But what were the chances of her actually succeeding? Her heart grew heavier, and she could swear she was sinking even deeper into the mattress. This was a royal palace; the entrances were probably well-guarded, and since she’d be queen, she’d probably have a knight keeping an eye on her. This world was completely foreign, and she didn’t know where the portal locations were, much less know how to use one.
If she were going to escape, she’d need help from a Torvan. But what Torvan would betray their king to help a Hybrid?
The King had kept his word.
When she awoke, she was alone. His side of the bed was as crisp and cold as ice—the sheets had even been smoothed. It was as if he’d never been there.
She slid out of the covers to the floor, the cool marble smooth beneath her bare feet. The sight of sunshine, pouring into the room like golden honey, was uplifting and sobering. It banished the darkness of last night to cracks and crevices, but it also revealed that this was her new reality. She was really in another world, married to a man she’d never met before because her mom was part of this alien race.
Evelyn shook her head. She had bigger fish to fry—primarily how to escape this place. But how?
Maybe the doors were unlocked? She tried the one by his desk. It rattled but didn’t budge. It was kind of silly to assume he would give her free roam of the palace anyway. At least, not yet.
There were two other doors: the one by the windows leading to a balcony and the one by the fireplace, which the King had said would lead to her room. She approached the latter door. The sound of muffled voices halted her advance.
“We should wake her up now,” someone said from the other side of the door. “Bridal preparations take all day.”
“The King said she was to rest,” a second person said. “We won’t wake her until we must.”
“Lazy humans.”
“Yesterday proved to be very taxing for her. She’s never heard of Torva, and she never expected to be married—”
Evelyn twisted the knob and inched the door open. Her eyes were drawn toward tiny hovering people. They were miniature women with shimmering butterfly wings fluttering behind them and clothes of petals and leaves. They couldn’t have been taller than her hand—from the heel of her palm to her fingertips.
When something purple darted in front of her face, Evelyn jerked back from the door.
One of the little pixies nudged the door open and plunked her hands on her purple cocktail-style dress. “Well, Clover, it seems we won’t have to wake the human after all. Our little Hybrid has finally awakened from her beauty sleep.” The pixie’s gaze roamed her face, and her slightly upturned nose crinkled. “Eh, minus the beauty.”
Evelyn couldn’t help but gape. They were like live-action versions of Tinker Bell—so cute and tiny she was tempted to squeeze them. But they probably wouldn’t appreciate that.
Another pixie floated toward them, her plump brown braid bouncing against her back. “Hang it, Zinnia. What did I tell you?”
Hang it? That sounded like an alternative curse to tuteno. But in her opinion, tuteno was more fun to say.
The purple pixie batted her eyelashes. “Not to wear orange, since it clashes with my eyes?”
“I told you to be kind, respectful, and quiet.”
The purple pixie arched her slender black brows. “And I told you that’s boring.”
Judging from their conversation, it sounded like these pixies had been tasked with getting her ready for the impending wedding. Her hands prickled with sweat at the thought. If this was a royal wedding, the whole kingdom would probably be there.
The green pixie scowled before dropping a curtsey toward Evelyn. “I beg your forgiveness for our behavior, Your Majesty.” She glared at the purple pixie. “Zinnia’s mouth is too big to keep contained.”
Zinnia snapped, her accent a pleasant jingle, her words less so, “Watch out, Clover. If your head gets much bigger, it’ll be too big for your body.”
It took a few moments for Evelyn’s foggy mind to register that she’d spoken in Torvan rather than English. Strange… she understood both just as easily, the primary difference being Torvan sounded somehow accented or off-key.
Clover, the green pixie, narrowed her lime-green eyes before glancing back. “There’s one last fairy you’ve yet to meet.” She zipped behind the post of the bed and dragged another pixie forward. “Your Majesty, I present Camellia.”
The fairy curtsied before staring at Evelyn with wide amber eyes. She wound a honey-colored curl around her tiny fist. “I–It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.” Pink blossomed on her cheeks, matching her rose petal dress, and she bobbed another curtsey.
