Credence did not know how long she had been asleep.

It could have been minutes or days. Her body felt sluggish and weak, as it did after too little or too lengthy a rest.

The knocking persisted, so Credence tucked Ma's book under the pillow and dragged herself out of bed to answer the door.

John was leaning against the doorframe, smiling.

He had changed from the robes of the hooded stranger, now wearing plain brown pants and a green shirt with a length of rope looped around his waist. His hair was carelessly settled, making it appear that he'd recently rolled around in the dirt.

He looked very much like Credence remembered him at the enchanted cabin, the only difference being the cane tucked under his right arm. She hated that she found his appearance objectively handsome, though the bitter scorn she felt would never allow those thoughts to linger.

His smile, however, was every bit as wolfish as the animal underneath, and the scar running over his lips and chin served as a reminder of what he had taken from her.

"Hungry?" he asked in a tone that implied he already knew the answer.

"No."

"Liar." He untied the rope around his waist. "It's time for dinner."

"We only just left the towns," she countered, "and it was night. It cannot possibly be time for dinner."

"You've noticed there's no sun or moon in the sky, yes? It would be best to put aside any notion of day or night. There are no such things here. There is only the will of my master, and he's commanded that dinner will begin now."

He motioned with the rope.

"I would rather not do this," he said with an exhausted sigh. "What do you think? Will you walk with me or must I use this?"

To spite him, and because she loathed the sound of his voice, Credence petulantly held out her wrists, and John rolled his eyes and wrapped the rope around her.

He steered her like an animal on a leash, which was not without its difficulty given his need for the cane, a fact he grumbled about several times.

Credence walked in front of him with her head held high.

It will always be like this, she promised herself.

She would never go to the Collector untethered.

She would continue to prove that she had to be forced to endure his company, and he would never have the satisfaction of seeing her walk willingly into his presence. The rope around her wrists was a badge of honor, and the Collector would read its message loud and clear.

At the edge of the drawbridge, Credence hesitated. John pushed her forward with a grunt, not caring to notice the tremble that ran through her as they walked over the river.

She couldn't help sparing a glance at the black water beneath their feet, and she swore she could see things moving under the current, though nothing broke through the surface.

On the other side of the arched entryway was the remains of a grand courtyard and garden, long fallen to ruin, its flowers shriveled and dried to brown.

The only plant that thrived was the ivy that choked the castle walls.

There were statues placed throughout, with faces Credence couldn't identify. She wanted to stop and study them, but John's firm hand pushed her onward, towards the entry that led inside the castle.

At their approach a massive pair of doors opened.

Credence was certain that servants would accompany such grandeur. She had heard of such people always being present in castles, as a necessity, in the stories of queens and kings her parents told her.

But there were none here.

No one greeted them or announced their arrival, and the doors closed behind them once they were inside. Everything moved on its own. Enchanted, Credence guessed, to do the Collector's bidding.

It was noticeably colder within, like the castle was wrapped in winter's embrace, and the rags of her school clothing did little to protect her from the chill.

The first room was enormous, with ceilings higher than Credence thought necessary. The ground was smooth, black stone with swirls of white and gray. Tall columns stretched from floor to roof, and wrapped around every last one of them were vines of ivy, all blooming with purple lilies.

The castle grew less pristine the deeper they moved into it, becoming more akin to a shadowy lair. High stone walls stretched into total darkness above, making it impossible to guess how tall the rooms were. Gold and silver candelabras were scattered haphazardly in corners and on walls, their arms stretching like spider legs to offer the light from melting candles, many of them on the verge of flickering out. Drapes of crimson cloth flowed down the walls like rivers of wine, and the cobwebs that clung to the fabric glittered under the glint of candlelight. Dust danced under every step they took, and there was a smell of old ruin that followed them from room to room.

The castle was in dire need of attendants, though Credence imagined the Collector didn't mind the gloom.

The faint clicking of their shoes and John's cane remained the only sound in their procession, creating a dull rhythm that kept in time with the quickened beat of Credence's heart.

At last they reached a tall door, brown or red, it was nearly impossible to tell in such limited light, and John moved to open it.

On the other side was a dining hall with a long table set in its center.

Upon that table was a feast that could feed many families several times over. Meat and vegetables, fruit and desserts, porridges and puddings, and bread that covered the spectrum of brown and white. Every delicacy Credence could imagine—and many she couldn't—were laid upon wide platters. Throughout the table were silver pitchers, each holding a different drink, from water to wine.

And yet, for all its decadence, there were only two place settings at the table, and only two chairs at the opposite ends of the banquet. For this, Credence was thankful. She refused to sit near the Collector, and she wouldn't have to, with this river of food and drink between them.

A looming fireplace sat behind one of the chairs, carved into the image of a giant mouth with long, sharp teeth, and within it roared a great fire. As large as the fire was, its light only reached halfway across the table, keeping the other end slightly obscured in shadow.

Behind the chair on the darker side of the table was a short staircase that led to a balcony overlooking the entire hall, with a few candles clinging to its banister.

