The Weight of Betrayal
Kayla realized it only then. Basil had chosen neither friendship nor pity, but the power the princess held. She learned that day that what determined the depth of betrayal was the moment the sincerity of a carefully built relationship was denied. Every kindness and effort she had poured into him, he had regarded as some grueling penance, dismissing it as the petty schemes of a lowly child.
The memory made her skin crawl and her heart twist. Basil, who had comforted her when the other children pinched their noses and complained of the sewer stench, or when they whispered that she was Duncan’s rat—yet behind her back he had mocked her father, while in front of her he had taken her hand and danced. Nausea surged.
From the entrance came the raucous laughter of couples. Every boy carried a cigarette. Kayla turned and ran without looking back. “Hey—hey!” She brushed past a startled boy, dashed all the way to the school gate, and the world blurred through tears.
Once the banquet ended, summer break would begin and she would leave the dormitory for home. Carriages and automobiles already lined the road in long rows. None of them waited for her. Her father was not due to arrive for some time yet.
She wiped her eyes. A private carriage stood nearby. Kayla called out her destination to the driver and climbed aboard. As the carriage rolled forward and she leaned back against the door in relief, a voice like scraping metal drifted over her shoulder.
“Heh. Walking right in.”
Her stiff neck creaked as she turned. A large hand clamped over her face. A sour, chemical smell flooded her nose.
* * *
Her head felt ready to split. “Mmm… mmph?” The sound never left her throat. Only when she realized a gag had been forced between her teeth did her mind clear.
God, why is this happening?
The situation was dire. Her hands were bound behind her back, and a blindfold pressed tight against her eyes. Rough brick and packed earth. Dampness. The stench of rotting refuse. Most telling of all, faint sounds from above told her she was locked underground.
She rubbed her forehead and cheek against the wall, heedless of the rough fabric scraping her skin raw. When the blindfold shifted crookedly upward on one side, she shook her head until it slipped free. Even without the pressure, the darkness remained absolute. Yet simply removing the cloth eased the suffocating fear a little.
The gag made breathing difficult. Saliva soaked the cloth, threatening to slide down her throat. There has to be stairs. Pressing against the wall, she rose and began to shuffle forward, sweeping one foot ahead like a measuring rod.
…Huh?
Something soft and yielding gave beneath her foot. She recoiled in revulsion, stepped on the hem of her dress, and toppled sideways with a rip of fabric.
“Ugh!”
A sharp, awl-like object drove deep into the exposed flesh of her forearm. The sudden, searing pain drew tears; she could only grunt and writhe. Above her, movement ceased—someone had been descending, only to be stopped by another.
Two of them? No… is that music?
The weight of her body forced the metal deeper. Kayla twisted, managed to pry the object free, and felt warm blood trickle down her wrist. Her searching fingers found a claw-shaped hook.
Could I use this to cut the ropes?
Before she could decide, another crash froze her. Wood creaked overhead; dirt rained onto her face. Then—bang! A gunshot. A second shot followed after a heartbeat.
An eternity seemed to pass before she found the stairs on hands and knees and began to climb. At last her crown struck something solid. Just a little more… Teeth clenched, she shoved upward with head and shoulders. The wooden steps groaned beneath her weight, threatening to splinter.
Light seeped in. With a final surge she pushed through. The trapdoor flew open with a bang, and a carpet slapped across her face, filling her nose and mouth with dust.
The place could hardly be called a house—only a crude log cabin. A fallen lamp had set broken furniture ablaze. Crimson blood trailed across the floor in one direction. Following it, her gaze froze.
The door is open!
She lunged for it, then stopped dead. Two bodies lay tangled on the floor, carelessly discarded—a boy and a girl.
No—no!
She screamed soundlessly and bolted outside. I’m free! Relief lasted only a moment. Thick white fog swallowed everything. She had no idea which way to run.
Bang, bang, bang, bang!
More gunfire. A dying scream. Kayla ran blindly. Wet leaves whipped her ankles; she never slowed. Her heart hammered so hard she feared it would burst. When her legs finally faltered, a yellowish blur moved through the mist ahead.
The kidnappers. I have to hide.
Where? She could see nothing.
“Illa!”
Was it an illusion?
“Kayla!”
Moss, the chief inspector—her father—swept a lantern through the fog, calling her name in a voice that grew fainter with every step. Oh no—don’t go! She could not shout, so she poured every last ounce of strength into running. Her new shoes came off; stones cut her soles. She tripped over her torn skirt, rose, fell again, rose again. Even with her arm screaming in agony she kept going, sobbing.
Then something tore at her scalp. She dropped to her knees with a thud. A hand had seized her hair and yanked.
* * *
“Illa…” Her father’s voice drifted farther away. Kayla thrashed despite the agony of hair and scalp being ripped out in clumps.
“Kayla.”
Her eyes rolled. She flung herself sideways with desperate strength. Then—
“Aaaagh!”
The scream was real, torn from her own throat. The gag had fallen away; air rushed into her lungs. “Father—Father! Father!” She sank her teeth into the arm pressing down on her shoulder and howled.
“Stop.”
A low voice cut through her ragged breathing. The single word echoed in her mind: Stop… what?
Who… are you?
Her eyes flew open.
For a long moment Kayla could not tell where she was. She gasped, chest heaving. The unfamiliar yet familiar teal room lay silent beneath a single shaft of pale sunlight, in stark contrast to the chaos in her head. Last night she had left every gas lamp burning.
The thought sent a chill racing across her skin. As she tried to sit up, a husky, sleep-roughened voice drifted down beside her ear—exactly as it had seven years ago inside that carriage.
“You’re starting to tire me out.”
Her head turned stiffly toward the sound. What she saw struck her like a hammer blow. Her eyes widened; her mouth fell open.
Blue eyes, heavy with sleep, gazed down at her from only inches away. The somewhat irritated face spoke again.
“If you’re awake, let go now.”
His cheek rested on her shoulder; every word sent a faint vibration through her. And warmth—?
Body heat seeped unmistakably through the thin fabric of her nightdress. The realization that he wore nothing above the waist sent her thoughts into complete disarray.