The castle corridors whispered with the sound of mischief. Alcina Dimitrescu could hear it from the grand hall from the terrace—the sharp, chittering laughter of her daughters as they played with their food. She did not need to see them to know what was happening. A man had entered her domain, and her beloved girls were delighting in the thrill of the hunt.

How predictable. How tiresome.

Alcina placed her glass of wine—rich, warm, freshly acquired—down on the table with the faintest clink. The sound echoed through the stillness, almost delicate, almost soft. But there was nothing soft about the way her fingers tightened on the armrest of her chair, the way her polished nails pressed into the ancient wood.

Another fool had come to her castle, another pathetic wretch who thought himself clever, who thought himself brave. She had lost count of how many had wandered these halls believing they could escape, that they were special.

Men are always so bold when they do not yet know fear.

She rose with a languid grace, the train of her ivory gown trailing behind her as she stepped toward the archway. Even now, she could hear his ragged breath, the wet, uneven gasps of a man too proud to beg but too weak to silence his suffering.

Alcina sighed, adjusting the wide brim of her hat as she strode toward the staircase. His voice was thick with terror now, frayed at the edges. He was learning.

"Oh, but we like you squirming, little man..." came Bela’s voice, teasing and cruel.

"Yes, yes, run some more!" Daniela’s giggles followed, bright and mocking.

Their joy should have pleased her as it often did. Her daughters were everything to her, the only light in this cold, insufferable world. But tonight, she was weary. Tonight, the sound of another man’s whining, another useless little struggle, was more an irritation than an amusement.

She reached the top of the staircase and gazed down into the dim corridors below, where the flickering candlelight barely reached.