Stone Prison

Stone Prison (Twisted Tales #1) by H.M. Ward

Bestselling author of the DEMON KISSED series presents TWISTED TALES.

The Stone Prison is a macabre tale told in the spirit of Grimm. An evil enchantress, a stone tower, and a girl whose fate hangs in the balance as the clock approaches midnight make for a bone-chilling fairy tale.

TWISTED TALES SERIES

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Stone Prison

H.M. WARD

Laree Bailey Press

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by H. M. Ward

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.

Laree Bailey Press, 4431 Loop 322, Abilene, TX 79602

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing: March 2012

Demon Kissed Series By H.M. Ward

Demon Kissed

Cursed

Torn

Satan’s Stone

The 13
^th
Prophecy

Valefar Vol. 1 & 2

Assassin: Fall of the Golden Valefar (Summer 2012)

CHAPTER ONE

The sky was dark the night my father was killed. The servants had just lit the nightlights, and the flames flickered happily in our windows. I was barely two years old when it happened, but I remember everything. I remember the sticky night air dripping with the scent of honeysuckle. I remember hearing the hushed whispers of frantic servants. The noises carried through the house, making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I remember the sound of my father's footfalls crossing to open the door.

An unnatural silence filled the house, as the door creaked opened. Then, I heard her voice. It was sweet like honey, promising everything and asking nothing. It drew me from beneath my covers. I had to see the face that went with that voice. As I padded across my room, Father hushed her, and forced her outside our home. Dressed in a white nightgown, I inched toward my window, shrouded in darkness. I stood on the tips of my tiny toes peering over the ledge.

The shadows painted a pattern of black lace across her form, but I could still tell that she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Thick golden hair fell in long waves beneath the hood of her black cloak. As she spoke, full ruby red lips shone like they were covered with dew. Her skin was like that of a fine doll's perfectly smooth. But her eyes were angry.

As they spoke, the woman became more agitated. Her beautiful face contorted with rage.

The only thing I heard my father say was, No. He wasn't unkind. It didn't sound like he was chastising one of the servants, or rebuking her. He sounded pained, like he didn't want to say the word. But he did.

That single word shattered my world.

Before he finished speaking, the woman lunged at my father. One fist was at her waist, while the other hand grabbed my father's shoulder. She looked into his eyes as she thrust the blade into his stomach and twisted. Scarlet poured from the wound, spattering on the dirt at his feet. The woman released him. Without a scream, my father fell to the ground, dead.

Before my tiny lips could scream, the woman's gaze turned upward to my little body, watching from the window.

I disappeared from my home that night. Not a soul saw the woman pluck me from the window, and carry me to the stone tower deep in the woods. Every night since, I dreamed of a beautiful woman stabbing my father. Every night was the same.

The screams that no one shrieked the night of his death rang out deafeningly loud in my dreams, waking me with my heart beating so fast that I thought it would burst. The dreams did not cease. And I grew older, alone, locked away from the rest of the world, with a murderer as my only companion.

CHAPTER TWO

Blood is power, the old woman said. Her golden hair had faded long ago. The sun had been unkind, weathering her skin like an old hide. She had trudged up the long staircase to my room at the top of the stone tower. Fifteen years passed since the night her horrific shadow first crossed my path. The old woman's hunched form gasped for air, and she lowered herself into a chair.

The hag's ancient gray eyes were listless. She sat across from me like we were old friends, though we were not. Staring at her gnarled hands, I remembered seeing them smooth and covered in blood. It was impossible to forget. That moment was etched into my mind, like acid burning away metal, for eternity.

That dark memory crushed all happy ones. I couldn't remember Father's laughter or the sparkle of his eyes when he spoke. I couldn't remember his warm voice and strong touch. All of that was gone, stolen by the woman who sat across from me.

The witch.

The old sorceress wrung her hands, and took a deep breath.

This was the only night of the year that I was allowed a small amount of freedom. It was my birthday, but that wasn't the reason I was allowed to venture from her side. The reason I was permitted to leave my stone prison was due to someone else's birth the Crown Prince. Each year, the royal family held a ball to celebrate his birth. And every year the witch forced me to attend.

However, that tiny bit of freedom came at a price. I was forced to steal, taking things that were not mine. The penalty for theft was severe in this kingdom. The guard who caught me had the right to sever my hand at the wrist. If I was caught a second time, my head would be severed at the neck. Theft from the palace was a higher risk. There were more guards to see me steal. I risked much in doing this, but it was worth the risk.

The witch taught me how to take things and evade the guard's detection. I became more than adept as I grew. No one suspected me. A governess concocted of dark magic trailed behind me, until I found what I needed. And the witch usually asked for things that wouldn't be missed like a lock of hair, a piece of cloth, or some other discarded, worthless, item. She collected these things and stored them under lock and key in the wooden cabinet. I expected that this year would not be different.

