The Infernal King | 1 ✓

CHAPTER XV | DO OR DIE

       MAARIT HAD NEVER been so at peace in her entire life. Her eyelids fluttered open delicately and were met with something she had not gotten a glimpse of in so long: sunlight. It was molten gold and felt so warm against her exposed skin. She longed for nothing more than to swim in it.

Her eyes opened fully and when she was finally able to think straight, she gasped subtly while her eyes swept hungrily over her surroundings.

She was lying in the most comfortable bed in the world with a mattress that seemed to allow her body to sink into it. The linens were made of a material that was smooth to the touch—definitely the most expensive silk there was—and the duvet was a deep shade of burgundy with ornate gold designs and spirals decorating it. The bed was very large and her head was rested upon at least five pillows.

The rest of the room was quite possibly the most wonderful thing Maarit had ever laid eyes on. It was high-ceilinged and the walls were covered with the same gold spirals as the duvet, but reminded her vaguely of the interior of a grand cathedral. The floors were made of a dark wood. At the far left corner was a huge wardrobe that appeared to be made out of the same wood as the floor, and on the right was a window three times taller and ten times wider than Maarit, with a balcony. The curtains were drawn halfway, just enough to allow sufficient sunlight to seep in and find its way to Maarit's eyes.

Of course, the curtains matched the duvet much too perfectly.

The young witch furrowed her dark eyebrows in confusion, attempting to remember where she was. A feral wave seemed to crash over her very suddenly with the answers.

Her wrist.

The bracelet.

A knife.

She shot upwards in the bed, gasping again—but more panicked this time. The serenity she had felt mere seconds ago now felt restrained, limited.

The duvet slipped off of her shoulders, revealing her bare chest. She looked down at herself, only to see that she was completely naked. Lifting her left hand, she inspected her wrist, but found absolutely no trace that she had stabbed herself—and the bracelet was still there. Her hand them reached into her hair and felt the soft texture. It fell over her shoulders like a waterfall and was as soft as the silk sheets she was sleeping in. Her hair was clean—in fact, every inch of her was clean. It was as though all of the grime had been scrubbed from her skin.

She gingerly touched her wrist again. There should have been a scab, a scar, or something to mark where the knife had plunged, but there was not. This was sorcery—once again, sorcery had been used on her.

Maarit wondered why she was naked. She questioned just who had seen her and who had touched her upon finding her in her dungeon cell after she had fallen unconscious. All she could do was pray that Picard had used his magic to carry her to the room she now resided in, as well as to undress and clean her. Goosebumps climbed their way up her arms, for she could not handle the mere thought of the horrible guardsmen catching a glimpse of her naked body.

Turning back to face the bed, she thought for a while about whether or not to crawl back in and sleep some more. It appeared so inviting, even with the rumpled sheets and the duvet, with half of it trailing on the floor.

After nearly climbing back in, she decided against it and vigorously shook her head, telling herself that it was a bad idea. She needed to come up with a plan—an actual plan, nothing like the ridiculous idea she had had in that dungeon cell about cutting her hand off with a dull steak knife.