant.

  I can’t get out.

  I’m stuck, and it feels like I’m being sucked in. Inch by inch, the level rises up my thighs.

  Fast breaths heave in and out of my chest as I panic. “Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

  Fear, worse than anything else I’ve felt today, claws its way up my throat.

  If I don’t get out of here within the next few minutes, I’m dead.

  Dead.

  Using my fingers, I start digging around my legs, scooping the sand and tossing it away. It does nothing to help. Whenever I move any of it, more comes rushing in to fill its place.

  Maybe I shouldn’t move because the more I wiggle, the lower I sink.

  It’s almost up to my crotch now.

  Realizing I should get rid of any extra weight, I throw the canteen, the knife, and the shirt about five feet away. They meet solid ground. So close, yet so far away. If I could wade over to it, I might be able to crawl out, but I’m completely immobile. My legs won’t budge at all, and I’m afraid if I stick my arms in, it’ll just pull me under faster.

  I should chuck my glasses, too. I reach up to grab them, only to realize they’re not on my face. The thick frames are gone, yet everything in sight remains sharp. Proof that what’s happening around me is real and not a dream or a hallucination.

  To add insult to injury, the killer trees start coming for me. They swarm around me, slicing my skin before dancing away. My forearms, my shoulders, my face.

  Thinking I could use one as a rope, I try to grab onto it to pull myself out, but it slices my palm deeply. Crying out, I let go and clutch my bleeding hand to my chest.

  The quicksand is up to my belly button now, and I have to raise my elbows up to keep them out of the wet sticky stuff. Even though having my arms in the air leaves them exposed to getting more cuts, I keep them there. I want as much of myself outside of this pit as possible.

  For as long as possible.

  At the rate I’m going, though, I’ll be under in less than two minutes.

  I let out an anguished sob.

  There’s nothing left to do. This is it. This is how I die.

  All because I’m a stupid girl who couldn’t just be okay with marrying a hot king.

  My eyes sting when I remember how happy Zander looked at the ceremony. How hurt he was when I told him I wanted to leave. How he asked if he could kiss me, and I’d said no when—if I’m being honest with myself—I wanted to say yes.

  He might be crazy, but at least he goes after what he wants. He doesn’t live so carefully that he might as well not live at all.

  Unlike me.

  As I lose more of my body to the quicksand, my life flashes before my eyes, but not in the way people say it does.

  I think about all the stuff I didn’t do. All the parties I skipped. The countless Friday nights I spent inside, alone, because I was too afraid to go out and make mistakes.

  And the kiss I really wanted from Zander… I’ll never get to have it because of a dumb rule I made up when I was eighteen.

  I missed out.

  I’m going to die here.

  Incomplete.

  Bleeding.

  Suffocating.

  Big tears fall down my cheeks in hot tracks when I think about Zander realizing I’m gone. At first, he’ll be mad. Then he’ll be worried. He’ll search for me and never find me, and he’ll be devastated.

  Unless…

  I can’t be too far from the camp. Zander had said his hearing is heightened. Maybe it’s not too late for me.

  “Zander,” I call out weakly, my voice cracking as I cry. “Zander!”

  The sand is up to my chest now, and the pressure it’s putting on my ribs makes it hard to get a good breath.

  “Zander!” I yell louder, but it still feels like my shout is getting swallowed up in the air.

  I’m submerged up to my armpits now. I can feel the cool wet sand rising with every inhale I take. My collarbone disappears. It’s as if the pit is greedy. It knows it’s close to having me forever, and it starts sucking me in faster.

  Within seconds, I’ll be swallowed up and any chance of rescue will be gone.

  Still, I try.

  “Zander.” It’s barely a rasp. “Zander. Help, help, help.” The breathless chant is all I can manage as the sand covers my throat.

  Then I remember what Zander said about the chess piece that’s still around my neck. When the bottom is touched, it makes a sound only he can hear.

  Groping for the shoestring, I grasp it with my fingers and tug it out. I pull a muscle in my shoulder straining to get it, but I succeed.

  Everything goes silent when the quicksand reaches my ears. Tilting my face up, I hold the black king in the air and rub the bottom in a frantic back-and-forth motion.

  “Help.” My eyes dart around, wishing for a glimpse of tan skin, dark hair, and yellow irises.

  He’s not coming.

  The sand plays at the corners of my mouth as it coats my cheeks. More tears fall as I blink up at the bright blue sky peeking through the leaves above.

