Twisted: Belle's Story (Destined Book 3)

by Kaylin Lee

  Could I flee to the Badlands? The same gentle moon shone outside the city gates, didn’t it? Surely, my father wouldn’t dare to search for me beyond Asylia’s walls.

  And yet, I shivered at the thought of taking my chances with the wildcats and wolves outside the city. And what about the violent, unhinged Badlanders? Who knew what they were capable of?

  In the Herald, I’d read that Zel had survived the journey from Draicia to Asylia alone, but she was the most dangerous, powerful mage alive. She could probably survive anything. Me, on the other hand …

  I opened my eyes. “Who am I kidding?” I muttered. I was the exact opposite of the sturdy, native plants outside the palace. Pretty, useless, and weak. Even if I made it out of the city without being caught, I’d never survive in the Badlands alone.

  Someone knocked firmly on my bedroom door, making me jump. I went to the door and hesitated. Who could it be at this late hour? “Yes?”

  “It’s me. Estevan.”

  As if I hadn’t recognized his deep voice immediately. “What do you want?”

  “It’s late, I know, but I was hoping you’d still join me for dinner.” He sounded as though he was smiling.

  I scowled. It had to be the third or fourth hour of the evening. My stomach had been growling for ages. Of course I wanted dinner. “That’s fine.” My voice was flat.

  I opened the door and paused as Estevan’s eyes swept over me, a startled expression on his face. “You look … well,” he said, a hint of red on his tan cheeks.

  What was that about? Perhaps I’d taken extra care with my hair and dress this evening, but it wasn’t for his benefit. I pressed my lips together and offered a small, shallow curtsey. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.”

  He threw his head back and laughed, startling me with the warmth of the sound.

  I looked him over. He wore a strangely rumpled suit. His dark hair was mussed, his jaw covered in stubbly shadow. He’d never been quite so disheveled at dinner before. Why did it make my heart beat a little faster?

  He offered his arm, and I took it, fixing my eyes on the hallway before us instead of his face.

  The feel of his corded muscles beneath my hand made the dark, silent hallway a bit less frightening than it had been earlier that day. Though I knew my father could still reach me in the palace, some foolish part of me wanted to believe that I was safer at Estevan’s side.

  We ate in his dining chamber. The quiet, sleeping city spread out before us in the pale moonlight and the sparkling gold of luminous streetlamps. When we’d finished, I stood first. “Will you take me back to that garden tonight?”

  I hadn’t wanted to smell rosedrops again after learning the details of my smuggling charge, but after today, I’d do anything to feel the outside air on my skin and the moonlight on my face. Perhaps I’d even pick a rosedrop or two. After all, it wasn’t the rosedrops’ fault my father had decided to destroy me.

  Estevan stood and nodded, an indecipherable expression on his face. “If you wish it, I will.”

  We walked the stone path in silence, neither of us stopping until we came to the small, bubbling fountain at the center of the rosedrop garden.

  I sat on the bench beside it and shut my eyes as I trailed my fingers through the chilly water pooled at the base of fountain. The crisp air and cool water raised goosebumps on my skin, but I didn’t care. It was perfect. I was alive.

  Even so, the wound at the back of my head ached dully, an insistent reminder that all was not well. At least it would be resolved soon enough. I felt my lips twist into a small, inexplicable smile at the thought—that miserable, humiliating injury would only plague me for a little while longer.

  Rough fabric brushed against my bare arm as Estevan sat beside me on the bench, and then a soft, silky cloth slid over my upper arms. I opened my eyes. He’d removed his suit jacket and placed it around my shoulders.

  “It’s too cold for you to be out in such a … such a dress,” he said, frowning.

  I laughed, and his frown grew deeper still.

  Well, who was I to protest? The moonlight and crisp air made me feel wild and unhinged. “Thank you,” I said, and tilted my head back to look up at the night sky.

