Artemis' Perspective:

I wake to cold.

Cold in my bones, cold in the air, cold against my skin. My eyes flutter open, but everything is blurred—too dark, too hazy. My limbs feel wrong, stiff and uncooperative. My head throbs, a dull ache that pulses with every beat of my heart, and my throat is dry, as though something bitter had been forced into it.

Where am I?

I try to move, but my body refuses to respond. I can barely lift my hand. Panic clutches at my chest, but I fight it, struggling to make sense of the disorienting sensations around me. My breathing quickens, shallow gasps that seem to echo in the emptiness of wherever I am.

The air is thick. Damp. Earthy.

The faintest sound breaks through the haze—footsteps, measured, deliberate. Someone’s coming. My pulse quickens. I turn my head, but my vision is still a fog. All I can make out are shadows—movement in the dark. Something about it feels wrong. My heart begins to race.

The door creaks open.

A figure steps inside. Tall. Cloaked in shadow. No details. Just a silhouette.

I can’t focus enough to see their face, but I feel their presence, cold and unsettling. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, before the figure speaks.

“How is she?” The voice is cool, detached—like I don’t matter, like I’m not even here.

I don’t answer, unable to. My mouth is dry, my tongue heavy. The words I want to say are lost to me, swallowed by the fog in my mind.

One of the men—the kidnappers in black—answers her, his voice rough, sharp with fear. “The job’s done, my Queen. She’s drugged, unconscious. We’ll move her soon.”

My stomach turns at the sound of “my Queen.” It’s not the title itself that chills me, but the way it’s said, with such reverence, like this person holds the power of life and death.

The shadow shifts, and I try to focus, to see, to understand. But all I can make out is the faint outline of the figure moving closer, their presence filling the space around me.

“Did the kidnapping go smoothly?” The voice asks again, flat, unfeeling. A question without meaning. It’s a statement disguised as a question, as if the woman already knows the answer.

The man stammers, eager to please, his voice tinged with fear. “Of course, my Queen. No problems.”

I feel my breath catch in my throat, trapped between fear and confusion. Who is this woman? What does she want with me? And why do I feel as though she’s somehow... untouchable? Something about her presence fills the room like a storm ready to break, yet the air around her remains eerily still.

The woman doesn’t respond right away. I can hear her moving, her steps silent on the cold floor, but then, the faintest sound—fabric brushing against the stone—reaches my ears. She’s closer now.

Her voice returns, soft but commanding, “And the plans? Are they in motion?”

Plans? What plans? My head spins with questions, but I can’t form the words to ask them. What are they talking about? Why am I even here?

The man answers quickly, too quickly. “Yes, everything’s in place. We’ll transport her through Zoel as planned. She’s of no use here. The auction’s in Estella.”

Estella.

The name lands like a stone in my stomach, and suddenly, I feel sick. The auction? I don’t understand. None of this makes sense. Why me? Why are they talking about me like I’m some... thing to be sold?

“Good.” The woman’s voice is cool, almost indifferent, like she’s discussing something trivial. “Make sure it’s done properly. I will not tolerate failure.”

Failure. The word hangs in the air, weighted, suffocating.

The man’s voice wavers as he assures her, “No failure, my Queen. We’ll make sure it’s perfect.”

The door to my prison opens, and I hear the soft sound of the woman’s footsteps as she retreats, leaving me in the stillness. Before she goes, her voice—quiet, but full of finality—floats back into the room, “Make sure she’s ready.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

And then she’s gone.

I can’t process it all. My mind is too muddled, too fogged by the drugs they forced into me. But I know one thing for certain: whoever this woman is, she’s in charge. And I... I am nothing to her but a tool to be used.

The silence is deafening.

But just as I begin to drift back into unconsciousness, I hear it—her words, faint but clear: “My crowned Queen.”

The words don’t mean anything to me now, but something deep inside me stirs at their utterance. Who is she? What is she? And why do I feel like I’m being pulled into something much larger than I can understand?