When silence ensued, Evelyn realized they were waiting for a response. She shaped the Torvan words carefully. “I’ve never met pixies before. Nice to meet y’all.”
Zinnia’s face glowed cherry-red, contrasting with her lavender eyes. “P–P–—”
Clover patted Zinnia’s shoulder. “Zinnia, you know she didn’t mean—”
Had she said something wrong?
“Pixies! Pixies?!” Zinnia’s voice soared an octave. Its shrillness grated against Evelyn’s ears. “See! I knew getting a Hybrid was a bad idea. I knew it! But did the King listen? No-o-o.”
Clover folded her tiny arms, and the leaves on her tunic rustled with the movement. “Enough, Zinnia.”
Evelyn rubbed the back of her head, her fingers catching on the tangles in her hair. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”
Clover pasted on a smile. “No, not at all, Your Majesty.”
Zinnia gasped. “What?! She just—”
Clover clapped a hand over Zinnia’s mouth. “You must pardon Zinnia, Your Majesty. She likes to make a distinction between pixies and fairies.”
Evelyn frowned. “There’s a difference?” She’d never considered the possibility fairies existed—much less that there was a difference between pixies and fairies.
“A few.”
Zinnia slapped Clover’s hand aside, purple eyes sparking. She zipped up to Evelyn’s face and pointed her finger. “One: They have pointed ears.” She jabbed two fingers toward Evelyn. “Two: They have clear wings.” She flicked her third finger out. “Three: They’re all hollow heads.”
Clover cleared her throat. “Well, Your Majesty, how lovely that you can speak Torvan. Having Torvan blood strong enough to understand the language must have been quite the surprise for King Alaric.” Before Zinnia could comment, Clover clapped her hands twice. “Now, we’ll get you ready in a twinkling. The King wants the ceremony to happen tonight. Camellia, once the tub arrives, we’ll help her out of these…”
Zinnia’s eyebrows arched. “Rags?”
“Clothes.”
Evelyn glanced down at her faded blue t-shirt. One stick figure was pointing at another, who stood beneath a musical rest sign. The text bubble read Stop! You’re under a rest. Okay, maybe it was a bit raggedy, a few holes near the hem, but rags?
Clover pointed her finger at Zinnia. “And you will summon Adria. I believe she’s wandered off somewhere to read. Again.”
Zinnia rolled her eyes. “Hang her. Why can’t the Queen just have fairies-in-waiting? What does she need a Torvan for?”
“Duke Draven thought Adria would help the Queen better adjust to her Torvan life. If the Duke deems it necessary, it’s necessary.”
Zinnia huffed and flitted out the door—not the one to the King’s room but one on the adjacent wall. Perhaps it led to a hallway?
Clover shook her head. “As I was saying: Camellia, be prepared to help the bride undress once the tub arrives.” Clover turned toward Evelyn, her head dipped respectfully. “We would allow you to use the Baths, Your Majesty, but it would take too long to use all three of them.”
“Three baths?” Evelyn asked.
Clover nodded but didn’t explain. “And this will be faster, since we can help bathe you.”
Heat shot to her cheeks. “Actually, that won’t be ne
cessary. I’ve been dressing myself since age three or so.” What she didn’t mention was it’d taken her a year before she realized she’d often been wearing her shirts backward.
Clover tilted her head. “Why so young?”
“My dad fired the nanny, so there was no one else around who would do it.”
Clover’s lime-green gaze dimmed. “Oh… Well, at least as queen, you will never be so neglected again.”
Evelyn shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m used to it now.”
“Most of the dresses you’ll be wearing will require assistance with the laces—either ours or the King’s.” She gestured to a slip of white streaming across the side of the bed.
“The… King?” A frosty chill charged up her arms. She rounded the bed to stare at the dress. When she brushed the material, the gauzy fabric caressed her fingertips. The cold evaporated in a sizzle as heat smothered her skin. Tuteno. This dress was for tonight after the ceremony. And it was unlikely the King would pass up this second opportunity. After all, what man wanted to remain celibate on his wedding night?
