ONCE UPON a time, when children still flocked the streets at night, there came a story about a monster named The Dread. His name held power over the little ones that as soon as the sun set on the horizon, they would run towards home, lock the doors, and peek behind the curtains to see if the infamous Dread had arrived to pull them off their beds later that night.

"If you don't fix your toys, the Dread will visit you in your sleep."

"Hush, the Dread might hear you. He dislikes children who are too noisy."

"Be good to your parents and siblings. The Dread is lonely and seeks for himself a companion. He'll come and get you if he sees you're a bad kid."

The children painted different versions of the Dread in their heads. Some said he had massive jaws and teeth that could swallow a person whole. Others imagined him to have ten arms or a specter hidden under a bloody cloak. The Dread might even be in some sort of disguise, pretending to be an old woman who would gain a child's trust and lure them deep into the forest where one would meet his fate.

As for Clara, the Dread was a slender man whose height could reach the tallest trees. In her mind, he was hairless and had no facial features. Everything about him was blank as if young Clara could not decide what to draw on his face and what hair to put on his head.

As centuries passed, the versions of stories about him had become random bits and pieces put together to make a mushy bowl of macaroni soup, and none of those ridiculous representations nearly looked like the one in front of her.

If he was the Dread, she had to confirm. After all, one of the prisoners from the dungeon claimed that the Dread had held his brother captive somewhere.

The world could be big and small at the same time. Clara never thought Emir would be there. It was as if they were bound by Fate. One couldn't live in the absence of the other.

Clara believed it was only her they needed. His presence there should have been a mistake. Could it have been he was caught while trying to save her? And since Emir had discovered their nest, they decided to hold him captive as well. She ached to ask him, but somehow she couldn't find her voice to speak up.

The prolonged silence weighed on them like a heavy downpour, their eyes glued to each other. Drumming his fingers in a slow rhythm, the master found it amusing to see his kidnapped guests be under insurmountable pressure that both of them lost their voices. The grin on his face irked Clara even more. Their silence shouldn't be his satisfaction.

"What is he doing here?"

"What is she doing here?"

Clara and Emir asked at the same time and that was all it took for the master to consider it a comical moment. He threw his head back and burst out laughing as he had never done before.

Ignoring the master's bouts of laughter, Clara twisted to the side and leaned towards Emir's seat. "What are you doing here?" she hissed.

Emir scooted closer so that there had only been a narrow space between their faces. Clara's eyes widened, caught off-guard at their sudden closeness. He stared at her from under his long eyelashes, his midnight eyes flecked with defeat and worry.

Emir's minty breath fanned her face as he spoke. "I can ask you the same thing. "The last time I saw you, you were exiting the ballroom with my brother." Something crossed the prince's eyes, but it was gone as fast as it appeared that Clara barely recognized the emotion. "I was hoping they had never gotten to you. That Eadric would do everything to keep you safe even if his life was in line." His fingers dug into the cushion of the chair's armrest, then to himself, he whispered, "If only it had been me..."

They fought with their eyes. No one had the urge to back down. Clara was on the verge of standing up to Eadric, to speak on his behalf that the prince indeed did everything for her, but found herself softening at Emir's last words.

"Chivalry is in your soul, Prince Emir," the master butted in, now an ominously serene smile plastered on his face. "If it had been you in place of the other prince, the outcome still wouldn't change. You will still find yourselves in my company in one way or another. In fact"—he waved his hand nonchalantly—"the catch would have been easier if the two of you are in one place."

"Y-You mean..." Clara stuttered, unable to find the right words to say. She cut her eyes' connection from Emir's to turn her attention back to the master. "So you mean, Emir, being here... i-it's not by chance?"

A smile that confirmed it all spread on the master's wrinkly face. He called for someone over his shoulder and started barking orders. But whatever it was, Clara had completely tuned him out with Emir becoming her subject of attention. And he was so guilty that he couldn't even look at her.

Clara's mouth watered at the faint aroma of food she smelled in the air as if there were home-cooked meals somewhere nearby. Her focus on the matters at hand wavered upon her stomach's betrayal and pleas for a good fill. It seemed like ages ago since she had last eaten. Her body deserved an energy refill.

The master's servants, led by the snake woman, entered the chamber, bringing with them platters and bowls of piping hot dishes.

With a flourish, the master gestured to the table piled high with all kinds of food. "Dig in."

