She could make good on her threat to be a terrible queen for Alaric—and she was tempted to—but the only way she’d be escaping anytime soon was if he eventually trusted her enough to allow her more freedom. But given last night’s discussion, how long would that take?
After half an hour, they had outfitted her in a gown. The gown was snug against her torso and streamed past her hips. Back on Earth, this would have made for a lovely evening gown to wear to a formal. Camellia wove strands of Evelyn’s hair around her circlet, so it wouldn’t slip off. Evelyn eyed her red hair in the mirror. Red hair didn’t look bad, but… it just didn’t look like Evelyn. She still missed her dingy blond locks.
Zinnia buzzed by Evelyn’s ears and tugged on the dress laces, muttering how dressing Evelyn would have been easier if Adria had made an appearance.
Evelyn cleared her throat. “So if Adria is so often unavailable, why was she selected to be my lady-in-waiting?”
Zinnia huffed. “Ask Duke Draven. It was all his stupid idea.”
Camellia’s hand fluttered to her chest. “Oh, Zinnia! Don’t be so mean. Duke Draven is very kind.”
Zinnia snorted. “You only think that because you’ve been smitten with him ever since he happened to glance your way once and smiled.”
Camellia’s cheeks matched her rose-hued dress, but she didn’t deny the comment.
With a final jerk, Zinnia finished tightening the elaborate gown.
Evelyn fingered the hem of her sleeve, threaded in silver. “Is this actual silver?”
“It is, Your Highness. The silver thread identifies your status as queen. The King wears gold.”
“Last night, I saw nobles wearing other colors of thread.”
“Bronze for duchesses and dukes, copper for marquesses and marchionesses, and tin for lords and ladies.”
So you could identify someone’s rank at a glance. How handy.
Someone rapped twice on the door—not the one leading to the hallway but the one leading to the King’s room. Evelyn’s breath snagged in her throat.
Clover flew to the door and stood on the knob until the door drifted open. “Your Majesty. We’ve just finished dressing the Queen.”
The King’s gaze passively skimmed her. “Then she’s ready for the tour.” It seemed he’d completely forgotten about their argument last night—or was choosing to ignore it.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Evelyn rose to her feet and dipped into a curtsey. That’s what queens were supposed to do, right?
The King pursed his lips. “Hopefully after you’ve attended etiquette lessons, your curtsey will improve.”
Her spine stiffened as Zinnia stifled a snort. How dare he? She was trying to be polite, though admittedly she did have ulterior motives. The least he could do was the same.
He strode toward her and extended his arm.
She should take it, keep up her good little queen act, so he was caught unawares. But rejecting him would feel so deliciously satisfying.
Before she could come to a conclusion, he lowered his arm and strode back into his room before opening the door leading to the hallway.
Her mouth plopped open. She’d been considering rejecting him, only for him to reject her. A quick glance at Clover revealed a surprised expression that likely mirrored her own.
Evelyn huffed, gripped her gown, and hurried through his room and out the door before stopping at his side.
Two guards began to follow them, but Alaric dismissed them with a wave. “I’ve assigned a pair of knights to guard you at all times, unless I’m accompanying you.”
Making it all the more difficult for her to escape. She smiled. “How thoughtful.” Of course, the bright side was that hopefully no one would try to drown her again.
In the morning light, the marble floors—inlaid with a golden flower and paisley design—shone with fresh polish. Every ten paces, a chandelier dangled from the ceiling above. Strangely, the light wasn’t from candles but some sort of glowing bulbs. Perhaps Torvans used electricity? But then why was everything else so old-fashioned? The decorations on the wall were fit for a museum—with tapestries, marble busts, and paintings.
Alaric turned to the right, crossed the hallway, and opened a door. A puff of steam wisped from the entryway to the hallway ceiling.
She entered the room and saw that there were actually three pools. The first was the massive pool in front of her, its glassy surface reflecting light from glowing stones above. To her right, pillars of steam floated from a tiny, round pool to the ceiling, where it mingled with the light to create a fog of gold. It looked to be some sort of hot tub. The third was also tiny and round, but no steam rose from its surface.
“So this is like the pool room?”
“The Baths.”
Oh. These were the three baths Clover had spoken of. She knelt and dipped a finger into the warm water. It was yet another thing that brought Mason to mind; he loved swimming so much that she’d often teased him about being a merman.
She jerked her hand back out and wiped it dry against her dress. What was wrong with her? She was in a completely different world trying to escape spending the rest of her life as this guy’s bride—and of all things, she thought of her obnoxious ex.
“Evelyn.”
She rose, pressing the heel of her palm into her chest. Why did it hurt to think of him so much? He was a complete jerk. She should’ve gotten over him with a snap of her fingers.
“You may use the baths for no more than an hour. Any longer and you must be supervised. Going unsupervised for an extended period of time can be dangerous, especially for royalty.” He stared at her, as if he expected her to protest.
She shrugged. “Sure.”
A hard blink was the only sign he was surprised.
