Twisted: Belle's Story (Destined Book 3)

by Kaylin Lee

  “Who are you?” I yanked my arm back from his grip. In my memories, he’d been familiar and comforting, but right now, I wasn’t sure what to think.

  “It’s me, my lady! Ambrose!” He looked over his shoulder, a nervous movement that confirmed my suspicion that he didn’t belong at the ball. “I had to speak to you. Why haven’t you been to the bank?”

  Sharp, excruciating pain shot across my scalp. I squeezed my eyes shut until it passed. When I opened them, he was watching me with renewed concern.

  “What happened? Is it … was it the Blight’s attack?”

  No daughter of mine will show such common weakness. I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. “I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me. I haven’t had time to go to the bank, that’s all.” I considered leaving him in the crowd, but curiosity kept me in place. I had to know. “Who … who are you?”

  He frowned, the deep lines around his eyes crinkling. “Your secretary. At the bank. I’ve been working for you since your father made you heir to the bank, remember?”

  I rubbed my arms, suddenly cold. If I’d forgotten such a big part of my life from before the attack, what else had I forgotten? “That does seem … familiar. And just what did you do for me at the bank?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “I helped you,” he finally said. “With whatever you needed.” He opened his mouth as though to speak more, then seemed to think the better of it and shook his head instead. “You truly don’t remember?”

  “I …” A vague feeling of hope stirred in my mind. It was a deep, aching longing, a hunger for … for what?

  The shooting pain spread across my scalp again. I gritted my teeth until the room finally righted itself, and then I realized the thin man was gone and the room had gone silent. Had the crowd noticed my struggle? How long had I been distracted this time?

  A loud voice called out in the silent room, “Representing the first founding family, Prince Estevan, Crown Prince of Asylia!”

  There was a deafening rustle as the crowd bowed and curtsied toward the door. I managed to turn around and follow suit, just a moment behind the crowd, as a series of sharp footsteps entered the ballroom.

  My heart pounded in my throat. I felt blood rush to my face, but I took several deep, silent breaths and managed to get my wild heartbeat under control. What was wrong with me? Was I experiencing yet another complication from my injury?

  “Rise,” said Prince Estevan, his voice deep and cold from across the room.

  I lifted my head and straightened, willing the room not to start spinning again. The prince stood, tall and forbidding, at the edge of the ballroom. My mouth went dry at the sight of his well-formed, muscular body which filled out his elegant, black suit perfectly. His dark hair was slicked back away from his face, and his handsome features were set in an expression that was somehow both harsh and amused.

  As though pulled by a magnet, I took several steps in his direction, then stopped mid-stride, feeling inexplicably sick and ashamed. What was I doing? I searched my memories for encounters with the prince. I’d never truly spoken to him, not that I remembered. So why did I so desperately want to be near him right now?

  Whispers rushed through the crowd around me as the prince stood in the center of the ballroom for a long, awkward moment. He searched the room, his expression cold, his gaze slipping over the guests in attendance. Then his attention landed on me … and he smiled.

  I glanced around as he strode toward me, and I caught a brief glimpse of my father, fury tightening his face into stark lines as he watched Prince Estevan make his way toward me.

  “Lady Belle Argentarius, is it?” The prince smirked, and his eyes raked me up and down, as though he found my glittering, pink dress amusing.

  I curtsied. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Shall we take the first dance? That is the custom at this event, is it not? The representative of the first founding family leads the dance with the representative of the second family?” His smirk grew wider.

  I swallowed as a sense of dread seeped into my bones. Something about his words felt … wrong. “Yes, Your Highness. Though perhaps one of my sisters—”

  “Enough. They’re waiting for us.” He put one hand on my lower back and led me to the dance floor as Procus couples gawked and sped out of the way to clear a path.

  Each step toward the dance floor made my head throb, but I held myself stiff and straight to minimize the movement.

  He waved a hand to the musicians, and they began to play a waltz. With one hand clasped in his and the other resting on his shoulder, I had no choice but to let him lead me in the familiar steps.

