The cold, unforgiving stone of her cell was Danika’s only companion, its chill seeping into her bones. One week. One week since her world crumbled, since the triumphant screams of Salem’s warriors replaced the familiar sounds of her own kingdom, since King Lucien’s icy gaze promised a future far worse than death.

Her stomach rumbled, a stark reminder of the meager sustenance she’d received. It was evening now, the last sliver of daylight fading through the grimy window, and the cell felt larger, emptier, than ever before. The clatter of chains and footsteps echoed down the corridor, pulling her from her morbid thoughts. The door creaked open, revealing a burly guard with a tray of food, his eyes lingering on her with an unsettling gaze.

“Here’s your food, Priiiincess,” he sneered, drawing out the title like a curse. He dropped the tray, the hot soup splashing against her skin, a minor burn in the face of her larger agony. She glared, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “The king will be here in a few hours. Be ready to receive him.” A dark chuckle escaped him as he turned to leave, leaving Danika alone with a dread that settled deep in her core. She wasn't ready to face him. Not yet.