  “Belle—”

  “No. Don’t ruin this,” I said softly, my gaze still fixed on the sparkling blanket of stars over our heads. “I won’t marry you. And there’s nothing you can do about my sentencing.”

  He let out a rough laugh. “I wasn’t going to ask you.” He leaned closer and nudged me with one shoulder. “Growing a bit vain, it seems. All the marriage proposals have gone to your head.”

  I shot him a mock glare, but I couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across my face instead. No marriage proposal? “Then what were you going to say?”

  Now it was his turn to avoid my gaze by looking up at the stars. “I wanted to tell you the truth. About me, about my reputation. I’ve tried to advance things between us too quickly. You haven’t had the chance to get to know me.”

  “I don’t really see the point of getting to know each other.” Why get to know someone who only wanted to use me? Besides, I’d be too dead to care soon anyway.

  He nudged my arm and sent me a sidelong glance, his lips twisting up slightly. “Then indulge your prince for a moment.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine.”

  “It’s been ten years since the plague took my mother and then my father. My father … he wasn’t a good man, Belle.” Estevan leaned forward and rested his forearms on his legs, staring out into the dark garden at some unseen point. “And he wasn’t a good king. His rulings were driven mostly by paranoia, by the desire to hold onto his own power. And in me, his own son and heir, he saw nothing but a threat.”

  I shivered beneath Estevan’s warm suit jacket. I knew exactly what that was like.

  “I only trained and studied so hard because I wanted him to see that I was an asset. But the more I excelled, the more paranoid he became.” Estevan shifted, face grim. “It didn’t help that my appearance was more Kireth than Fenra.

  “I was taller than most grown mages in the Mage Division by the time I was fourteen, and far taller than any Fenra boys my age. My father worried incessantly about the threat of mages rebelling, and the fact that I showed Kireth blood in our family line was a source of constant paranoia.

  “I had to prove my loyalty repeatedly. At first, it was through excellence in my training. Then, through silent attendance at the sentencings where he would ensure the deaths of his supposed enemies.” He swallowed heavily. “Then he required me to prosecute the sentencings on my own.”

  I stilled at the dark tone of his voice.

  “He was convinced the mages were against him, and that they could resist their True Names. Whenever he learned of mages who had dishonored him, even in a private remark, he found a way to charge them with a crime, and he made me responsible for ensuring they were sentenced to death.” He put his head down and rubbed his face with his hands for a moment, then looked back up, straight ahead, into the garden.

  It was too dark to read his eyes, but I found myself inching toward him, as though my physical presence could somehow keep the heaviness of his memories at bay.

  “The potential of a mage rebellion led him to form the Sentinels when he first became king. He wanted to have a force capable of fighting against the mages if they turned on us again. And when the plague took my mother, he unleashed his fury on the mages with greater intensity than ever before, targeting the healers who’d been unable to save her, the trackers who hadn’t realized the plague had infected the palace—everyone.

  “He put me over the Sentinels and insisted that I use them to prosecute everyone who he considered responsible for her death. If I failed to obey, I was dishonoring the memory of my mother and proving that I had been loyal to the mages all along, just as he’d suspected.” The bitterness in his voice sank heavily into the night air. “No matter what I did to prove myself, no matter how far I went, it was never enough. I was al
ways one step away from being accused of treason by my own father.”

  He fell silent. The quiet garden hovered around us, the rosedrop trees rustling in the night wind, the fountain murmuring its gentle, constant rushing beside us.

  I pressed my arm against his to nudge him to continue.

  He shifted to face me, but he didn’t speak.

  “Then what happened?” I prodded.

  He watched me for a long moment, his face too lost in shadow to tell what he was thinking. Then he faced the garden again. “I obeyed him.”

  My throat tightened at the raw pain in those three, quiet words.

  “I did what he wanted. Eventually, I found a way to limit the destruction when I could. I learned that the Sentinels were more loyal to me than to my father, and they helped me keep the mages and their families safe from further reprisals from my father. Many of the tracker mages who work with the Sentinels now are the ones we helped smuggle into hiding back then.”