They turned back the way they’d come, and the King showed her the servants’ stairwell. The only other stairwell was a large marbled one, used solely by nobles and occasionally high-ranking knights. If she were going to escape, it’d likely be by using the servants’ stairwell.
He began striding down the hallway. “You do realize escape down that route would be impossible. Even if you weren’t dressed as you are, you’d easily be recognizable. Someone would report you, and you’d be caught.”
She was glad he was facing forward, so he couldn’t see her stiffen. “Of course. Escape was the last thing on my mind.”
“Truly?”
“Yes. I’ve accepted my place here, and it’s not like I have anyone to go back home to.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “You don’t have friends there? Or perhaps a lover?”
She folded her arms over her stomach. “Not anymore.”
“What about family?”
“My father and sister don’t care for me.”
He suddenly halted, and she jerked back to stop from bumping into him. The King’s fingers brushed beneath her collarbone as he held up the golden heart, its delicate chain curving back down to her neck.
“And your mother?” He dropped the necklace, and the locket settled over the front of her dress.
She forced a shrug, her shoulders rising more sharply than she’d intended. “As you mentioned last night, she left me. And if she left, perhaps she doesn’t want to be found.” Or maybe her mother was just escaping her father and had thought Evelyn would be better off with a billionaire—or whatever he was—for a parent.
The King studied her, nodded curtly, and continued walking.
On with the tour, then.
“Your Highness.” A servant approached, dressed in a white tunic with a golden cord tied around his waist. He dipped into a bow, and his low brown ponytail slipped over his shoulder.
Evelyn felt hope swell within her. Maybe the King would be called away, and she could search for escape routes without his scrutiny.
The King gestured to him. “Rise. What brings you?”
The servant straightened. “The Council has been speaking since your announcement this morning of the Queen’
s identity. They demand proof of her Hybrid blood. There’s been some controversy concerning whether she’s a true Hybrid.”
The King ran his fingers through his hair but stopped short of toppling his crown. “Evelyn, you and your sister share the same mother, correct? And your father is human?”
Evelyn nodded. If she and Kimberly didn’t have the same mother and Evelyn weren’t a Hybrid, what would that mean? Would she and the King have to divorce? That wouldn’t be so bad. Or were Torvan marriages permanent? “And what if I weren’t a Hybrid?”
His gaze cut to hers. “Are you saying you’ve lied about your mother?”
His eyes were the color of a deep green lake frozen over, making her shiver. “No. I’m just wondering what would happen if I weren’t… or if my dad lied about who my biological mom was.”
“You wouldn’t be able to return to Earth, Evelyn. You’ve seen far too much. It’s likely you’d be held prisoner somewhere within the palace, our marriage would be dissolved, and I’d find another Hybrid bride.”
Her heart dropped to her stomach. Well, that wouldn’t work. Sure, not having to be married to him would be nice, but her freedom would be restricted. Then she wouldn’t be able to escape. “Just wondering.”
The King glanced back at the servant. “I’ll be along shortly.” He turned toward her. “I would tell you to stay here, but I doubt you’d listen. However, I’d ask that you not wander too far. The palace is big, and you might get lost. In addition, I’ve yet to discover how an assassin breached our security last night. I’ll have someone resume the tour with you anon.”
The King strode down the hallway, probably toward the staircase used by nobles. He rounded the corner, disappearing from view. After ten heartbeats, she spun to face a pair of double doors.
At least the King hadn’t expected her to stay put, which meant she wouldn’t have to lie to him later. She curled her hand around one wrought iron handle. Each end of the curved handle was a clawed paw, clinging to the wood of the door. She heaved it open. The door parted a half-foot but refused to move farther. A quick glance at the knobs revealed why: a fine cord of rope had been looped around the inside door handles.
Was she not supposed to enter? Is that why the handles were tied together? A quick peek inside revealed it was a library. Could the King be hiding something in there? She glanced around the hallway. No one was around. Perhaps she could just slip in and out. After all, a library seemed like a great place for a secret passage. Or an assassin.
Goosebumps scuttled across her skin. But once the King’s designated babysitter showed up to resume the tour, everything she did would be watched and reported. Her best chance for finding something useful would be now. She’d just take care to watch her surroundings.
She squeezed through the gap in the doors, taking care to duck underneath the taut rope.
The stale air smelled of paper and dust. Enormous free-standing bookshelves filled the room, at least fifteen feet tall, and the ceiling was about two stories above her. Light from the massive arched window in the back skimmed the bookshelves. With no chandeliers or candles, the bookshelves cast most of the room in a swarm of shadows.
What was most unusual about the library was the arrangement of bookshelves. They weren’t lined up in neat rows. Instead, some were perpendicular or even askew with the other bookshelves. Some shelves were separated, leaving spaces between through which to pass, but many seemed to flow into one another without any pause.
Evelyn considered wandering deeper into the library but thought better of it. It was too easy to imagine an assassin hiding somewhere within the shadows. Unless she wanted to be assassinated, she’d best go back outside and wait for her new tour guide.
Evelyn turned, only to nearly run into someone. Her heart almost hammered out of her chest before she recognized him. “Duke Draven! You frightened me.”