The walls were decorated with more drapes of fabric, but these were not faded or covered in cobwebs like the others, but clean and vibrant in color. Embroidered on the fabric were several images of folklore; a knight triumphing over a beast; a maiden reaching out to pluck a bloom from a tree; a monarch on her throne addressing two subjects kneeling before her.

It was a room of breathtaking splendor, but the air was thick with danger.

Credence eyed the food and felt a mournful tug from her stomach. Her hunger was painted with suspicion, however, and she did not approach the table.

Sensing the reason for her reluctance, John broke the silence.

"It's just food. No enchantments. He doesn't need them here."

Credence had a brief thought that the Collector was already in the room with them, clinging to the ceiling, hidden in the black like a spider waiting to descend upon its prey.

Was the food the true meal here, or was it Credence herself?

"Little chance of me believing you," she said to John.

He moved to the table and plucked a berry from the spread. He tossed it into his mouth.

"Doesn't matter if you do. You'll eat anything when you're hungry enough. A wolf knows that."

"Where is your master?" Credence asked, her eyes leaving the feast to study the corners of the hall. The echo of her voice dying against the walls made her feel insignificant.

"He'll arrive soon," John said blankly. He motioned to the chair in front of the fire. "Please, sit."

"I'll stand."

"As you like, my lady. I'll stand with you for a moment."

"Don't trust me not to run off?"

"Not a bit."

Credence's eyes returned to the table. Her stomach was yearning for the tiniest bite.

"Will you join us?" she asked, trying to distract her hunger.

"No, my lady."

"Stop calling me that. You hate me as much as I hate you."

"While we're in this room, I'll treat you with respect."

"I like you better when you don't."

John began to reply, but the sound of a door opening cut him off. He gave a polite bow.

"I'll leave you now, my lady." In a hurried whisper he added, "Mind your manners."

He was pleading, as if he would be the one in trouble should Credence prove insolent. He left the hall and closed the large door behind him, trapping Credence inside. She did not doubt that he remained near the door, on guard in case she tried to leave.

Heavy footsteps filled the hall, and each one echoed with the chime of bells.

A figure appeared on the balcony.

Credence could not see much detail past the shadow of him, but she knew it was the Collector.

When he passed a flickering candle she caught a flash of his eyes staring at her as he descended the staircase.

"I'm honored you joined me for dinner."

His voice carried through the room, and the deepness of it startled her. She'd forgotten what he sounded like, how his voice could command both menace and invitation.

The last time she heard it, he had been admitting to killing Ma. Credence held up her hands to show her bound wrists.

"I didn't have a choice, did I?"

The Collector waved his hand and the rope slid from her wrist and onto the floor, where it writhed like a dying snake before melting into nothing. When she looked up the Collector was standing at the middle of the table, where the light just reached him.

There was that handsome, regal face, framed with waves of black hair.

His eyes were just as she remembered, wicked and alluring, with a seductive danger behind them.

She loathed the sight.

The last time she had seen that face, he tried to beguile her into forgetting herself. That was, of course, before Isolam ripped the princely mask away and showed the true abomination beneath. Hatred swirled inside of her, and she wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them and attack.

To die in her vengeance, if she must.

Instead, she rubbed her newly-freed wrists.

"Do you expect my gratitude for that?"

"If you wish to give it." His voice was soft, but never without a threat. He motioned to the table. "Will you sit?"

"That depends," Credence answered. "Will you stay away?"

In reply, he took his seat at the dark end of the table. He waved his hand and several candles flickered to life, illuminating his face.

Credence wished he hadn't made the effort.

When she was satisfied that he would remain in his chair, she took her seat—but did not move to fill her plate. The Collector didn't remark on her refusal to eat, but turned his attention to putting food before himself.

He began to eat and drink with enthusiasm, never once sparing a glance at his guest.

Credence watched in grotesque fascination as the man, the monster, swallowed mouthfuls of meat and vegetables without a care in the world.

Carrying on like he was alone in the hall.

Sensing a trap, Credence remained steadfast in her decision not to touch the food, even though it smelled wonderful. She sat, still and bored, choosing obstinate silence over any engagement with her damned host.

And for his part, the Collector didn't appear interested in stopping her.

Credence thought he might try to engage her in conversation, or at least offer a polite question on how she was enjoying her new surroundings—

But he remained as silent as she did, and enjoyed his meal.

It enraged her.

Vile thing, she thought. Coward. Murderer.

What game was he playing? What would he gain by changing from the monster that had attacked her in the woods to the man who spoke softly and dined in nonchalant silence?

She looked at the utensils next to her plate and calculated the risk of an attempted charge. The distance between them was too far, and he'd see her attack before she got close enough to land a blow.

Moments turned into minutes, and minutes began to feel like hours.

Her body was starved for food and motion.

Just when she felt she couldn't stand it a second longer, a thought struck her.

I'm being tested.

The moment she entered the dining hall, a battle had begun.

He was waiting for her to make the first move—for her to engage him.

