Wildest Dreams (Fantasyland #1)(158)

“Spell!” my captor shouted, struggling to contain my thrashing. “Now!”

I bucked back at the same time pushing at his arm at my waist, I felt the back of my head collide with his chin, the piercing pain that caused reverberated through my skull, I heard his grunt and I felt a tickle hit my chest.

Then I felt nothing at all because I was asleep.

Chapter Thirty

Until the Day I Died

Four days later…

“My Winter Princess, wake, please wake,” I heard a woman call and my eyes slowly opened then fluttered closed again. “Please, my princess, wake.”

With effort I opened my eyes and focused on a blonde woman, blue eyes, not young, not old, maybe late forties, early fifties. She had great hair and a lot of it and she was very pretty.

“Hey,” I whispered, feeling funny, not myself, strangely out of body.

“She needs food, water, immediately, it’s been days,” I heard from behind her and I blinked because I knew that voice.

My eyes moved from the blonde to the redhead who was now wearing a disheveled, dusty, torn in places, jade green wool, wraparound dress and scuffed, dirty, charcoal gray suede boots.

And it all came back to me.

I pushed up to sitting, my head swam alarmingly and my hand went immediately to it but even so, I didn’t stop trying to push up from wherever I was reclining but two sets of hands held me down and I didn’t have a lot of strength.

And since I didn’t, since my head was woozy and there was an emptiness in my stomach that had not one thing to do with hunger and a scary feeling around my heart that I didn’t want to think about, I gave in.

But I gave in as I whispered, “Frey.”

The blonde looked at Valentine and I didn’t like the look on her face so I grabbed her arm and I did it tight. I also shook it when I had hold and I did this hard.

She looked back at me with sad eyes. Sad eyes that spoke words she really didn’t want to say and words I never, never, never wanted to hear.

“No,” I whispered, bile filling my throat, she grabbed my hand as Valentine dropped to her knees on the floor beside the blonde.

“I am sorry, my princess,” she whispered, squeezing my hand. “He has gone from this world.”

He has gone from this world.

Frey has gone from this world.

My sweet, gentle Frey was gone from this world.

Emotion surged through me, so much, none of it good, that I suddenly felt like I was going to explode.

“No!” I shrieked, pushing her away, I gained my feet, rushed several paces across the room and stopped dead when I saw we were in a room made of stone and there was nothing in it but high, barred windows at least two stories up, three dirty pallets on the floor with thin, rough, tattered wool blankets and a wooden table that looked like its legs held it up by a miracle.

We were in a prison cell.

And I didn’t care.

No, I didn’t care.

“He isn’t dead,” I told Valentine and the blonde as both slowly stood and turned to face me.

“I’m sorry, my princess,” the blonde murmured.

I leaned forward and shrieked, “He isn’t dead!”

Valentine moved toward me, whispering, “My goddess of love –”

“He isn’t dead! He isn’t dead! He isn’t dead!” I screeched then saw even the cool, composed Valentine’s face filled with sorrow and my legs collapsed under me as my body started shuddering with sobs. “He isn’t dead,” I whispered through my tears as both women made it to me, pulled me to my feet and supported me as they moved me back to the pallet. “He isn’t dead,” I repeated, my entire body quaking with the force of my grief as they gently pressed me back down to the dirty mattress. “He isn’t dead,” I whispered as I curled into a ball, arms around my calves, rocking my body back and forth while one of them, I didn’t know who, stroked my hair. “He isn’t dead,” these words were hoarse, rough, ugly, my stomach empty, my heart actually felt broken and that hurt, a lot, too much, so much I couldn’t bear it. It was unbearable. “Please, God, make him not dead.” I whispered then I turned my head, pressed my face into the filthy pallet and I sobbed.

* * * * *

I cried myself out while Valentine stroked my hair and cooed to me. When I was done and turned my face to stare at the stone wall, she gently forced me to sitting on the pallet so my back was to the wall as the blonde went to the table and came back with a plate on which were some slices of ham and a battered copper cup filled with water that was luckily clear and clean.

“Eat, pour votre bébé,” Valentine urged, I looked at her vaguely, nodded just as vaguely, took the plate, set it on my thighs, took the glass, started eating slowly and chased the salty ham with water.

Pour votre bébé.

Our baby.

Would I live to give Frey that?

I looked around the room and doubted it.

Then my eyes fell on the blonde. “Who are you?” I asked.

“I am Lavinia of Lunwyn, servant of Alabasta,” she replied softly and I nodded because I knew who that was. Frey told me stories of Lunwyn’s most powerful witch and the goddess Alabasta’s servant on this earth.

And Frey told them to me while we were eating dinner in his chateau in Hawkvale.

I felt my throat close, my eyes sting and I looked away, shoving another piece of ham in my mouth and having no clue how I’d get it down.