The dim light of the library hid the glisten from his blond curls. “Apologies. I was summoned to continue your tour, but it seems you’ve continued without me.”
“I was just leaving, actually.”
The Duke shrugged. “You can, if you’d like. Or you can finish exploring in here.”
“But… what’s wrong with this place?” She gestured to the door handles. “Why are they tied? Do they not want anyone in here?”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
She swallowed thickly. “No.”
“Then there’s nothing wrong with the library.”
“What happened?”
Duke Draven fell silent for a moment. “I believe it’d be easier to show you… This way.” He strode forward, slipping through a gap in the shelves. She followed him as he took the pathway to the left. The bookshelves were like walls and the library a maze.
This passage was narrow, the shelves no more than two feet apart. The tops and bottoms of the book spines were softened and uneven, as if time had been nibbling away at them. A sheen of dust blanketed the tops of the books and the shelves. A lacey spider web had ensconced itself in a corner of a shelf.
The passage opened into a square-shaped clearing, and Duke Draven slowed.
Bookshelves enclosed the area, giving it the appearance of a small room, with a sofa set in the middle on top of a rug. The cushion of the sofa had been ripped. Feathers poured from the sofa and skimmed the floor. Her footsteps sent the feathers rippling and swirling around her. The corner of the rug had been turned over for so long that dust had gathered beneath it. Next to the sofa was a bookshelf, its top shelf empty. At the foot of the bookshelf was a pile of scattered books.
It appeared someone had yanked the books off the shelf and left them on the floor. But why?
She drew her arms around herself, hoping the self-embrace would warm some of the chill that had settled into her bones. The King seemed to crave order, so why had the library been abandoned in such disarray?
She knelt and touched a feather. Unlike the other snow-white feathers, this one was red. It didn’t flutter, but rolled as if the red substance had congealed on its vanes.
Her stomach curled in on itself, and she jerked her hand away. There was something so wrong about the abandonment, the disorder, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
Before she could ask the question eating at her, Duke Draven said, “They say the last king was murdered here.”
The red feathers flecking the white ones drew her gaze, and a shudder trailed up her spine. This room was a murder scene, frozen in time. “Why leave it like this?”
“Many were afraid King Vulcan would haunt the library, and the servants refused to even enter. King Alaric didn’t seem of a mind to convince them to do otherwise, so it’s been left like this for twenty-three years.”
“Wait, so King Vulcan was Alaric’s father, right? So how old was Alaric when all of this happened?”
“It’s been a few decades. Somewhere in his fifties.”
Had she heard that right? “Sorry—what was that again?”
The Duke grinned. “I can see no one has yet informed you that Torvans have an extended life span, almost four times longer than that of a human.”
“So how old is the King now?”
“Seventy-nine.”
She snorted once. Then twice. This was a rather morbid place to laugh, but she couldn’t help it. She’d never, ever thought she’d be married to a seventy-nine-year-old. Relative to everyone else here, her eighteen years probably seemed more like two.
“Now, are you finished seeing the library?” His gaze drifted to the pool of feathers, and his expression twisted, as if he were suppressing a grimace. “Though ghosts may not lurk about, this is hardly a place for a queen.”
As she followed him out of the library, she tossed glances over her shoulder. Just in case something moved in the shadows. The Duke stopped before the double doors of the library before crouching beneath the tied handles. He had to twist his broad shoulder sideways, but he managed to squeeze through. Evelyn followed after him.
Once t
hey were back in the hallway, he gestured toward a door on the opposite side. “That’s the infirmary. The Healer’s room is in the back. I suspect you’ll be seeing her often.”
“Why? You’re not going to try and kill me or anything, are you?”
“Of course not. You simply seem the kind of queen to get herself into trouble.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You want to go home, don’t you?”
She folded her arms and began walking down the hallway. This Duke guy was one of the King’s advisors. So anything she told him would go straight to the King—just like when she’d admitted to being Evelyn. “Which you haven’t helped with at all, though you said you would.”
“How was I to know he’d rather keep you? But I still intend to help, you know. I take it you still want to return to Earth?”
Sure he would. Just like he’d helped her the other night by blowing her cover. “Of course I don’t. I’m quite content here. No one back on Earth—” Sorrow gripped her throat, but she managed to clear it away. “No one back on Earth wants me.”
The Duke strolled at her side. His gaze softened, and the cockiness in his expression ebbed. “Your father likely can’t get past the fact that you were born of an affair, I’d imagine.”
She inhaled sharply, forcing her lungs to expand. Her dad most certainly didn’t want her. How likely was it that her mom did? What if her mom turned her away as well? What if all her grand escape plans ended in yet another rejection?
She shook her head. Her mother loved her—she had to. According to her Google research on mother-child bonding, mothers were wired to love their children, thanks to a release of oxytocin. Of course her mother would accept her. The only reason she’d left was because she’d been forced to.
“Your Majesty?” His voice jolted her back to reality.
She waved a hand dismissively. “Just Evelyn, please.”
“Evelyn.”
The slow way his lips molded the words made her name sound velvety smooth. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked him to use her given name.
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