Prologue

The splintered wood of the trellis bites into my palms as I lower my weight toward the ground. Fresh night air rushes over my face, carrying the sharp scent of pine and blooming citrus. I force my lungs to expand, drinking in the cool atmosphere. I wish I could revel in it, but my eyes dart across the manicured landscape. Shadows shift below. Burly guards clad in black pace the perimeter, heavy assault rifles strapped across their chests. They patrol the gardens beneath the luxurious suite I call my gilded prison cell.

The cool breeze does nothing to settle my frantic heartbeat. I flatten myself against the stone wall, watching the last security team member vanish behind a massive stone fountain. This is it. My window. If I fail, they will lock me in that bedroom and throw away the key. I will never feel the sun again. I refuse to be bound to their mattress. I refuse to be their captive queen. I start the countdown in my head. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

My feet hit the earth, and I launch myself across the vast open gardens. The silver glow of a crescent moon spills over the estate, illuminating the neatly trimmed grass and rigid hedges. The scent of fresh-cut lawn hangs in the humid air, mixing with the imported rose bushes lining the pathways. I keep my eyes locked on the tree line in the distance. The dense forest is my salvation. My feet thud against the sod, a rhythmic drumbeat matching the pulse hammering in my ears. Aside from my ragged breathing, the only sound is the chirping of crickets.

I reach the edge of the garden and halt near the wrought-iron bench beneath the giant Magnolia tree. On my obedient days, they allowed me to sit here and read. It was my single sanctuary. Surrounded by the serenades of nature, I could sink into my books and forget why I was here. I could forget the stone mansion. I could forget them.

I pause by the bench to scan the perimeter one last time. I make the critical mistake of glancing over my shoulder. High above, on the master balcony, harsh yellow light spills out from the open French doors. Standing in the center of that light are the men I fear more than death itself. My captors.

They do not shout or run. They stand side by side, arms crossed over their broad chests, watching me in silence. Even across the massive expanse of the garden, even through the dark cover of night, I feel the suffocating challenge in their stares. They are daring me to take another step into the wild. I suck in a shaky breath and dip my chin, giving them the illusion that I am submitting to them once again. But not tonight. I snap my head up, stick my tongue out, and thrust my bruised wrists into the air. I flip them the bird, extending both middle fingers as a blatant show of defiance, before turning on my heels and plunging straight into the black abyss of the forest.

"LYRA!" The raw roar shatters the quiet night. I hear my name a few more times, fading as I force my legs to pump faster. The forest canopy is thick, swallowing the moonlight whole. I smash through heavy underbrush. Low-hanging branches whip my arms and legs, leaving a trail of stinging scratches. Dead leaves and thick twigs snap sharp underfoot. My chest tightens, begging for oxygen as I force air into my screaming lungs. My muscles burn with lactic acid, but I push through the agony. I weave left, then right, desperate to find a path. It feels like I have been running for hours, though my rational mind knows it has only been minutes.

"LYRA!" They are getting closer. Panic overrides my senses. I risk a glance backward, and my foot catches on a thick, hidden tree limb. I slam hard into the earth. My outstretched palms and bare knees take the brutal force of the fall, my weight pounding into the ground. A sharp gasp punches out of my throat. I scramble onto my side, clutching my throbbing knees, and peer through the dark brush. Beams of harsh light begin to dance through the tree line. Four. No, six. No, ten beams are sweeping the woods, heading straight toward my position. My breathing speeds up.

"Lyra! Come back, sweetie!" The voice is a sickening mix of mock sweetness and lethal promise. "Surrender now, and you will only get the whip! You know you can’t run from us!"

I bite my lip, tasting copper, and remain dead silent. To my right, I spot a large tree with a small hole at its base. Ignoring the sting in my torn hands, I drag myself through the dirt and slither toward the trunk. I wiggle into the tight, claustrophobic space, pulling my knees to my chest. I clamp my injured hands over my mouth to smother my erratic breaths. If I move, they will spot me.

"LYRA! BABY GIRL, YOU ARE IN BIG TROUBLE! COME. OUT. NOW!" The booming voice vibrates in my chest. He is furious. This is bad.

And then, total silence drops over the forest. Nothing. Not a single snapping twig. Not a chirp from the insects. The sweeping flashlights vanish, plunging the woods back into darkness. I close my eyes tight and hold my breath. I start to count. One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand. My muscles tremble from the strain of remaining frozen in place. Four one-thousand. Five one-thousand. I force my mind to focus only on the numbers, waiting for the inevitable hand to reach in and drag me out. Fifty-nine. Sixty.

I keep my eyes squeezed shut, straining to concentrate on any nearby sounds. I listen for boots crushing leaves, heavy breathing, or yelling. There is nothing. Just the hollow wind passing through the trees. Did they give up? I drop my hands from my mouth and let out a long, shaky exhale. A small, involuntary smile creases my cheeks. I did it. I actually escaped. Now I just need to get out of these woods.

Moving with painful caution, I place my scraped hands on the damp soil and inch my way out of the hiding spot. I drag my legs free, brushing the dirt from my shins as I prepare to stand and run.

My gaze falls on the forest floor directly in front of me.

My blood turns to ice.

Standing inches from my face is a pair of immaculate, hand-stitched dress shoes.

"Well, hello, sweetheart."