She would require me to take something that wouldn't be missed, and send a governess to trail along behind me.

But my assumption was wrong.

The witch licked her withered lips. They were so chapped that they bled in the corners, making it appear as if she had sores on her mouth. This night is more important than the previous balls. This night you will steal the object I seek, the item that will secure your future and mine. The item I require will bring us much. You will take it for me and return home before midnight. She paused, looking at me with her withered lips pulled into a tight smile. If you do as I say, there will be enough endless beauty, unsurpassed riches, and power to last a lifetime.

Those things were foreign to me, though I knew she craved them. I'd been locked in a tower, shunned for a lifetime. On the nights I was allowed out, I had to return before midnight. The witch made certain that I was always locked in the tower by the twelfth toll of the night bells. To most people, midnight marks a new day, bringing new hope. But not me. I was always acutely aware of the twelfth chime. There was a stirring within me that seemed to long for something, but I didn't know what. It only appeared at that hour and vanished instantly as I sat alone, staring at stone walls from my pillow.

Then the morning would come, and rays of sunlight would spill across the cold floor. Most days I stared out a window that was too small to throw myself through. I know because I tried. It would have been more bearable to plummet from the tower than to endure another day of confinement. I dreamed of walking among people again, and staying with them past the eleventh hour. I dreamt of a normal life, just another content peasant in a vast kingdom.

But the witch had other plans.

I glared at her. So many thoughts rushed through my mind.

If I could only be free from her. I'd tried to run away several times, each time ending the same hard-learned lesson no one can escape from the witch.

Ever.

I could tell from her posture, from the wringing of her hands that this night mattered more to her than the others. This night was unlike the others, but a single facet remained the same.

I was to leave at the eleventh hour.

Her gray eyes seemed to come to life as she spoke. For too long, our kind have not been welcome there, Ella. For too long we have toiled like wild animals amongst the stones and forests trying to claim a life worth living. But no more. After tonight, things will change.

CHAPTER THREE

She reached a gaunt hand toward me, stroking my head as she rose. Remember child, blood is power. She gazed down at me. When I failed to nod, she reached for her staff and struck it to the side of my head. The stick cracked against the side of my skull. White spots sparkled in front of my eyes, even after I'd closed them and pulled away from her.

I no longer trembled when she struck me. I stood. There was a time when I was younger that I cowered at her hand, but that was long ago. I looked down at the witch and bowed deeply, while pressing my fingers to the wound. Blood trailed down my cheek, as I lowered my head. Yes, Madam. Blood is power. I apologize for my disrespectful silence. I chanced it, and glanced up at her. She had a superiority complex. Those who did not submit died. There was no other way to live, and be near her. And for whatever reason, she would not release me.

The old woman reached for me, tucking her bony fingers under my chin, which forced me to turn my face up and look at her. Precious child. Many things will come our way, especially after tonight, but make certain that there is no doubt in your mind about how much I cherish you. A wayward child must feel the sting of this stick to grow into a fine woman. And that is what you are. That is what you have become a fine woman.

And, tonight everyone will see.

You will attend the ball as a woman in lady's finery that will make all others seem trite. Ella, you will win the prince's heart. He will choose you to be his bride before the stroke of eleven. I swear it to you.

Lowering my dark eyes, I nodded and replied, Yes, Madam. But, what am I to wear? I have never seen the gown of which you speak.

In every year past, I wore the attire of a child or young lady, but it was my seventeenth birthday. I was of age. In previous years, my long golden hair had trailed down my back, my small hands were ungloved, and my gown swished just above my ankles. But this year I would wear women's garments. The women's gowns, the gowns of the fine ladies who attended the ball, touched the floor. And, they wore revealing, low necklines with sleeves that draped off their shoulders. Corsets that had been pulled tight offered every woman an hourglass shape, and silk gloves spanned arms from fingertips to shoulders. It was the mark of womanhood. And tonight it was being offered to me.

The old woman crossed the room to a cabinet that was always locked. It stood floor to ceiling, and had only one thickly carved wooden door. Massive black hinges held it tightly shut.

Though I tried, I was never able to pry the door open to see what she hid inside. I was certain that the items I stole were in this box, though I'd never seen her put them inside. The only thing I did know was this she kept her prized possessions locked in this tower.

The wooden door creaked in her hand. When she turned away from the cabinet, I could see that she pulled out a box made of stone. It was far too small to contain a gown, or even a shoe. She pressed the door closed, and strode toward me. The stone box was clutched to her chest.

This is the last of my magic, she confessed. I have used it sparingly until this occasion. This will provide you with brilliant beauty. You will be the personification of perfection.

The prince will be unable to look away from you. Neither will any other man for that matter.

I stepped closer, looking down at the closed box. Your power is from the box? I didn't understand. I thought you were a sorceress. I thought your powers were within you.