  The room spun. Was the dizziness caused by the dance or my injury? Pain burned at the back of my head. To distract myself, I focused on my dance partner.

  He was tall—much taller than my father—with a narrow yet muscular build and deep golden-brown skin. His hair was thick and black, slicked back in the traditional Fenra fashion, but as we danced, a lock shook itself loose and curled over his temple. He wore no crown. Only a purple armband around his upper arm signified his royal position.

  The room continued to spin, and the throbbing in my head grew worse. I focused on the warm, strong feeling of his hand at my waist.

  His cheekbones were strong, as was his jaw. His eyes were hard and dark. I remembered that some Procus ladies found him quite handsome, others frightening, though that was probably more due to his reputation than his appearance. We all knew he’d been raised to be twice the terrifying ruler his father had been—violent, merciless, and lethally dangerous from a young age, especially for anyone with Kireth blood in their veins.

  The spinning grew worse. Why would he spin me so violently?

  The whirling room seemed to melt around us, and all I could see were his narrowed eyes, and his lips, which had faded from a smirk into a frown. His mouth moved, and it took a moment too long for me to hear his words. “Belle? Are you—”

  The spinning was too much. I shut my eyes. Darkness called to me, and I rushed toward it, relieved.

  No daughter of mine will show such common weakness.

  The memory of my father’s sharp words jolted me out of the darkness, and I pried my eyes open with a start. I was still in the prince’s arms, his grip tighter than before. No daughter of mine …

  “I’m sorry.” The words slipped out unconsciously, as though my mouth had freed itself from the control of my brain. My voice was hoarse and scratchy, barely above a whisper. “Don’t say anything to him. Please.” I ached to shut my eyes again, but I kept them open by sheer will.

  The prince raised an eyebrow, his gaze searching my face for a long moment, and then understanding lit his eyes. His well-sculpted features settled into a calculating expression.

  I held my breath as the music swelled into a crescendo before slowing to a final quiet refrain.

  He leaned closer and pulled me in tighter, his hand firm on my lower back. “I won’t say anything,” he whispered into my ear. “But perhaps you shouldn’t indulge quite so much.”

  I shivered as the music stopped. He held out my hand to my father who waited with tightened lips at the edge of the dance floor just steps away from where the prince had ended our dance.

  “Your daughter is lovely, Argentarius.” How did Prince Estevan manage to make a compliment sound so unsavory? “Thank you for the honor.”

  I curtsied, then rose and kept my eyes on the floor, willing the room to stop spinning.

  My father managed a bow, though from the corner of my eye I saw it was far shallower than it should have been. “It is I who am honored, Your Highness.” The soft, humble words clashed with the sharpness in my father’s gaze.

  The prince smiled thinly, turned on his heel, and walked back into the crowd without sparing me another glance.

  ~

  The fomecoach rocked and swayed, and shooting pain worked its way across my scalp like a healer’s surgical knife with every tiny movement. The night had still been
dark when we left Adrian’s, but the sky was just beginning to lighten with the promise of dawn as we drew near our compound.

  My father sat beside me, silent and pensive, his lips pressed into a thin, furious line. Something was horribly wrong. My sisters sat across from us, drawn into themselves, quiet and unmoving, as though afraid to draw attention to their side of the coach.

  I squeezed my fist subtly in my lap, letting my nails carve into my palm again as the shimmering pink dress spilled over my knees in magical waves. Blackness beckoned to me from the edge of my vision, but I held it at bay by the sheer strength of my fear.

  Finally, he spoke. “We were to be honored as the first family.” He leaned closer to me, then grabbed me by the jaw in a bruising grip and held me so I couldn’t turn away. “Our family—the family that has done the most to build up this ungrateful city through commerce. Not that line of worthless royal leeches.”

  I stared silently into his furious face as an inferno of pain burned at the back of my head.

