My Cursed Mate's Revenge

Chapter 8: A Jailed Woman Tormented

One Month Earlier

Freya:

“Your father is dead, Freya. You need to leave, we need to know what happened,” the guard said as he pulled me gently but forcibly from my father’s sick room.

It had been hours.

His blood still covered my hands.

I tried to refuse. I did not want to leave my father’s body. I shrieked and fought, clawing at the furniture, the door frame, the guards themselves as they pulled me into the hall. I had gone mad with rage, anger, confusion, refusing to accept that my father was gone.

It has been hours.

The blood was still on my hands.

I had been taken immediately to my personal chambers and guards were now posted outside my door.

It had been hours.

My tears had stopped falling. All that remained of them were tracks through the dirt still covering my face from training.

It had been hours.

The blood was still on my hands.

I could not bring myself to stand from the corner of my room I cowered in, let alone find the strength to wash my face.

Your father is dead, Freya. You need to leave…

It had been hours.

And his blood was still on my hands.

—

The door to my room opens and Moira walks in, two guards accompanying her.

“The room has been searched, witnesses have been questioned.”

She paused, staring down at me. I could not bring myself to stand up, to look at her face.

I knew there would be nothing there that would bring me comfort. Nothing that would help me to escape the hell I had been trapped in for hours.

“There have been several undeniable facts that cannot be ignored. Nothing conclusive has been found that supports your innocence. And I find myself at a loss Freya….what am I to do? The evidence all points to you killing your father, my mate…” her hand covers her mouth as a sob is forced from her mouth, a matching tear rolling down the side of her face.

She always was such an incredible liar, a pretender to the throne. Her presence as a Luna was a feeble echo attempting to fill the void left by my mother’s death.

Where my mother had radiated goodness and warmth, Moira’s presence seemed to dim the happiness in every room she entered. Her exclamations of joy and excitement always rung false, and even the sorrow radiating from her now was tinged with a certain…wrongness.

It felt flawed, disingenuous, an actress missing the mark just so. Something others might not have noticed if they were not watching her too closely.

I was always watching.

Like two wild animals eyeing each other, neither having yet decided who is predator and who is prey.

“Did you do it, Freya? Did you kill your father?”

Her tone sounded sincere, just the right amount of lost and desperate, as if pleading with me to talk to her, as if she cared to find the truth.

The rage flowed through my body, a roaring river that could not be dammed, a fire that could not be dowsed.

I could not look at her. I could not speak.

I was scared of what I might see, terrified of what I might do. I knew the only way to find my father’s true killer would be to get out of this room and search for them myself.

“No one entered the room except you. No one was found in our bed chambers after a thorough search was completed. You were training in the yard prior to entering your father’s room. A weapon was missing, one that you were seen training with. The same one that was found in the body.”

The body…she uses the term as if it was just a body. So impersonal, as if that body was not a person I loved, as if he wasn’t her mate…

My rage grew, almost overwhelming my self control. But there were greater stakes at risk, so I continued to ignore her.

“I see that you want to be difficult. I can only do so much to help you when you steadfastly refuse to help yourself. I shall return as soon as an update is available. Until then, you will remain in this room until we send for you.”

One of the guards with her knocks on my door in a strange pattern that tells me it was locked by the guards outside.

As the door opened and the guards began to file out, she stopped and looked back towards me.

“I always told your father you would end up disappointing us. I wish this moment was more satisfying, that he could still be alive to see I was right. He was my mate…and I will never forgive you for the time you stole from us.”

And with that, she departed, the door slamming behind her.

The sound echoed through my room, followed by an ominous silence.

It had been hours.

And his blood was still on my hands.

—

Early morning light began to enter my windows and terrace. I slowly stood up and walked outside, hoping the early morning mountain air would help clear my head. I needed a plan, I had to take action soon.

The mountain stone surrounding my small bedroom balcony had been smoothed to prevent anyone from getting in- and now stopped me from getting out. I would need a rope longer than any I could safely fashion from my clothes and bedding to escape from here.

I had a supply of water from my wash room but no food. It had been over a day since I had eaten. I needed to act soon, while I still had some strength to be effective.

Maybe I was making this harder than it needed to be…

I walked to the bedroom door and peeked underneath it.

Four guards. A number I could handle relatively easily, but not without making enough noise to draw more to my room.

Fine, I couldn’t escape or fight my way out. There were other things I could do.

I grabbed my pack, gifted to me by the Beta of the Night Stalker pack, Arthur, when I had completed my last training session with him.

A change of clothes, a small medical kit, rope for hunting traps, and the knife my father gave me.

I knew it wasn’t much, as the pack was still pathetically empty after I had added all of the items, but it made me feel better to have it ready for when I needed it.

Next, I looked at the lock on my door. I had picked it before and knew I had a lock picking kit somewhere in my room, but I was certain they had found a way to reinforce it somehow.

But maybe…

I tore through my room, knowing it was in there somewhere.

Hours later and my small greeting suite, bedroom, closet, and washroom had been torn through but the kit was nowhere to be found.

Desperate to have something, I started collecting pieces from my room that could be fashioned into something that could unlock my door.

