She strode toward the cushions, her gown swishing, and picked up the King’s crown. She’d find a way to escape her wedding night. Somehow.
The heavy metal chilled her hands like ice. Four golden prongs jutted upward from the crown. In between each large prong was a smaller silver prong, four in total. A different color of gem studded each golden tip.
Evelyn pivoted and nearly lost her balance, thanks to the heavy crown. At least her circlet was light. The King was already kneeling. She stopped in front of him and placed it on his head as gently as possible with her arms trembling. She let her aching arms flop to her side, stifling a sigh of relief. The King gazed at her expectantly.
Oh. Right. “You are my king and my beloved.” She hoped those words didn’t sound as bitter as they’d tasted.
The Duke adjusted his medieval-style shirt, making its bejeweled buttons flash. “Now for the hand binding ceremony.”
Hand… binding? That didn’t sound good.
King Alaric held his hands out, his palms facing toward her.
Yep, there were ten fingers. She decided against telling him so. He probably wouldn’t find it as amusing.
“Place your hands against mine,” he whispered.
She pressed her palms to his and waited. No jolt of electricity or warmth. She relaxed, glad he didn’t have the same effect on her Mason had. That only happened with someone you loved anyway. As the pads of their fingers met, rough calluses rubbed against her skin. Why were his hands so rough if he was a king? She eyed his large biceps. Did kings workout?
The Duke held out a bowl of little silver and gold ribbons tied into loops.
With his left hand, the King picked out a gold loop and dropped it over their right pinkies, which were pressed together. “I vow to protect you from any who would dare wish you harm.” He tugged on a piece of ribbon protruding from the loop. The loop tightened around their pinkies, tying them together.
But who would protect her from him?
He picked up another loop of ribbon and dropped it over their ring fingers. “I vow to be patient as you enter this new life.” He tightened the loop. The next ribbon went over their middle fingers. “I vow to guide you with gentleness.” The loop constricted. He placed a golden ribbon over their index fingers. “I vow to be understanding when you face trials.”
He plucked the last golden ribbon from the bowl. The silk slid over their thumbs. Their gazes collided, his emerald eyes shimmering with sincerity. “I vow to be as faithful as the sun is to rise in the morning and set in the evening, treasuring you alone as mine.”
She wriggled her fingers against his. The ribbons were so tight their fingers were practically glued together. What if she couldn’t escape? What if she were his prisoner forever?
In her mind’s Room, a thick, black cloud smothered the sun outside the window. Darkness clotted the air. She pressed the picture of her mom against her chest, until she was certain she could feel the frame depressing her skin.
No. She’d get out of this world and find her mom. She wouldn’t even consider failure.
“The Duke will place the silver ribbon on our hands for you,” the King whispered. “You say a vow before tightening the ribbon with your mouth.” His words drew her out of her Room.
“What vows do I say?” she whispered in English. After hearing the ceremony in Torvan, English felt strange on her tongue.
“For this part of the ceremony, the bride and groom say their own personalized vows. You may say whatever you wish.”
She frowned. “You came up with your vows?”
He nodded.
The ribbon slid over her pinky, startling her. She stared at the tiny slice of silver, gleaming in the chandelier light. The silk was flawless, smoothly encircling their pinkies. A tiny piece of ribbon stuck out for the purpose of tightening the loop.
A wave of ice water crashed over her. The King, no doubt, felt her palms sweating. The air was stiff with silence. She couldn’t breathe.
What was she supposed to say? She could mimic his vows. But she wouldn’t mean any of it. Her stomach twisted into knots. She couldn’t force herself to love anyone again, even if it was acting. Forced love, whether it was by her own choice or someone else’s, wasn’t love. She tried to curl her fingers into fists, but found them trapped against King Alaric’s hands.
The silence grated against her ears. Noise in the room echoed distantly, as if this were a dream. Tingles engulfed her, like tiny pinpricks against her skin. Her entire body pounded and ached.