  “If you attract his advances again, I will not be merciful.” He released my jaw with such force my head slammed back against the wall of the fomecoach.

  My scalp seized with pain as I nodded helplessly. What had I possibly done to attract the prince in the first place?

  Then the fomecoach drew to a stop in front of our villa, and he stormed from the coach.

  I released a breath, too shaken to move from the seat and take the silent driver’s proffered hand.

  Jade stood and took his hand instead. “Wonder how much longer our little heiress will last, Kaia.”

  Kaia glanced at me. “Not much longer.” Her disinterested gaze flicked away from me, and then she followed Jade out of the coach.

  I shut my eyes and leaned back, but the darkness was too compelling. I had to make it to my room, or I would never leave this coach. I opened my eyes and leaned forward, taking the driver’s hand and letting him help me from the coach. Kaia and Jade were nowhere to be seen. How long had my eyes been shut?

  The driver placed a hand under my elbow. “This way, my lady.” His voice held a gentleness that made me want to grind my teeth. Even the servants pitied me.

  He helped me across cobblestones slick with morning dew to the front door of our villa, where Petrina met me and supported me to my room without a word.

  She placed a soft hand on my head. A cool wave washed over me, and then the elaborate hair-do slipped down into soft, loose waves, bringing relief to my wound at last.

  When she left, I curled up on my side in the enormous, pink bed and tried to ignore the throbbing pain in the back of my head.

  Would my father always frighten me so? Would he always rule over me?

  No! A voice in my head said firmly. I’d had a plan once. I’d had hope for the future—for something different. Hadn’t I?

  The more I grasped for that missing plan, the further it slipped from my mind. Whatever my hope had been, it was gone now.

  Chapter 3

  The last thing I remembered was the sight of the palace gates closing as a mob of angry commoners grabbed me and pulled me down.

  Less than a week after my father woke me up for the Founder’s Day celebration, I’d helped Ella get to the palace to warn Prince Estevan about the Crimson Blight. Then I’d been kicked out of the palace, at the mercy of a crazed mob outside the palace gates.

  I stirred in my bed, struck by the sensation that I’d already been in this situation once before.

  My eyes cracked open, then shut. The back of my head pounded.

  I opened my eyes again and peered up at the pale mage hovering over me. Healer, my broken mind whispered. That was good—right?

  The unfamiliar healer was a timid, pale mage with long, stringy blond hair and an ill-fitting white shirt. He fluttered his hands nervously as I pulled myself into an awkward sitting position on my plush, too-soft bed. The wound burned as painfully as ever. I groaned aloud. He may have healed me from whatever injuries the mob outside the palace had caused, but he’d left the damage from the Blight’s attack unhealed.

  “—only to wake you, my lady, not to finish healing you … your father’s orders … I’m sure you’ll be fine. I’m certain. Almost certain. You’ll probably be fine.” He whispered the words without meeting my eyes, glancing over his shoulder more than once as he spoke, though the door was shut and there was no one else in the room.

  “I see.”

  “He has requested your presence in his study, my lady.” The mage’s eyes flicked nervously around the room. “Now. We must not delay.”

  Requested. What a nice way of putting it.

  I shoved my legs off the bed, curling my lip at the sight of the wrinkled, dirt-stained gold dress pooling around my feet. “Call my appearance mage.” I couldn’t go to my father still wearing the dress from the selection ball. He despised any shortcoming in grooming. It would only make me look weaker.

  “No time. You are to come right now, he said.” The mage put a sweaty hand on my back and shoved me to my feet with surprising force.

  I gripped his shoulder to steady myself as my bedroom spun around me, a whirling storm of pink, gold, and bright white light. Morning. It must be morning already, which meant at least a day had passed. Ella must have stopped the mages, or my father would have more to worry about than his disgraceful daughter. I could take comfort in that, at least. The Crimson Blight’s rebellion had been cut off. Whatever my father would do to me, the risk had been worth it to save the city. Right?