  It’s over.

  I take one last breath through my nose, close my lips tight, and get swallowed up by darkness.

  Zander

  Fucking jealousy.

  I’ve experienced it before, but not to this degree, and the emotion snuck up on me. I’ve been jealous of my father; of the loyalty, power, and freedom he had. I’ve even been jealous of my soldiers, because their lack of rank means less responsibility. The weight of an entire kingdom isn’t solely on their shoulders.

  But I’ve never felt this way about a woman.

  My rational side tells me Maelyn’s interaction with the other male was in the past. And, from her retelling of it, she didn’t enjoy it.

  Of course she didn’t enjoy it.

  She’s my fated mate. Not his. Being with anyone but me would never feel right for her, no matter how many boys she dated. She might not realize it, but that’s the true reason she was never tempted by someone else.

  Ashamed of my lack of self-control, I pace back and forth in the stream, hoping the cool water will calm me down. My paws splash heavily and make deep prints in the soft mud. Huffing out a breath, I scrape some rocks with my talons.

  I’m disappointed in myself.

  I shifted.

  I didn’t want to, but I knew it was going to happen when the bones in my chest shook until my ribs started to separate. At least I got to the cover of the forest before the griffin took over. I rushed there, kicking off my shoes, removing my precious necklace, and unbuckling my pants along the way. My soldiers saw it and made themselves scarce. They always do when I’m like this.

  I should get back to Maelyn, but I need to be sure this tantrum is over before I return. If I’d shifted in our tent, I could’ve hurt her. There’s not enough space, and the entire structure would’ve collapsed on us. Not to mention, she’d be so terrified, my chance with her would likely be gone. Any attraction she felt for me would’ve been obliterated.

  Maybe she should be afraid. Maybe, deep down, she can tell I’m not right. A dangerous abomination.

  “Zander.” I halt all movement.

  I could’ve sworn I heard Maelyn saying my name, but maybe it’s wishful thinking. When I implore our bond, I realize it’s difficult to feel her while I’m shifted. It’s hard to tell if the pain lingering in my body is from her or the resettling of my bones, but I’m getting hints of overwhelming terror.

  “Zander.” There it is again.

  It’s faint, but the cry for help is unmistakable, and it’s coming from the opposite direction of the camp. I look to the forest.

  “Zander.” Quieter now. Her voice is too far away.

  What has happened?

  Panicking, I take flight.

  My wingspan is as wide as the stream, and the tips of my feathers clip against some trees as I rise above the forest and head east.

  “Zander.” Just a whisper. A desperate cry for help.

  Maelyn’s strength is fading, and her devastation pummels me.

  She might even be dying, and I don’t know where she is.

  I yell out to her, but the only sound coming from my chest is a deep, menacing roar. Circling the area, I search the forest below. Somewhere among the bright green of the leaves, I look for a sliver of skin, clothing, or hair.

  Another whisper floats on a breeze. I can’t make out the words, but she’s close. I dive through the trees and land ungracefully on a bunch of wild berry bushes.

  I stomp around, sniffing for Maelyn’s scent. She was here. Recently. Along with her sweetness, I detect the distinct metallic tang of blood.

  Her blood.

  This part of the Day Realm is filled with lashing trees. The cuts they inflict might not be deep, but they are many. Anyone who gets caught in a grove as big as this one can be left with hundreds of scratches.

  The lashing trees don’t mess with me. Last time one of them cut me while I was in griffin form, I snapped its trunk in half with my beak.

  As I stalk past them, I search their shivering vines for a trace of red.

  Then I see it. Moving forward, I count at least ten branches coated with Maelyn’s blood.

  If I weren’t in a hurry, I’d tear down every single one that hurt her. They seem to know my thoughts, too, because they bend away from me as I walk by.

  I no longer hear Maelyn’s voice. Instead, there’s a musical whirring I recognize from the chess piece I gave her. I follow the sound until I come to a path.

  A waterskin, my dagger, and my nightshirt have been dumped on the ground. Confused, I scan the greenery for Maelyn.

  Then I smell something musty and wet—a sand trap. As far as appearances go, the surface of the ground looks like regular dirt until it’s touched.

  My heart nearly stops when I see part of the black king sticking out of the sand. I’d think Maelyn accidentally dropped it if it wasn’t for the fingertip wiggling slightly beside it.

 

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