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I pause, my hands on the buttons of my gown. He lied to me in so many ways. The contract, his history, even his appearance. Because the . . . being . . . who came to my door just now is the very same one who presided over the auction. He was tall as a human, but now he’s got to be more than seven feet, and his shoulders explain why the doors here are so wide: any narrower and he’d have to go through them sideways. His skin is several shades darker than Ramanu’s, and his horns are downright majestic, jutting from either side of his bald head and up. He’s even handsome in a rough-cut way, though I’m not currently in the mood to admit it.
But for all that, his eyes are the same: a deep brown that veers close to black even in the bright light. Filled with too many things when he looks at me.
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.” I can’t stay here, but I’ve seen enough today to understand that I’m out of my element in a way that’s almost laughable.
So, first order of business—gather information and see if there are allies to exploit. Judging by how things went earlier, Azazel is something of a king here. That complicates things, because I can’t go over his head to someone more powerful. Still, there are other ways. There are always other ways.
I drop the dress on the ground and pull out another dress, one shorter and easier to move in. Just like the first—and all the others I tried on—it fits me perfectly.
It’s enough to make me wonder how long Azazel has been pla
I yank on a pair of shoes—another perfect fit—and march to the door. He said I have free rein of the castle, but we’ll see. I try the door and am actually surprised when the handle twists easily in my hand.
The hallway looks different from the last time I stepped out of my room, when I joined the other women also being herded to the auction. I frown and peer around. There are no doors lining the walls here, and the hall turns in a sharp right angle instead of ending in a door. “What the fuck?”
It’s possible I am misremembering things in the chaos or I somehow ended up in a different room than the one I started in . . . but I don’t think so. I press my fingers to the wall. It’s solid, not some magical illusion.
Fu
I pick a direction at random and start walking. The stone underfoot is polished to a gleam but not slippery in the least. The walls are equally polished and bare except for sconces that must be magic because their flames give off no heat or scent. Neat trick.
I’m not really thinking about my path, just taking the only route available to me—left, left, right, left again, right, right, right—until my legs start to ache. Only then do I frown and look around. I haven’t seen a single door or staircase. “What kind of building plan is this?”
It doesn’t make any sense. No builder would make a hallway like this. I’m hardly an expert at architecture and the like, but hallways exist for a purpose—to transition from one space to another. Often from one place to several others. To have one so long and strange without a single exit defies belief.
Magic, again. It has to be.
While glaring at the hallway, I press my fingers to the wall. Surely there’s some illusion in place hiding alternate paths from me. I just have to figure out the trick. “I want to find the kitchen, damn it.” With my hand dragging lightly along the wall, I set off walking again.
Except when I turn the next corner, I find a familiar door with a covered tray in front of it. Somehow, despite all logic, I’m back at my room again.