She had to get a grip. This was just another part of the act. No big deal. “I–I promise to be a good queen.” Was it just her or had the silence deepened? Heat singed her skin, and she wished she could swallow her stupid words back up.
The King bent closer. “Use your teeth to grip the ribbon and tighten it.”
She did so. Now, for her next vow. What else was there to say? To promise that she’d love him forever? Just thinking of those words caused nausea to surge in her stomach. Her dress clung to her sweat-soaked skin. She could have sworn it was trying to suffocate her.
In her Room, the picture frames shuddered against the wall. The motion jerked her back and forth before she clung to her sofa. What was this? A mental earthquake?
“Kimberly.”
The voice which spoke her sister’s name was muffled, as if the sound had been hampered by wads of cotton. She ripped herself out of her Room—and immediately regretted doing so.
Everyone’s gazes were fastened to her, clinging just like her dress. All of those stares were too heavy, pressing down on her skin, her chest, her lungs. Her stomach felt tight and empty, like a knot pressing against her spine. Or maybe that was the knot to the laces of her lingerie.
Sensations blurred together, and she swayed. Was this what a panic attack felt like? Or perhaps extreme stress combined with skipping meals?
She blinked the King into focus as he bent to whisper in her ear. “Forgive me. I didn’t intend to put you under such duress.” He straightened. “Since it is not a custom on Earth, the Queen will not be saying these vows.”
There was a collective intake of breath.
The Duke shook off his stunned silence and leaned toward King Alaric. “Your Highness, what of the hand binding?” he spoke in Torvan.
“Slip the rest on our fingers, and tighten them.”
The Duke’s gaze cut to Evelyn. “But the Queen should—”
Determination sharpened his gaze. “Since hand binding isn’t her native tradition, you will bind our hands for her.”
The man fell silent. Then he dropped a loop over their ring fingers and tightened it. Then their middle fingers. Then their index fingers. Finally, he tightened the ribbon binding their thumbs. “King Alaric of Torva, you may kiss your bride.”
Evelyn stiffened. Oh no. Please no. King Alaric leaned toward her, and she clenched her eyes shut. Warm lips brushed her cheek. Then nothing. Was that it? She opened her eyes and peered up at him.
A soft smile curved the edges of his mouth. His fingers pressed lightly against hers. She imagined if they were holding hands, he would have given her a reassuring squeeze instead.
“Dukes, duchesses, marquesses, marchionesses, lords, and ladies, may I present King Alaric of Torva and his bride, Queen Kimberly of Torva.”
The bejeweled people stood and curtsied or bowed. No thunderous applause. As they moved, the thread lining their garments glittered dark brown-gold, red-gold, or a dark silver. Everyone wore shiny threading, except for the people in the back. Their weary faces and ragged clothes screamed “poverty”.
“Now, we begin the Hand Bound dance in the ballroom.” The Duke gestured to the narrow strip of red carpet with a flourish.
Alaric sidestepped forward. She stumbled, her legs trembling, before matching his pace. They walked down the stairs, across the rug, and left the way she came in—through a large golden door in the side of the room. Several other golden doors flecked the wall, big enough for a giant to walk thro
ugh.
Which raised the question: were there giants in Torva? She’d have to ask the fairies.
After a few torturous flights, the stairs leveled off, forming a landing for a few feet before they continued their upward march. In the right wall of the landing was a doorway. They walked through the doorway, and the King took a sharp right.
Two knights held a pair of double doors open, revealing a ballroom walled with creamy marble and decorated with golden accents. A chandelier dangled from the domed ceiling before ending in a burst of crystal and light. A tiny neighborhood could fit in this ballroom. What did they use so much space for?
“I’ll lead you in the Hand Bound dance once the nobles arrive,” the King said.
He led her to the center of the ballroom and waited as the nobles poured in.
