Page 5 of Wicked Vile King
He even used thetone that has garnered him millions over the years, the one that leaves no room for debate and says the matter is already decided, without him ever actually having to say the words at all.
This has to be a dream because I'm not sure I'll survive it if it's real. Yes, I think, it's definitely a nightmare.
I sniffle, peering out the window beside me at the thick swath of forest that lines either side of the asphalt road and the evergreens drained of color by the night.
Thirteen hours ago, the only person I had left in the whole world hugged me, his arms tight and stiff around me, while I promised I'd be better, that I would make myself fit into one of his tidy little boxes. But the men at the front of the car pulled me off of him and outside, scraping the pleather of my flats on the steps as they shoved me toward the car. Papa didn't even look as they pushed me inside, and there is that cold sharp pinch straight through my breastbone again as I see him once more, shutting the front door as they carted me away.
Like something to be discarded, broken and unusable. Like trash.
I don't deserve this.
I didn't try to kill myself, despite what the scalloped, ugly scars on my wrists claim.
Papa didn't need to send me away.
Not here, not to hell on earth.
Chryseum Reformatory Academy,that's what the sign said before we started up this mountain that never seems to end. Fog and mist cling like sweat to everything around us. The trees, the ground, the windows of the car. It's suffocating.
This can't be real. It's a nightmare, nothing more, because Papa wouldn't do this to me. I don't care that he threatened to send me here months ago before he judged me unredeemable and incapable of being dealt with. He wouldn't do this, not to me, his only daughter.
I was sad and grieving.
I just wanted my mom.
I didn't want to die.
I'm not like the people they send here!
I sniffle again, blinking away unshed tears once more.
Don't you dare cry, Willow Mae Cadelle. Don't you cry even if this is all just one terrible nightmare.
The car comes to a rolling stop as two towering wrought iron gates open in front of us. I look between the two strangers and outside through the windshield at a place that spears shivers through my bones.
I can see it now, the school, both my punishment and prison. It makes me want to run and hide.
It's old, much older than the photographs suggested all those months ago. Its long parapets, tall turrets, and massive stone walls remind me more of the insane asylums of horror movies than a private school, and the shivers cleave me once more.
Fog slices through the lingering shreds of nightfall to shroud the Academy in ghostly white. It's unnatural, too thick for even this ungodly hour, and it curls along the ground and snakes between the trees, disappearing into the forest that infests this mountain.
I release my hooks on my sweater, and the fabric snaps back into place, up and over my pale hands. The scars inside my wrists ache, and I rub them over my sweater, feeling as the bumpy, uneven skin catches on the fabric. Then I hook my thumbs around the inside of my sleeves and pull them down over my hands once again.
A scream echoes in the distance, and another shiver spider-walks up my spine as we drive through the entrance. The gates creak and moan, shutting heavy behind the car, as we climb the remaining drive until the building looms in front of us.
Windows, tall and narrow in straight horizontal lines, stare down at the car, and it feels as though the place is a living, breathing thing assessing me with a hundred eyes.
It's all a dream, Willow. It's just a dream.
The driver tosses me a look in the rearview mirror accompanied by a frown as he slows the vehicle upon approach. I don't bother to try the door as we come to a stop. It's locked from the inside out.
My heart flutters in my chest, my breath coming short and quick, as my panic comes into tide.
I can't be here.Breathe.I need out.Breathe.I need to wake up.Breathe.Wake up!Breathe. WAKE. . .
I stop breathing as a feeling draws my attention to outside my window. I turn my head and find a guy standing there, staring at me as inky strands of hair fall into his eyes. I flinch when I meet his gaze, and he doesn't even blink.
He steps forward, past my door, and my driver rolls down his window wordlessly and accepts something from him I can't quite make out. Then the guy returns, stepping back where I found him, his attention returning to me.
