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The pit grew darker as the daytime sun began to slowly sink behind the stone and iron walls of the prison. In the very depths of the pit, at its center, the Lady of Death herself knelt on the cold earthen ground. Her body was chained between two iron posts. Everyone in Dyron knew and feared her name — and rightfully so.

Peterson grew up hearing stories of the monster from the north. The stories of Lady Death and how she hunted humans who dared enter the Dyron mountains. She killed the enemies of her kingdom and anyone who crossed her with no remorse. More than once his mother had told him that if he did not eat all his vegetables, Lady Death would get him. It gave Peterson some mild satisfaction knowing that the monster was caged within the walls of this prison. Her demonic powers were stripped from her, but it was not enough. She was still alive.

The female had earned that title: Lady Death. After all, what do you call the daughter of a male known as the Demon General of the North? Lady Railynn Ashelin Tal was more than just some Fae Lady. She was the late King of Leona's niece and the daughter of General Turen Tal. She was a warrior, assassin, and spy. She was a true monster. They had taken those names from her. Now she was nothing more than Prisoner 513.

Peterson's boots crunched on the half-melted snow covering the ground in patches where the shadows fell across the pit floor. He came to a stop just inches from where 513 could reach him. Even with the female’s arms chained in thick iron at her sides, Duke Peterson was not naive enough to believe that it was the iron that kept her contained. Looking down at her, he could see no iron burn on her wrists where the metal touched her skin. His heart rate quickened at the confirmed knowledge. He knew he was only safe because she had no magic left. He had so many questions and it was those questions that had brought him to the bottom of the pit.

The prisoner’s head was tilted back as if she were soaking up the last rays of the setting sun as Peterson approached. Her faint smile disappeared as his shadow blocked the sunlight, but she did not move or open her eyes. This close he could see bruises beginning to form on her skin others looked as if they were already beginning to heal. Peterson gave a small amused smile at that.

"The prince wants to free you," Peterson kept his voice low, glancing only once at a royal guard towards the top of the pit wall. None of the half Etherie guards looked down at him, nor did they seem to hear his words.

513 gave no reply. She just knelt there, her eyes shut as if she were asleep.

"I asked you a question," Peterson hissed at her. His fists tightened in his coat pockets.

She made no indication that she had even heard him. Peterson turned, about to leave, when she finally spoke.

“You did not ask a question, you made a statement,” Slowly, she rolled her head to the side, down, and back up again, as she stretched her neck. Only then did she open her cold blue eyes and look up at him. The look in her eyes made him feel utterly inferior to her, even as he stood over her kneeling body.

"Why? Why free you? After everything you have done?" Peterson took a step closer to her. He was beginning to grow angry as she did not immediately reply. Sure, like most Etherie, the fae could not lie, but he already knew she was not planning on giving him a straight answer either. The Etherie made an art of twisting the truth.

The female just shrugged not giving an answer to his questions at all. Peterson felt his jaw muscle tick in frustration. He did not have time for this.

"You have killed over twenty of my guards, and injured that many more," Peterson began, his words clipped as he spoke. He opened his mouth to continue, but she cut him off.

"Twenty-four," She smiled, closing her eyes again as if she was already done with the conversation.

“What?" He breathed out through his nose, trying to keep from losing his temper. Her lack of interest in the conversation he was having was infuriating. Dyron’s beard the fact he was even trying to have a conversation with her was insane.

"I have killed twenty-four of your human guards," The way she said human almost had Peterson turning and walking away from her. His blood was boiling. He hated her. Hated her kind. He hated all of the Etherie. They were nothing but animals thirsty for blood.

Peterson squatted, his face a mere inches from hers, their noses almost touching. The female opened her eyes and stared at him. Those cold blue eyes boring into his own. "I don't care what the prince has promised you," he seethed, "you will not get to twenty-five,” with that, Peterson turned and marched back up the stairs.

He did not stop or turn to look at her when he heard her quiet voice reply, “Fates willing,”

It was a struggle to keep the shock from his face. He knew the words were not meant for him to hear. When he got to the ledge and looked down at her again. He narrowed his eyes at the sight of a small almost wistful smile on her face. As if the thought of her own death somehow brought her peace. She truly was a beast then. No humane person could not fear their own death.

"Duke Peterson," Prince Thidal said as he came to stand beside him. Peterson almost jumped out of his boots in surprise.

"Your Majesty," Peterson gave a quick bow to Thidal. The Prince ignored his bow and motioned to the royal guards, now leading lines of Etherie prisoners, being returned to their cells after a long day's work in the mines.

"They will watch," Thidal said loudly enough that Prisoner 513 could easily hear him. With the grace of an immortal, her body began to move. She turned slightly towards them and looked directly at them. For a moment, Peterson could have sworn her eyes were glowing silver in the shadow of the pits.

The clanking of the iron chains, binding the prisoners in a single file line, echoed around them as they were marched to the wooden railings where they would be forced to watch.

"Have you changed your mind yet?" Prince Thidal's oily voice called out. Prisoner 513’s face was blank as she studied the Prince. There was no fear in her cold pale blue eyes.

"I will gladly die before I join you," she replied. Her voice, strong and unwavering. A wicked smile slashed across her face as she stood on her feet in defiance. It was an insult for her to stand before him, a prisoner and a slave, and she knew it too.

"I am afraid, you will only wish for death," he bared his teeth in a smile, his anger barely restrained.

513 stared up at the prince for a moment, before her attention turned back to Duke Peterson. She seemed to see right through him with that stare. Her body was as still as the stone walls around them. All his instincts screamed she was a predator and he was her prey, even though she was chained. He forced himself to look away, but the image of her face was still burned in his mind. No fear lay in those immortal eyes. Just fury. Fury that burned like a thousand suns yet her eyes were as cold as the moon’s pale light.

One of the guards behind 513 kicked the back of her knees. His iron-gloved hand gripped her shoulder, forcing her the rest of the way to the ground. She did not wince under the iron's touch. Her face remained solemn. The guard stepped back, taking a long leather whip from his belt. The leather straps were already stained at the ends, with the blood of so many other monsters. That is what they were, Peterson reminded himself. The guard snapped the whip once in the air, readying to begin. 513 did not even flinch at the sound.

Prince Thidal gave a nod, and the whip cracked a second time, and then a third. The whip cut through her shirt and skin. The red lines on her back slowly began to bleed. Yet, still, she made no sound.