  He sighed and sat back, resting his weight on the back of the bench beside me.

  “Then, less than a year after I took charge of the Sentinels, the plague took my father. We were finally free of his cruelty and madness, but I was only fifteen. The Procus lords were rabid to rid themselves of the kingship and take the city under their own leadership.”

  I leaned back against the bench as he did, and he stretched his arm out along the back of the bench so that its warm weight rested on my shoulders. I tensed, but I didn’t move. The warmth felt too good.

  “I had nothing to secure my power—not the formal title of the kingship, thanks to my father’s dying decree that I couldn’t become king until I married, nor the resources to rule over the Procus lords by force, not after the plague and the market crash had decimated the palace treasury. All I had was my reputation as the Beast. So I did nothing to dispel the rumors about me. At times, I even actively kept up the pretense and encouraged them. And for the most part, the Procus patriarchs left me alone.”

  Hazy memories flitted through my mind. Procus ladies gossiping about Prince Estevan’s legendary cruelty. My father, bitter and furious every time the prince came up in conversation. The Procus families hated Prince Estevan, but he’d managed to keep the city government stable until now. If the Procus lords had succeeded in overthrowing him, they would have ripped the city to shreds.

  “But now, after the Crimson Blight, and after everything I’ve done—I can’t let it continue. I want to fix things with the mages, and with Asylia itself. I might fail, but I have to try to make up for my past.” He rubbed the purple armband on his upper arm and sighed. “It’s why I wear this, instead of my crown. I never want to forget that my role as leader is to serve this city, just like the service mages. And so I never forget that I serve the mages, too.”

  He fell silent again, and I watched his face, painfully aware of the feel of his arm against my shoulders.

  He met my eyes. “I won’t ask you. You don’t want to hear about marriage, I know. I only hope that you’ll take the truth into account. I’m not the cruel man you were raised to believe I was. I’m not perfect, but you would be safe with me. I swear it. And I would do my best to be a good husband.”

  Burning heat stabbed at the back of my head. Of course, my injury would choose that moment to send a shooting pain up through my scalp. I gasped and shut my eyes as the pounding in my head came in waves, each one worse than the last.

  “Belle?” Estevan’s voice was distant and hollow.

  I pried my eyes open and struggled to my feet, shoving the jacket off as I went. The pain in my head was nothing compared to the reality of his words as they finally sunk in. He thought he could promise me safety? He had no idea. He couldn’t even promise me love. I would do my best to be a good husband.

  Why did sweet girls like Ella get love and romance, while I ended up with an offer of attempted loyalty on one hand and certain execution on the other?

  Estevan stood and faced me, his brow creased. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

  For the first time, I was grateful for my injury. At least it had stopped me from giving in to the moonlight and the warmth of his arm over my shoulders. My damaged head might make me weak most of the time, but tonight, it had kept me strong.

  “You were right. I don’t want to hear it.”

  Chapter 10

  “I just don’t understand why you won’t even consider it.” Ella glowered at me from across the long table in the legal library. “He can be a bit arrogant, but he’s not that bad. You’d be willing to die for the sake of your pride?”

  I rested my elbows on the table and rubbed my temples. “It’s not that simple. And you’re in love and engaged. It’s easy to talk when you’re not the one facing a political marriage just to save your own life.”

  At the mention of her newly-official engagement to Weslan, Ella flushed and smiled. Then she must have remembered our argument, because she forced the smile from her face. “Stop trying to distract me. You want to live, Belle. I know you do. So please, won’t you at least try to beat this?”

  I waved a hand at the books spread across the table between us. “What do you think I’m doing now?”

  Ella leaned back and crossed her arms. “We already went over these books. We found nothing that will help. Your father is willing to lie about you, and apparently, so are his witnesses, and because of that, the Ministry of Justice has enough to convict you. If you refuse to defend yourself, you’ll surely be found guilty, and that will be the end.”

