Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Words eluded me, leaving me speechless in the face of his comment. His status as my captor, a reality I couldn’t escape, only amplified my discomfort. I remained silent and he spared me by picking up the slack.
“Tomorrow should be less strenuous for you. I thought it would be good for you to explore the town, become familiar with the surroundings and some of the locals. You may find it enlightening."
“You’re letting me out?” I tried to keep the surprise from my voice and failed. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. The idea of leaving the house and venturing to where the tourists were had not crossed my mind. I didn’t think he’d ever allow that.
“You say that as if I’m keeping you in. You’re not a prisoner, Lolita.”
My eyebrows knitted in confusion. I frowned, perplexed by his assertion. His words were almost ironic. "That's a strange way to put it, given how I ended up here. Everything about this place feels like a cage." I caught myself just before I brought up the brand. A mark he had imposed on me, a symbol of his ownership.
He chuckled lightly. "We have a prison. You're not in it. If I wanted you confined, deliciae, your ankle would still be adorned with a chain."
Without thinking and sarcasm dripping from my lips, I replied, "Thanks for the reminder, Alex."
I could see the surprise in his eyes, mixed with something else. Happiness? Amusement?
"I like that," he mused, looking at me as if trying to decipher a puzzle. “You don’t have any problem affectionately shortening your jailor’s name.”
I met his gaze, my heart racing, a defiance bubbling up. "I thought I wasn’t a prisoner. Now you agree?"
“If it makes you happy, I’ll pretend to be whatever and whoever you want me to be. So long as at the end of the day you remember exactly who and what I am.”
“That wouldn’t make me happy.”
“I know.”
I slightly pursed my lips, sliding him a sidelong glance. “Would that still be your response if I said the opposite?”
“No.” He leaned closer, the look in his eyes flickering with a strange blend of honesty and something more enigmatic. "Some find comfort in illusions, Lolita. They'd rather wrap themselves in a lie than face the harshness of their reality. You, on the other hand, have been living a lie all your life without even realizing it."
“Yeah…maybe,” I replied quietly.
His smile widened just a fraction, revealing a hint of something untamed. "I'm glad you don't want to play pretend. Our life is a fairytale in its own right."
I scoffed, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice. "A fairytale? Is that really what you’d call this?"
"We have those too, you know. And trust me, ours are far more enthralling than any story you've possibly heard before. They are woven with truths and shadows, desires and fears—a blend of the real and the unimaginable."
I toyed with my fork. “I didn’t take you for the happy-ever-after type.”
“I’m not, but you are. And I’ll give you one.” His smile didn't falter. "We have a way to go before we reach that part of our story, but I think we’ve gotten off to a great start," he replied, his voice laced with a promise of things yet to come.
Happily ever after? That was more Anya’s way of thinking. The concept was foreign to me. My life had always been about navigating the immediate, tangible realities, not indulging in fairytale fantasies of rescue or romance. Yet, here I was, swept away by a man who seemed more akin to a dark sovereign of some underworld.
If I were to consider him a prince, it would be the prince of hell itself. And in that case, Alexander didn't just fit the role; he seemed to embody it. A question rose in my mind and loomed over me like a shadow: what part did that leave for me to play?
Was I meant to be some pitiful damsel in distress, bound by circumstances beyond my control, waiting for salvation or ruin in an opulent cage doubling as my palace? Or was I being groomed to become the queen, a role that felt both chilling and strangely compelling?
The answers seemed just out of reach, shrouded in the same mystery that enveloped everything else on this Isle. I swallowed around a hard lump in my throat. The space between us, marked only by a few plates and the breadth of the table, seemed to shrink with every passing second.
Seizing upon the first topic that would move us away from the current discussion, I blurted out, “So there’s an actual prison out here?”
His brow furrowed for a second, then smoothed. He took a moment as if considering how much to reveal.
"It's not the kind of place you might be picturing," he began to explain, his voice thoughtful. "'Carcerem,' as we call it. It's a stone fortress, like a relic.”