Even if it had been reinforced, I could still gain an advantage by unlocking my door without their knowledge. Those few seconds could make all the difference in an escape.

A large fist suddenly pounds on my door, warning me to back away. I move to the other side of the room, quickly hiding my makeshift lock picking kit in my pack and placing it within reach as I go, preparing to run.

Instead, the door shakes, and a heated wood cutter appears at the bottom of my door. Smoke enters the room as the hot blade slices through my door as if it was made of softened butter.

I grab my pack and step outside onto my terrace, eyes, watering and lungs fighting to breathe through the smoke.

I hear hammering and peak back inside to see that a flap has been installed at the bottom of my door, too small to be of any real help for my plans.

The flap lifts up and a small tray of food is pushed through before closing immediately. The food was no better than gruel, but my stomach still growled and cramped painfully at the promise of the meal.

I shoved the food into my mouth quickly. Taking the bowl into my wash room, I filled it with water and stepped outside to breath the fresh air and sip the water, turning back to my rooms and looking at them with fresh eyes.

Suddenly, the corner of the terrace caught my eye. Even though my mind was clouded with grief, I couldn’t believe I had forgotten this secret spot, a stone on my terrace that was just loose enough to pry open.

There, lying in a waterproof wrap, was the lock picking kit. I quickly pulled it out, replacing it with my small pack, and set to work on my door.

Roughly 30 minutes later, and I finally was able to unlock my door. Grasping the handle, I moved to pull the door open slowly. It didn’t budge. I pulled harder, hoping I was wrong.

I shook away the panic and fear that was rising in my chest. It had been a long shot anyway, but I had at least managed to earn a small advantage for myself.

Suddenly, it was no longer panic and fear, but nausea that was rising. My vision began to blur and my limbs felt unsteady.

Frantic, I rushed outside and hid my kit. It took every ounce of will power to replace the stone and hide what had become my most prized possessions, my hope of escape.

I tried to stand but found that my arms and legs were nearly useless.

The feeling of nausea grew.

These pricks…as if the gruel wasn’t insulting enough, they had to drug me with it too?

I crawled to my washroom and locked my door, knowing it would not present much of an obstacle if their goal was to drag me out of my room.

Whatever drugs they had put into my food began to work quickly, no matter how much I fought against them.

They dulled the panic and adrenaline I felt coursing through my body and the darkness closed in.

Footsteps sounded in my bedroom, stopping outside the washroom door.

The door begins to shake as the darkness finally surrounded me.

—

I woke up what could have been hours, or even days later still on my washroom floor. My shirt was stained with vomit. I pulled myself up, using the furniture to support my weight. I made my way out into the rest of my room and saw that it had been turned upside down.

Papers had been pulled from my desk and thrown haphazardly around the room, furniture lay on its side with the drawers pulled out and completely empty, the contents disbursed with the papers. My bedding and mattress had been pulled from my frame, clothes ripped from their hangers.

Not a bad job, they’ve done this before…

They had clearly been looking for something. I noticed that some of my weaponry was missing from the mess in my closet. My stepmother has always seen my training as distasteful, but even she isn’t foolish enough to ignore the threat I pose with even a small weapon in my hands.

Smirking, I walked slowly out to the terrace, lifting the stone just enough to check. Everything was still in its place, including my father’s dagger.

I moved back into the room and knocked on my door.

“Excuse me, what day is it?”

A brief pause, likely the guards wondering if they were permitted to speak to me.

“Thursday….you’ve been asleep for 5 days.”

“Amazing, thank you.”

A few hours later, the slot opened up, another tray of gruel slid under the door.

I couldn’t help but laugh, pushing the tray back before the slot could be closed.

“I do not want to be rude, but you have got to be kidding me…”

“That was a precaution to clear your room of any threatening materials, please eat it. You need your strength.”

The voice on the other side of the door was Clara’s. While we had never been close, something in me said I could trust her.

I took the bowl and ate it.

—

Two days filled with gruel and boredom passed. Each day, my food was brought by Clara, and each day I ate it. Until the third day.

Maybe it was my hunger, or my mind had been drifting. Or maybe the last few days had been enough time to get me to lower my guard.

Whatever it was, it was enough. The slot opened, the gruel was pushed in. As I had at each meal on the previous days, I pushed it back.

The voice on the other side of the door was a woman’s, and just close enough to Clara’s that I listened.

“Please, you need your strength.”

It wasn’t until my vision began to blur that I realized what had happened.

—-

I came back into the world slowly, gaining each sense back bit by bit. There was a tightness in my chest, back, and shoulders, a relentless pounding in my skull.

My toes felt a floor beneath them, but just barely.

I lifted my head and blinked my eyes, hoping to figure out where I was.

My mind grasped the details slowly, unable to make sense of what I was seeing.

The realization of what is going on crashes into me, bringing with it panic, confusion, fear- but most of all, the burning rage that had been my constant companion since finding my father’s body.

The anger burned white-hot, but was trapped uselessly inside of my body.

Because there was nowhere for me to run or hide, no one for me to fight.

No way for me to break the bonds that securely wrapped my arms and shoulders, holding me firmly above the ground.

For the Snow Mountain torture chamber had been reopened.

And I was its newest prisoner.