  Your father is willing to lie about you. Did she realize what she’d just said?

  I watched her face as she followed the train of thought to its logical conclusion.

  Her eyes lit up with understanding, and then her mouth twisted in obvious anger. “It was your father.” Her brows furrowed as she glared at me. “It was him, wasn’t it? He’s the smuggler. He set you up to take the fall for his crime against the city. How could he?” She leaned forward. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

  I searched for a reply, rolling my pencil on the blank notebook page before me as I did so. “I don’t have proof. It would just be my word against his, and he has witnesses to call, unlike me. And anyway, if I dare to betray him …” I shook my head. “I can’t say anymore. Just stop, Ella. There’s no point in talking about this.”

  Ella pressed her lips together and leaned forward, her hands gripping the table edge like she wanted to shove it at me. “But I don’t—”

  “Stop!” My raised voice startled both of us, and I forced it back into a controlled whisper. “I said there’s no point.”

  Ella’s nostrils flared as she leaned back in her seat. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Your word against his? Are you certain you have no witnesses to support your story?”

  A thin man pressed his back against a wall as he met my eyes over my father’s shoulder. The man’s face was contorted in fear.

  I held my breath as my head began to pound. Who was that?

  My arms were pinned behind me. Guards shoved me out of my office and down the hall, toward the stairs. I was desperately afraid, not for myself, but for someone else.

  “Belle? What’s wrong?”

  I craned my head to look over my shoulder. My father followed down the hallway behind the trail of guards, his lips pressed together in a satisfied smirk. Relief flooded me as the guards hauled me roughly down the stairs. My father had left my office to follow me, which meant there was no way he had noticed the man hiding in my office—the man who had witnessed his threat. Ambrose would be safe, after all.

  I stared hard at the table and clenched the pencil with a white-knuckled grip. Ambrose. My only ally. My only friend. And my worthless, uncooperative brain had nearly erased him from my memory.

  “There may be a witness,” I whispered. I felt Ella shift closer from across the table, but I kept my gaze locked on the blank paper before me. “But if he testifies, he’ll be in just as much danger as I am.”

  “You have a witn
ess whose testimony would preclude a guilty verdict.” Her voice was hard. “But you won’t send for him because you seek to protect his life, at the expense of your own?”

  I exhaled and avoided her eyes. “Yes. And?”

  She scowled. “What do you mean, ‘and’?”

  “Well, what do you expect me to do? Sell out a loyal friend just to—”

  “Try!” Ella’s chair screeched as she stood up. “I expect you to try.”

  I pressed my lips together and glared at her. Try? I’d been trying to survive my whole life, and my father had used my own efforts to destroy me completely. How dare she accuse me of not trying?

  “At the very least, give your friend a choice.” Ella grabbed the back of her chair. “If your mysterious friend knew his testimony was the only thing that could keep your head attached to your shoulders, wouldn’t he want the opportunity to help? Let it be his choice!”

  “But if I betray my father—”

  “He’s already betrayed you!” Ella released the chair, crossed her arms, and glowered down at me from across the table. “He brought it on himself, framing his own daughter like this. If it were me, I’d rather risk his wrath than let him get away with it.”

  ~

  I sat at Estevan’s dining table and took another bite of fragrant, stewed meat. The warm, spicy flavors delighted my tongue and made me want to weep. One more week.

  Ella was barely speaking to me. She didn’t understand that risking my father’s wrath meant more than a family argument or a lost inheritance. How could I explain the utter certainty in his voice when he threatened to kill me after I helped Ella get to the palace? My father didn’t bluff.

  Butter next. I took one of the soft, floury buns that accompanied our dinner and spread it lavishly with butter before dipping it in the curry sauce and taking a small, heavenly bite. I had one week until my sentencing hour. One week to live. I was determined to relish every moment of it.

  “Enjoying dinner?”