  I stumbled through the long hallway outside my room as the healer gripped my elbow, hauling me along with nervous, shaky urgency. From the way his fingers ground into my arm, I couldn’t tell if he meant to support me or drag me to my father. The walls continued to swim, so I focused straight ahead. When we reached the door to his study, I shook off the mage’s hand and shot him a glare.

  He stepped back and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly.

  I knocked once. “Father?”

  “Inside, Belle.” Even muffled by the door, I could hear the growl in his voice.

  I pushed the door open. It swung silently into the study, brushing gently against the thick carpet that covered the entry.

  The hot, yeasty smell of powerful spirits hit me like a wall, and I held my breath to keep from coughing.

  “Close the door.”

  I shut the door behind me with a trembling hand, then hid it in the wrinkled fold of my gold skirt. It was so dark, it took several breaths for my eyes to adjust.

  The study was oppressively warm. Dust floated in several narrow threads of daylight that speared through the dark curtains covering the windows. My father sat beside an empty suffio hearth, slouching in his favorite leather chair. His hair, usually so neat, fell over his forehead in a stringy mix of black and grey strands.

  I came to a halt several steps from his chair. “You wished to see me, Father?”

  “Tell me, Belle, why do you despise me?” His voice was deceptively quiet.

  I swallowed. “I don’t despise you.”

  “I’ve given you everything.” He stared into his cup, frowning as he swirled the amber liquid. “Provided you with unthinkable freedom. Offered you everything you could ever possibly desire—wealth and privilege beyond anything any lady in this city has ever known.” His nostrils flared. “I even bucked tradition and made you my heir.”

  “And I’m grateful—”

  “I’m not finished,” he roared, lurching to his feet.

  I shrank back.

  “It was the most important moment of your existence.” His voice dropped to a low hiss as he advanced toward me. “All you had to do was stay in the villa and keep out of the way. I had Falconus on the brink of surrender when I got word of the mob and was forced to call a truce. I sent my best men to rescue my precious youngest daughter from an escapade at the palace gates.”

  “Not an escapade, Father.” My voice crept up. “I had word of the Crimson Blight’s imminent attack on Princ
e Estevan’s life. I had to do something.”

  His eyes widened, and he raised his eyebrows incredulously. “You had to do something? What is wrong with you, child? In a single day, I could have rid myself of our two closest rivals. I would have been the obvious choice for a new ruler once the prince was out of the way. Our family would have been first in this stricken city—finally given the honor we’ve been owed for centuries.”

  “Father …”

  He shook his head. “Perhaps the damage to your brain has left it unsalvageable, after all.”

  Unsalvageable. The back of my head throbbed in agreement.

  “I blame myself. I coddled you. Encouraged your willfulness, your strength.” He reached out with his free hand and pulled a loose strand of hair away from my face, running it through his fingers with a wistful sigh. “I didn’t discipline you enough.”

  I couldn’t breathe.

  He dropped his hand, then paced away and set his glass on the mantle. When he turned back, he was rolling up his shirtsleeves. “You used to be my favorite daughter—my heir. You’re no longer either of those things.” He stopped in front of me and bent his head to inspect the palm of his hand, then shook his head. “You’ve ruined years of negotiations with Lord Galanos and your other suitors. A tragic waste indeed.”

  “I’m so sorry, Father.” My voice was a raw whisper.

  He nodded once, a curt, self-assured gesture, as though more to himself than me. Then he swung back his hand and slapped me hard across the face.

  I stumbled from the force of the blow. The dark wood walls of the study spun around me, and the pain in the back of my head faded in comparison to the sharp burning agony in my cheek. I clutched my face. For the first time in years, I felt tears come to my eyes. I’d endured countless humiliations and torments before, but not this. Never this.

  “You’ll bruise.” My father's voice was dark and empty, without the slightest hint of emotion. “The new healer will remove it in the morning, and then you’ll be back to your work at the bank. We’ll see if you have anything left to contribute. I’ve been far too lenient with you, and that ends now.”