Before I can grasp more of it, my body betrays me, and the world fades again.

~~~

- inside the cave after the fight Art and Maria -

Artemis’ head throbbed. The edges of her vision remained blurry, the world around her veiled in shadow. She tried to lift her hand to her forehead but found that it was restrained, her arms bound tightly to something cold, rigid. A chair, perhaps, or a metal bar.

The smell of damp earth filled her nostrils as the muffled sound of footsteps approached.

“they managed to get to you, even kill one of you.” The voice was strange—low and cold, with an underlying edge of concern. It didn’t sound familiar. Artemis tried to focus, her head lolling as she struggled to stay conscious.

"Yes, my Queen," a voice she recognized—rough, deep—answered. It was one of the men in black, the ones who had taken her from the garden. His voice was not comforting. There was a maliciousness to it, a dismissiveness that made Artemis’ stomach tighten.

“Leave immediately, before they manage to catch up to you. **** you keep command from now on, since I won't be able to follow you outside of Zoel.” The woman’s voice was soft, yet carried a command that made her feel as though she was in the presence of something far greater, something untouchable. Artemis didn’t even need to see the woman’s face to know that she was important—terribly important. A sudden weight in the air seemed to pull the very life from the room.

The shadows moved in front of her, blocking out the dim light. A presence filled the space, tall and commanding. Her instincts screamed that this woman was not like the others.

Artemis tried to lift her head, but the effort was futile. Her limbs felt like lead, and every movement sent pain shooting through her skull. She wasn’t sure if it was from the drug or the fear that seemed to build in the pit of her stomach. Her mouth was dry, but her voice refused to come when she tried to speak.

“You’re awake.” The woman’s voice was almost like a whisper, like a distant melody. “Good. It would have been a shame if the plan failed so early.”

Artemis' breath hitched. She could feel the pressure of the woman’s words pressing into her chest, even though she couldn’t see her. The drug was still heavy in her blood, but something else was beginning to dawn on her: whoever this woman was, she wasn’t just some figurehead in the shadows. She was the one pulling the strings.

"My crowned Queen," the man said, his voice trembling slightly.

Artemis felt the weight of the words like chains, locking her in place even as she was tethered by more than just ropes.

"You’re sure she was the right choice?" The question lingered in the cold air.

The woman didn’t respond immediately, but Artemis could feel her gaze, a weight pressing down on her, suffocating her with the silence. There was something unnerving about her composure, how detached she seemed from the situation. A part of Artemis wanted to scream, to demand answers, but her throat was dry, and she couldn’t manage even a sound.

"She is the one," the man in black repeated, more assured now, but there was an edge of fear in his voice. "I’ve seen it in her."

"Good." The woman’s voice didn’t change, but there was an air of finality in her tone. “We cannot afford to fail, not now.”

Artemis felt her heartbeat quicken at the mention of failure, at the way the woman spoke, as if she were talking about something monumental, something far beyond her comprehension. The room seemed to contract, the air thickening around her.

“I’ll leave you to it,” the woman continued, the sound of her footsteps retreating from the room. Artemis strained to hear any sign of the woman’s departure.

With the Queen gone, the cave suddenly felt colder. The silence seemed to stretch endlessly, but the sense of unease refused to lift. Her body trembled in response to the cold and to the fear gnawing at her. What had she walked into? Who were these people?

The man’s footsteps grew closer. He was about to speak again when a sudden, sharp pain pierced her side. Artemis gasped, her body jerking in response, though her restraints held firm. She couldn’t move, couldn’t escape. His voice came again, harsh and unforgiving.

“You should be more careful, princess. Struggling will only make things worse for you.”

Artemis’ mind spun. He had addressed her as a princess!! Did he just wanted to taunt her for being helpless, or she was kidnapped because she was the Princess?

The floor beneath her groaned as the man shifted her position. She felt herself lifted, cradled roughly against a hard chest. Her legs dangled uselessly. Panic surged within her as her disoriented mind struggled to grasp the situation.

“Keep moving,” a second man called out as he led them forward. "We’ve wasted enough time already."

The room felt distant now. Artemis’ senses were fading in and out, her eyes barely able to focus on anything except the shadow of the man who carried her. He was tall, his face hidden behind a mask, the black of his clothing blending with the darkened surroundings. There was something in his grip, though, something unforgiving in the way he held her. She hated feeling so weak, so vulnerable.

The sound of rustling leaves and the distant call of a bird echoed as they moved deeper into the forest. Zoel. She knew it, even in her half-conscious state. The smell of the forest was unmistakable, the thick, damp air and the whispering wind in the trees.

Her thoughts were muddled. Where was Arterios? Maria? They appeared to rescue her but they failed.

“No point in dreaming about rescue,” the man muttered, his voice low and cold. “We’re out of your kingdom’s reach now. You’re ours. And you’ll soon learn what that means.”

Artemis closed her eyes, a wave of despair crashing over her. What did that mean? What were they planning?

The sounds around her were muffled, her surroundings shifting as the world became a blur. She felt a sudden pressure at her throat, the realization hitting her hard. She couldn’t breathe—she was being suffocated by the very air around her. Was she dying?

No, she wouldn’t let herself think like that. Not when she still had a chance.

Before her thoughts could spiral further, there was a sudden thud as she was placed down again, though the rough handling left her disoriented and gasping for air. The kidnappers’ voices became clearer, their words sharp and dismissive.

"She’s awake," one of them commented, a sneer in his voice.

Artemis’ eyes fluttered open. She was no longer outside. They had stopped, but she couldn’t discern where she was—no more trees, no more sky. Just stone walls and a low, flickering light. She heard them talking, their voices indistinguishable as they moved about. It was cold, colder than she’d ever known it to be. A dampness clung to the stone beneath her, seeping through her thin clothes.

"You’ll be fine," one of the men said, and though the words seemed comforting, there was nothing kind in his voice. "The plan’s bigger than you think."

Artemis struggled to hold her head high, defiant, even as her body trembled. "I don’t care about your plan," she spat, her voice cracking, weak. "I’ll never—"

But she couldn’t finish her sentence. The man’s hand clamped over her mouth, and his cold, unfeeling eyes met hers, devoid of empathy.

"You will. Just wait," he said, his voice a chilling promise. "You’ll learn soon enough that your fate was sealed the moment you were chosen."

The conversation continued, but Artemis barely registered the words. Her mind was elsewhere—shrouded in confusion and dread. What was happening to her? What was this bigger plan?

Finally, the men stood and moved toward the door. One of them turned to her.

“Get up. It’s time to go.” His voice was harsh, devoid of any compassion.

Artemis’ limbs felt heavy, but she gathered what little strength she had left and slowly pushed herself up. Her body screamed in protest, but she rose, knowing there was no other choice. She would endure whatever came next—just as she had always endured.

But deep down, she could feel the cold grasp of fear tightening around her heart. Whatever came next, it was far worse than she ever could have imagined.