Clover nodded. “Most nights, we’ll be here to help you undress… except for tonight—or any other night, if you order us otherwise.”
Evelyn swiped her clammy hands against her t-shirt. It seemed that after tonight, she wouldn’t be the King’s bride in name only. Unless she managed to escape beforehand. But there was so little time left until then, she doubted it was worth trying.
A knock sounded at the door, and Clover opened it. Two knights lumbered in with a narrow tub, the water within it sloshing. They set it on the floor before leaving.
Evelyn tore her gaze away from the lingerie. “Look, I’ll get in the bath and put on whatever you want, but at least allow me the dignity of dressing and undressing myself.”
Clover’s face twisted in confusion at the request. “If that’s what you wish.”
After Evelyn ordered the fairies to turn their backs, she threw off her old t-shirt and shorts before slipping into the tub. She unclasped her necklace and crowned her pile of discarded clothing with the golden chain. She poured soap into the water until its surface was a frothy, opaque white before allowing the fairies to tend to her.
They scrubbed her skin until she was pink and numb. Even after she was out of the tub and wrapped in a silky towel, they ran their tiny hands along her arms and legs as they applied a spicy-sweet oil. She stifled giggles at their light, ticklish touches.
There was another set of knocks, and Clover bid them to enter.
Zinnia zipped into the room, followed by a slender girl. The top half of her hair was bound in braids, which shone like polished obsidian, while the lower half dangled to her hips.
She dipped into a curtsey, her left hand lifting her skirt, her right clutching a book. “I thank you for your patience. It’s an honor to serve as your maid.”
So this was Adria. Evelyn tried to think of a gracious response. Should she say “thank you” or “you’re welcome”? “Umm, yeah.” She blushed to the roots of her hair. Not quite the gracious response she’d been going for…
Clover’s smile flared as she glanced at Adria. “You’ve arrived just in time. The Queen requires assistance with her clothes.” She fluttered to the bed and returned with a few underclothes.
Evelyn stood and plucked them from her grip. “It’s okay, Clover. I can at least dress myself in this.”
She walked behind the changing screen. Though it took a few minutes, she eventually laced up her bra. She slipped into the lingerie. The laces in the back were too high for her to tighten.
A heavy sigh gusted from her lips. “Umm, guys? I need help.”
Someone snickered on the other side of the screen. Probably Zinnia.
Adria rounded the screen, her face the epitome of composure and elegance. It was almost as if she were bored. Adria yanked the string tight in the back, then her fingers danced as she knotted them.
The maid dragged her around the screen to the vanity. Evelyn eyed the knot in the mirror. It was lovely, and its twists and turns seemed infinite, but how would she ever manage to unlace it?
Adria finally stepped back, a faint smile of satisfaction on her lips.
Evelyn stretched back to brush the knot. It was half the size of a Ping-Pong ball. “Won’t this be uncomfortable to sleep in?”
Adria’s eyebrows arched. “You won’t be sleeping in it.”
Oh. Right. Wedding night and all that jazz. Evelyn folded her arms across herself. She should probably go through the upcoming night like it was no big deal and do what the King expected her to do in order to maintain the good little queen façade.
Her insides coiled just before her chest heaved. She hadn’t eaten anything lately, so the worst she spewed up was sour breath. Could she escape before the wedding? Unlikely. What if she drugged him? But how? And would he notice when he woke up?
Her gaze roamed upward, and she nearly gasped at her hair. She’d forgotten it was still dyed—and how vividly red her new color was. How many washes had the box said until it faded? She couldn’t quite remember. Would she have escaped by then?
Adria adjusted the nightgown—from this point on, Evelyn would refuse to think of it as anything else—by shortening the length and widening the sides. Then they slipped the wedding dress on, and Adria made a few alterations.
One of the fairies disappeared and returned to place a tray on the vanity, full of sliced fruit, cheeses, and a thick disk of bread. Evelyn forced herself to nibble at a few pieces, but the fruit was so acridly sour she soon lost her appetite. Couldn’t Torvans afford to feed their royalty with something better than unripe fruit?