A renewed energy filled her.

If it's a waiting game, Credence thought smugly, he'll find me a formidable opponent.

Not a waiting game, a waiting war. Who would claim victory over the other?

I will.

The Collector signaled dinner's end by dabbing a napkin on his mouth, then folded and placed it atop his empty plate.

The groan of his chair moving crashed through the silence of the hall, and he stood up to address his guest.

Now he'll speak, Credence thought. He'll say something about my refusal to eat.

He gave a curt nod and promptly turned to leave, traveling up the staircase towards the balcony, with no other sound but the ringing of bells.

He disappeared behind a corner.

The door to the hall opened, revealing John behind it.

"How was dinner?" he asked smugly.

Credence rose from her seat and joined him at the door, throwing one last look at the untouched food on the table.

"I pray to never see that loathsome face again," she answered loudly, hoping her voice would reach the Collector's ears.

"Now, now," John said with a cluck of his tongue, "no need to be nasty."

"I have every right. I'm here against my will."

John shook his head sympathetically, as if Credence didn't understand what a gift she had been given.

"First dinner was always going to be difficult," he reasoned, his volume matching Credence. "It'll get better. For both of you."

Not wanting a sliver of hope to be left in the air, Credence countered bitterly, "I wouldn't count on it, and neither should that creature."

***

John walked her out of the castle without binding her wrists. Credence didn't need a leash to move her from the Collector's home.

Her stomach was howling, and Credence couldn't blame it. She'd been inches away from the most delectable food she'd ever seen, a feast that still lingered in her nostrils, and she hadn't taken a single bite of it.

She wondered if breakfast would be offered, and if the Collector would insist on being present for that meal, too. She didn't know if she could stand an entire day more without eating, and if she did, how strong her conviction would be when food was before her once more.

Does it matter if there's an enchantment on it, her starved mind reasoned, you found your way out of one before.

She couldn't go forever without eating, and eventually she would have to accept what was offered.

John left her after they were beyond the bridge, and once more on her own, Credence wandered into an empty shop in the towns, hoping to find something that would take her mind away from her grumbling stomach. But there was nothing except useless objects to be found.

A loom she did not know how to use. Paints that remained dry and would not transfer to a brush. Books that contained nothing but empty pages.

It was all a mockery.

The Collector would starve and bore her.

He meant to give her no other option but to seek him out—

He won't find satisfaction there, she thought hatefully.

She was immensely tired, no doubt weak from hunger, so she returned to her room in Sally's tavern and tucked herself into bed before pulling out Ma's book to read.

At least this book is not blank.

She flipped through the pages, revisiting familiar bits until she came to a section she couldn't remember reading.

The title at the top of the page caught her attention instantly. Written by Ma's adolescent hand were the words: How to Best Your Enemy.

Credence grinned. It was like Ma had foreseen that her daughter would need such advice.

'One: Appear Friendly.

Gain the trust of your enemy by approaching them with a pleasant demeanor. If they don't know they're your enemy, you can use this to your advantage. If they do know they're your enemy, you'll catch them off guard by appearing amiable.

Two: Find Their Weakness.

Be sly. Discover what they like and dislike. What they dream of being and what they fear the most. Ask questions, if you can, but for every important question ask a trivial one to avoid suspicion. This will be difficult if your enemy is already wise to your schemes.

Three: Patience is Key.

Kill them slowly...'

Why had Ma written such a thing? Did she have enemies when she was younger—or had this guide been born from a childish mind looking for distraction?

Had Ma ever tested her own rules?

I will test them, Credence thought. I have the perfect enemy for it.

***

Credence was walking in the bright and colorful kingdom once more.

To her left was the radiant castle, and to her right was a marvelous tree. She decided to venture in the tree's direction, and hoped she would reach it before she woke.

She recognized that she was dreaming, though the sounds and smells around her felt incredibly real.

It did not go unnoticed that the massive trunk and branches were similar to the Collector's tree, with the same glowing white aura around them, but she could see no cages swinging beneath it, and there were no voices calling for help.

Credence felt eyes following her movement, but nothing threatened her, so she found little reason to acknowledge it. When she reached the threshold of the tree, she discovered a wondrous thing: A seat carved into the base of its trunk. The wood around it had been fashioned into gorgeous decoration that gave the chair an air of wondrous significance.

The tree was not just a tree, it was a throne. But it was empty, bereft of a ruler to sit upon it.

Am I meant to sit upon it? Credence thought as she neared it.

The notion left her mind quickly. This was not her throne.

A melodious voice whispered with the wind, "I am hidden. Find me."

Credence woke.

The white tree and throne were gone, replaced with the silent imitation of Sally's tavern.

But Credence could still hear the faint hum of the kingdom from her dream, dying quickly as her mind caught up to the waking world, until all that remained was a memory of the voice that had spoken to her.

It had said very little, but it told Credence everything.

Someone was hidden in the Collector's purple world.

Find me.

Someone the Collector didn't want her to discover.

Answering that call became Credence's sole ambition.