Lyra POV

Every morning—or rather, every time I wake up, since time doesn’t seem to exist down here, I check to see if Cally is breathing, my heart thumping with relief when I discover she is. This morning, it’s labored and wheezing, but at least she’s alive. I step up to the cell bars, gazing into the dim hallway.

Being in the Sea-King’s dungeon is a torturous life. I’ve become so accustomed to the stench, I hardly notice it anymore, but the air itself sits heavy and thick, building up in my lungs as they gasp for oxygen.

It doesn’t seem to bother the guards. Either they’re used to it, or wolves have some sort of miracle lung capacity that lets them thrive in this hellhole. It seems strange since wolves have such a strong sense of smell. I would think they’d be horrified to have to spend more than one minute down here.

But I hear them all the time now, just down the hall, and it’s almost like they’re throwing a party, playing cards, talking about women… about us, sometimes. I can tell they’re drinking because their rank breath chokes me when they bring us food or come by just to gloat and gawk at us. I can’t understand why the king would want his men to ogle so crudely the woman who is supposed to be his bride.

I guess, maybe I’m not his bride. Maybe this is all just a cruel joke.

I know Cally is suffering. She’s had breathing problems since she was a child, so this existence is likely killing her. Each time they bring food, I beg for her release, but the guards just laugh and jeer.

Her pain burns deeper in my veins than my own.

I turn as Cally starts to stir. A fit of hacking coughs overcomes her, and I hurry over to pat her back gently. She waves me off, looking up through puffy, exhausted eyes. She only sleeps for a few minutes at a time at most.

“I’m okay,” she tells me, though I know it’s far from true.

“We need to get you out of here.” I try to run my fingers through her matted hair, but it’s impossible. Normally, a lovely butter blonde, now her silky locks are filled with dust and sludge.

“Please do not worry about me,” she insists. “They even hold you here, the bride of the king! There is no hope for a mere servant girl. I have accepted my fate.”

I shake my head vigorously. “No. I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Someday, we’ll find a way out together,” she promises.

I see the hope in her eyes, and I can’t be the one to extinguish it. “Okay,” I agree. “We’ll get out of here together.”

But even as the words leave my lips, I know this will never be. Stone walls surround us on all sides, leaving only the guarded hallway to hint that there is any life outside this cage, though in my state, weak from what must be months of little food, muscles atrophied from the cramped quarters, it’s foolish to think I could even unlock the cell.

There is no escape.

But I keep these dark thoughts from Cally. “Let’s play a game,” I suggest.

Even in the dim light of the torch, I can see her eyes brighten slightly. “Tic-tac-toe?”

“Yes, if that’s what you’d like to play,” I tell her. We have few choices, with nothing but our fingers tracing the filthy dirt floor to work with. “You take the Xs, and I’ll take the Os.”

She nods enthusiastically and draws her X on what is now a permanent game board on the floor, its frame deep from so many weeks—months?—of play. I add my O far away from her turn. Time passes slowly, the meager enjoyment of the game occasionally broken by one of her coughing fits.

“You’re letting me win,” she complains finally.

“No.” I’ve lied to her face, and regret boils through me. “You’re just very good at this.”

She doesn’t argue, but she scoots toward the back wall and sits in the hard dirt. I join her, wrapping my arms around my knees so we can stare into the silence.

The guards arrive again, and I close my eyes to focus on their banter, pretending I’m home, sitting at the corner table during one of my father’s noblemen parties with a glass of bright pink punch. Then, I tried to ignore the endless conversations around me, thinking them silly and pointless. How I wasted those moments wishing I were somewhere else when I should have been soaking up the joy of sharing that time with the kingdom’s subjects.

Life’s lessons hit hard, ruthless.

“Thorne is losing again,” Cally whispers softly.

I nod, having just deduced the same. We’ve come to know the men by voice, some by sight. “His wife is going to kill him, losing his whole week’s pay.”

We giggle softly, covering our mouths to stifle our amusement. We’d been refused food for at least a full day—it was hard to tell—the last time we laughed at one of the guards.

The air changes then, but only for a second as the torch flame flickers in the hallway. Cally and I stand quickly, trying to inhale a fragment of freshness that will not penetrate the dense air near the floor.

A man has entered, his voice unfamiliar but strongly commanding. “Is this how the Alpha King is rewarded for gold he pays you miscreants?”

A cacophony of shuffling follows, the familiar guards grunting and falling into line.

“No, sir!” one of them, Lazareth, offers pathetically.

“Luckily, I don’t give a shit what you’re doing down here, as long as the prisoners stay put,” the new guard answers. “Where’s that human girl?”

I stiffen at the words, and Cally’s frail body shakes beside me.

“She’s down the north hall,” Lazareth answers quickly.

“Take me to her now,” the new man insists. “We’re ordered to bring her topside.”

Joy rushes into my heart, and I turn to Cally to meet her arms in an excited hug.

“We’re getting out of here!” she whispers blissfully.

“Finally,” I agree. “Be sure to do as they say, so they don’t change their mind.”

Cally nods, biting her bottom lip.

It’s hard to stay calm as the guards slowly make their way down the hall, and I nearly squeal with delight when one of them opens the lock.

“Which one is it?” the new man demands. His face is contorted with disgust, but I don’t blame him. He’s clearly not used to the stink down here. His robes seem regal, so he must be a king’s guard.

“The redhead,” a guard says.

“And which fucking one is that?” the king’s guard spits out. “They both look disgusting. Who can distinguish hair color?”

“That one,” another of the guards, Henry, says, pointing at me.

“Bring her,” the king’s guard says, and he turns to walk off.

Henry takes my arm and pulls me out, but my heart slumps into my chest when he locks the cage behind us.

“She’s with me!” I protest loudly, my nerves screaming at me to go back to Cally. “She needs to come with me!”

The king’s guard turns around, impatience filling his eyes. “I have orders to release you, and you only,” he grunts. He turns around and walks away despite my continued pleas. “Why the fuck are they always so difficult?” he complains, without another glance at me.

“No!” I scream as Henry drags me down the hallway. “She’s with me!”

“Do not worry about me!” Cally yells after me, her voice hoarse and weak. “It is you who is important!”

“No!” I repeat, but Henry is already pushing me forward.

The last I see of Cally, her weak, sickly body slinks to the cold, hard floor, her hands grasping the cage bars to steady herself.

I had one job, one person to protect, and I’ve let her down. I don’t deserve the fresh air I’m forced to breathe, and I choke on it as they pull me up the stairs.