Within minutes, a crowd had gathered, leaving them a wide circle to dance in. Music played from somewhere. This civilization didn’t seem advanced enough for hidden speakers. Then she spotted them—platforms dangling from the ceiling by large chains. Musicians on the platforms played a variety of stringed and percussion instruments.
The King stepped toward her and stepped back. Then to her left side, then to her right. He twisted her arm over her head into what her dance teacher had often referred to as the “cuddle position”. If their hands weren’t bound, he would have been able to twirl her. She kept her gaze on his feet, following his movement.
She slipped into the next set of steps, the tenseness easing from her body, as if someone had loosened her corset strings. While dating Mason, she’d forgotten how much she loved dancing. As Mason had taken more hours of work at The Spicy Enchilada, he’d complained that every time he was off, she was at dance practice.
After one practice in particular, he’d texted her, telling her that if she didn’t have time for him anymore, they probably shouldn’t be in a relationship. She’d stared at the message a long time before replying, Alright. I just won’t go to practices anymore.
The more she thought about Mason, the more ambivalent she felt about their breakup. She’d had some good times with Mason, but she’d also ended up sacrificing more than she’d realized for him—her time, her passions, and her friends.
Dancing now, even though she shared it with the King, restored a little part of her she’d thought she’d lost. When the music faded, the King led her to the sidelines, and the looming darkness returned to its perch.
He led her past the crowds and through an archway, which opened into a moonlit garden. Her breath fluttered, and her steps slowed.
What did he plan on doing? Making out with her?
He rounded a bend, and even the moonlight grew dim. The alcove was dark and secluded, perfect for what the King most likely had in mind. If she fought him, that’d totally ruin her good little queen act. But could she really pretend to enjoy their kiss?
The King slowed as the alcove coated them in shadow. “Kimberly? Are you well?”
She clenched her jaw. “Perfectly. Why?”
“You’re making a strange expression. Did you smell something unpleasant?”
“Nope. I’m fine.”
“And you’re also a terrible liar.” He leaned toward her. “What is it?”
She shrugged.
“As you wish then.” He bent and pressed a kiss to their joined fingers.
Her hand jerked with the urge to slap him, but she couldn’t move far with their fingers bound, and if she did, she’d likely incite his anger. She suppressed a growl at his forwardness. The least he could do was ask her permission before getting all touchy. After all, they were pretty much strangers.
His teeth tightened around the ribbon. He yanked at the ribbon’s knot, and it loosened.
Oh. He was unbinding their fingers.
He glanced up again. Even away from the moon’s watchful eye, his gaze twinkled. “What did you think I’d do?”
Her blush burned so hotly she feared it’d glow in the darkness.
When she didn’t reply, he removed the rest of the ribbons from their fingers. After he’d removed all the ribbons from both hands, Evelyn stepped into the moonlight, held her hand at eye level, and clenched her fingers into a fist. Little red rings encircled the base of her fingers, imprints left by the ribbon.
Alaric strode past her. Was he going to leave her alone? In the dark?
She scurried after him. “Hey, wait a second!”
He slowed his pace.
She caught up and walked to his side. So apparently he hadn’t come out to kiss her. Maybe he just didn’t find her attractive? Relief washed over her. Of course he didn’t. Anyone could see Torvan women were much prettier.
“Do you require something?” he asked, a suppressed sigh lying beneath his tone.
They passed an arched entryway leading into the ballroom. She squinted her eyes to see past the writhing sea of glitter and glamor. A pair of knights guarded each set of ballroom doors leading into the hallway.
Fat chance of her escaping tonight…
She glanced toward the King. “I guess we could dance again.” Though she wasn’t a huge fan of spending more time with the King, at least dancing would give her time to think. And aside from that, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed dancing.
“I have other business to attend to. Good evening.” He stopped walking, bowed, and disappeared more deeply into the garden, as if he couldn’t get away from her quickly enough. She saw his sleek dragon wings last, folded tightly against his back.
