Escape from the Snake Pit

The familiar agony struck me like lightning as I sat mending a torn dress in my chamber. Logan had returned victorious from his latest campaign, and somewhere below in the great hall, I could hear the sounds of celebration—laughter, clinking goblets, servants rushing about with platters of food. But here in my room, I bore the cost of his triumph.

A sword wound across my ribs sent me gasping to my knees. Then came the deep gash along my thigh, followed by what felt like a spear point piercing my shoulder. Each injury Logan had sustained in battle manifested on my body as phantom agony, the empathy curse ensuring I paid the price for his glory in blood and pain.

I bit down on a strip of cloth to muffle my screams, having learned that my cries only brought annoyance from the household staff. Through the haze of suffering, I heard footsteps approaching my door—light, delicate steps that could only belong to one person.

Celine entered without knocking, her pale green silk gown rustling as she moved. In her hands, she carried a small wooden box, and her eyes held that predatory gleam I'd come to dread.

"Oh, Elaine," she said, her voice dripping with false concern. "Another episode? How terrible for you." She paused, tilting her head as if considering something. "I've made a discovery that might explain your... condition."

I struggled to focus through the pain, watching as she set the box on my writing desk with deliberate care.

"I found these hidden in the servants' quarters," she continued, opening the box to reveal several dark objects—a blackened bone carved with symbols, a vial of what looked like dried blood, and a twisted piece of metal that seemed to absorb light. "The servants are whispering that someone in this house practices forbidden magic. Dark magic."

My blood turned to ice despite the fire of phantom wounds coursing through my body. Those artifacts—I had never seen them before in my life, but I recognized the trap being laid.

"Where did you really get those?" I managed to whisper.

Celine's mask of innocence never wavered. "I'm so frightened, Elaine. Logan needs to know about this immediately. The safety of our household depends on it." She closed the box with a soft click. "I do hope whoever is responsible comes forward before something terrible happens."

She left me there, writhing in pain and helpless to stop what I knew was coming. Within the hour, I heard her voice drifting up from the hall below, tearful and trembling as she spoke to Logan about her "discovery."

---

The phantom wounds had barely begun to heal when Logan's boots thundered up the stairs. My chamber door burst open with such force it struck the stone wall, and my husband filled the doorway like an avenging storm. His face was flushed with wine and fury, his eyes blazing with an anger I had never seen directed at me so intensely.

"Explain this," he snarled, holding up the wooden box. "Explain why artifacts of dark magic were found in my house, hidden where only someone with intimate knowledge of these halls could place them."

I struggled to sit up, my body still tender from bearing his latest battle wounds. "Logan, I've never seen those things before—"

"Lies!" He slammed the box down on my writing desk, making the inkwell jump. "Your family's shamanic blood, your constant afflictions, the way misfortune seems to follow you like a shadow. I should have seen the signs."

"Please, listen to me." I tried to stand, but my legs shook from the lingering effects of the curse. "Someone planted those. I would never—"

"Celine found them because she was brave enough to investigate the strange occurrences in this house. The shadows she's seen, the cold spots, the way servants whisper about unnatural things." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You've been practicing forbidden arts under my own roof."

The injustice of it stole my breath. After everything I had endured for him, every wound I had borne, every moment of pain I had suffered in silence—this was how he repaid my sacrifice.

"I have done nothing but serve this household faithfully," I said, finding strength in my desperation. "I have never practiced dark magic. Those artifacts were planted to frame me."

Logan's hand moved to the sword at his hip, and for a terrifying moment, I thought he might draw it. Instead, he turned toward the door and called for his guards.

"Prepare the snake pit," he commanded, his voice carrying the authority of a military commander. "My wife will spend the night there to contemplate the consequences of trafficking with dark forces."

The blood drained from my face. The snake pit—a deep stone chamber beneath the estate where venomous serpents were kept as both deterrent and punishment for the most serious crimes. No one had been thrown into it for years, not since Logan's father ruled these lands.

"Logan, please," I whispered, but he had already turned away, his decision final.

Two guards appeared in my doorway, their faces grim but determined. They had their orders, and Logan Parker's word was law in this house.

As they seized my arms, I caught a glimpse of Celine in the hallway, watching from the shadows. The satisfaction in her eyes was unmistakable—she had orchestrated this perfectly, and now she would have what she wanted most: my complete destruction.