By the time they’d curled her hair into a dense up-do, powdered her face in shimmering makeup, and decked her out in jewelry, she was about ten pounds heavier. The sun was drifting downward, casting a golden glow over her hair. She snatched her locket from atop her discarded clothing before clasping it around her neck and tucking it beneath the neckline.
Clover’s gaze trailed the visible chain of the necklace. “Something you brought from Earth?”
Evelyn nodded. “My mom gave it to me.”
Clover’s expression softened. “I see. If it brings you comfort, I’m sure the King would be happy for you to wear it.”
Before Evelyn could thank her, Zinnia dusted her hands and perched on the edge of the mirror. “Well, look at that. You’re almost pretty enough to be Torvan.”
Clover whacked her on the back of the head, hard enough to make Zinnia tumble down before she caught herself and hovered to the vanity table.
Evelyn stepped back from the mirror. The dress material rippled and swirled as she moved, like liquid silver. The style was rather pretty: the sleeves flared at the edges, a snowy belt of flowers clasped her waist, and the skirt of the gown belled outward. It was even fancier than the frilly black dress she’d worn to prom.
She wasn’t nearly as ready to get married as she appeared. Her stomach was twirling so tightly that she’d be lucky to make it through the ceremony without vomiting up the unripe fruit she’d eaten.
A fist banged against the door. The sound echoed like the toll of a funeral bell.
The time of her wedding had arrived.
6
The Wedding
“Long ago, before the elves and dragons died… The King founded Octavya to protect us from the Malakrai… To fulfill the law ordained by his father, King Alaric will marry a Hybrid…”
Evelyn locked her jaw to stifle a yawn. The history of Torva had been interesting for about the first five minutes, but it had to have been at least an hour since the Duke had started, and her feet were going numb from standing in one place.
When she’d first walked up the steps to stand next to the King before the thrones, her heart had been roaring in her ears, its beat made all the louder by the absence of processional music. Torvan weddings seemed to be quiet, solemn affairs.
“King Alaric of Torva, you may crown Kimberly Smith.”
She once more took comfort in that fact that she wasn’t wedding him with her real name. Kimberly’s name was like a mask, shielding her true self from the King.
The King folded her thick, snowy veil back, giving her a clear view of the room. She shot a glance at the thrones. The bigger of the two was embedded with a golden four-point star and the smaller with a silver four-point star. The second must be hers.
The King turned to pluck a silver diadem from its cushion. With his back to her, she saw his shirt had two slits to accommodate his wings. The webbing of the wings themselves was crisscrossed with scars. In the dim light of his room, she hadn’t noticed them. Perhaps they were battle wounds?
The King turned around, circlet in hand. The band was made of braided silver with a narrow twist of gold interwoven. A silver star, shaped like a compass rose, sparkled with tiny flecks of colorful gems. It matched the silver star on the throne.
The King placed the circlet on her head, his gentle touch belying his icy, unreadable expression. A leather bracelet, embedded with some sort of silver coin, slid down his wrist. It reminded her of a leather bracelet Mason used to wear. It seemed awfully modern for the King of Torva to wear one as well. The cold metal star kissed her forehead, startling her back to the present.
“You are my queen and my beloved.” His voice boomed across the throne room.
A harsh breath passed her lips as her resolve to escape this messed-up marriage hardened. No way was she going to have a husband who treated her so formally and coldly, who wanted her only for the power she gave him.
The Duke conducting the ceremony said, “Kimberly Smith of Earth, you may crown King Alaric of Torva.”
The King leaned closer. “Remove the crown from the cushion before saying: ‘You are my king and beloved.’”
Evelyn offered him a demure smile and nodded. She just had to keep this act up for a few more hours. She could do that. An image darted through her mind: Alaric standing in a darkened room with her, while she was clothed in nothing but the nightgown. Her fingers twitched with the urge to grip her locket.
Captive and Crowned Page 5