Evelyn stared at the spot he’d been a moment ago. She hadn’t been expecting him to reject her. In fact, she thought he’d be pleased with her offer to spend more time with him; it went with her good little queen act perfectly. Hopefully this meant she didn’t need to fear what would happen on their wedding night.
Evelyn ripped her feet from the ground and walked back toward the ballroom, feeling strangely disappointed.
She stopped at the edge of the ballroom, lingering in the garden’s shadows. Now would probably be an ideal time to start forming an escape plan. She could explore the gardens, but she had a hunch the King would have secured the perimeter. That meant step number one was making friends with dissatisfied nobles.
“Would you care for a dance, Your Highness?”
She whipped around. A tall man stood off to her left, his arms crossed as he casually leaned against the other side of the arch.
“Who are you?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she flushed, realizing how rude she’d sounded. “Sorry.” She dipped into what she hoped qualified as a curtsey. “I’m Ev—” She choked back her name. “Kimberly.”
The man pushed off the arch. “You meant Evelyn.”
Her breath lodged in her throat. How did he know her name? And more importantly, did he plan on revealing it?
A smile ghosted across his lips. “I’m Duke Draven, the Public Relations Official.”
She straightened. “I’m Kimberly.”
“Are you, now?” He strode toward her, stopping a mere foot away. He was so tall that tipping her head back to make eye contact was painful. Maybe he was 6’5? 6’6? “If you are, it seems you’ve shrunk.” He grasped her chin. Heat swarmed her skin as he bent closer. “And it seems your eyes have darkened.”
She could continue this charade, but it seemed pointless; he obviously knew who she was… and who she wasn’t. “How do you know Kimberly so well?”
“I’m the Public Relations Official, if you’ll recall. The man who chose the King’s bride.”
He was loyal to the King, and he knew she wasn’t the King’s intended. “You’re going to tell him, aren’t you?”
He stepped back, and relief flooded her neck. “I should, shouldn’t I?”
Should? As in there was a possibility he wouldn’t? But why? “What do you mean?”
He shrugged and extended his hand. “Care for a dance?”
Evelyn shook her head. If there were the slightest possibility he’d tell the King, she would have to escape now. “
No, thank you. I think I’ll get some refreshments.” She turned and strode into the garden, weaving around bushes thick with fragrant flowers. Tree branches cast webbed shadows on the stone path.
Footsteps pattered behind her. “The refreshments are the other way.”
“I’m taking the scenic route.”
“You’ll never make it past the guards.”
Her steps slowed. “I’m not so foolish as to try and escape.” Not yet.
“But just in case you were, you should know there are pairs of guards posted at each exit. They are more to keep assassins out, but if need be, they’ll keep you in.”
She whirled around to face him. “What do you want with me?”
His cocky demeanor faded as he shifted from foot to foot, like a high school boy trying to ask a girl out to prom. “You were born of your mother’s affair, weren’t you?”
Her body slackened in surprise. “How did you know that?”
“It’s my job to know of all things pertaining to the King’s bride.” He sighed through his nose. “I’m afraid this situation has become a terrible mess, but I think I can help.”
“Why?”
“We both want Kimberly to be queen and you to be returned home, don’t we?”
She nodded.
“Then we’re on the same side.”
“No.” She folded her arms. “You’re on the King’s side.”
“I’m sure the King will want to make things right once he discovers who you truly are.”
“Right. Because he’d just let someone who knows about Torva walk away.”
“In this case, perhaps he’d make an exception.”
“And what if he doesn’t, Duke…”
“It’s Draven. If he doesn’t, he’ll likely lock you up somewhere. In which case, I’d free you.”
She snorted, propped her hip against a tree. “Sure you would.”
He stepped toward her, and his eyes glowed jade beneath a sliver of moonlight. “I’m your only ally here. You have to trust me.”
She ran her fingers along the grooves in the bark. “Why would you go so far as to betray your king to help me?”
Captive and Crowned Page 6