The servants exited the room quietly. The master sipped his wine, watching her intently over the glass rim. Clara didn't make an effort to move, the silverware in front of her still untouched. She might be hungry, but the last thing she would do was give in to the temptation. For all she knew, the food might be laced with poison.

However, to her right, Emir was already helping himself to a serving of grilled meat and baked potato on the side. Clara's jaw dropped. There was panic rising in her chest. She reached over and stopped him from stuffing the piece of meat into his mouth. The food was frozen midair and Emir's mouth was left hanging. A line made its way across his forehead.

"What?" he said with a groan.

"Are you seriously eating that? It might be poisoned!"

But Emir continued giving her the nasty look as if what she said no longer made sense to him. He pulled his hand free from her grasp, ate the meat at one bit, and downed the rest of the wine from his glass.

"We won't be," he said as he threw the master a meaningful glare. "Believe me, the last thing he's gonna do right now is to kill us. If he did, abducting and keeping us prisoners would all be pointless. He could have just killed us right on the spot."

The master raised his glass, pleased. "Right you are."

A blush crept on Clara's cheeks as if she'd been slapped with the fact that was hard to admit. She realized Emir had a point but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being right even though there was nothing to compete.

The embarrassing growling of her stomach broke the silence, baring her desire to eat. Once again, she considered running off, only this time, it was out of spite and embarrassment.

Clara begrudgingly picked up the knife and fork laid before her and then speared the slice of salmon steak that Emir put on her plate. Its mild tangy flavor coated her taste buds and she had to hold back her moan. Putting on a straight face despite rejoicing on the inside was no easy task. She would catch Emir looking at her from the corner of his eye as if hearing her inner voice.

"So," she started, dabbing a table napkin on the corners of her mouth, "are you really the Dread?"

Emir choked on his fish, wheezing as he pounded his chest. Clara reached for the prince's empty wine glass and refilled it to the brim which he accepted with much urgency. She gently stroked his back until his coughs ceased before putting her attention back on the man before them. "Well?"

The playful and grandfatherly smile on the master's face vanished, putting on an expression quite indiscernible behind his serious facade. He propped his elbows on the table, hiding half of his face behind his entwined fingers.

"Tell me, princess," he drawled. "What else do you know about the Dread?"

"The Dread?" Clara perked her chin up. "He's nothing but a selfish croc who feeds on people's weaknesses and fears, using it as his power to dominate the lesser and shatter the balance of Hiestora's hierarchy." She felt a nudge on her foot but ignored it as she continued, "The center of every child's nightmare. The doom of every family. What else can he ask for? Why desire more than what he has? Argyle... he's the actual embodiment of his name." The side of Clara's lips rose in a smirk, her shoulders squared in defiance.

But the toughness she had worn only a few seconds ago evaporated in the air as something dark and foreboding crept behind her. A sinister presence, causing Clara's erratic breathing, wounded its clawed hands around her neck as if to strangle her.

A veil of shadow unraveled on the master's eerily calm facade. He leaned over the table, close enough so that Clara could smell the rancid odor of death from his mouth.

"And you? Don't you fear the Dread?" he breathed his words, slow and haunting, striking fear in her heart. "Braveness is a commendable act, but most of the time, foolish." From his open hand, he acted as if to crumple something. "You speak of the Dread as if your life has no value. Even your blood can be used against you. Or are you forgetting that the Dread possesses the mastery of life?"

A chair slid violently on the floor and the prince slammed his palms down on the table, causing food to spill and even roll off the table. Clara had never seen him tremble with rage and his breathing was heavy as if he fought a battle against a thousand soldiers all by himself.

Emir tugged Clara who was as still as a stone statue and hid her behind him.

"I am simply the master, but I ain't the Dread," he continued, unfazed by Emir's animosity.

"Who do you think you're fooling?" Emir said through clenched teeth. "Why else would we be here? I know you know what I'm talking about and no one else desires it the most other than the Dread himself. Other than you."

Clara sucked in a breath and said, "I heard from the prisoner in the dungeon that the Dread runs this place. Mea—" She bit her lip, deciding against mentioning her visits to Meara's castle. "If you're not the Dread, who are you?"

"I am simply the master."

"That doesn't clear everything," Emir said with the same harsh tone.

"How about I tell you young'uns the story about the Dread?" The master gestured at the vacant chairs. "Take a seat," he said as an act of order rather than an offer, so Emir and Clara had no other choice but to abide. Only this time, Emir had moved closer to her.

The master hummed and stroked his beard, staring at the ceiling. "Or perhaps, I should start with how Hiestora came to be."