by Jill Myles
This was going from bad to worse. I grabbed her arm and began to pull Annja forward again, trying to soothe her. “I’m sorry. I’m just being suspicious. Likely it’s nothing at all. Alek's probably singing for his supper in the tavern and doesn’t want me to know because I laugh at his singing voice.”
Annja’s smile hesitantly returned, and she allowed me to drag her along. “You laugh at him?”
“All the time,” I admitted. “Doesn’t everyone? He’s such a happy sort – I can’t imagine him taking himself too seriously.”
She shook her head. “No…no one really laughs at him. Or with him.”
“Really? Why?” That seemed puzzling to me. Alek was such a warm, friendly man. I adored his sunny personality. It was infectious.
But she only gave me a shy smile. “I think you’re good for him.”
My own return smile dimmed as we rounded the corner of the street and saw the marketplace. Where there had been a few bored guards yesterday, there was an entire regiment today. They scanned the crowds of people, looking for something. Someone. My blood went cold and I halted in my tracks. I knew who they were looking for.
“Annja,” I said softly, and pushed her against the building. I still stood in plain sight, but she was carefully hidden from their view. I kept my eyes on the line of troops. My voice was low and even as I spoke. “Turn around and run home, as fast as you can.”
White with fear, she clutched my hand.
One of the guards saw me, frowned, and stepped forward. “You! Come here.”
“Run Annja,” I whispered. “Tell Alek what happened.”
And with that, I stepped into the middle of the street, my shoulders back with pride, and gave the guards the most haughty stare I had in my arsenal. I wrapped my cloak tighter around my body and pushed to move past them, as if I was heading to the market like normal.
One grabbed my arm.
I gave him a withering look and tried to shrug it away. “Get your hands off of me,” I commanded in a low, dangerous voice.
“Princess Rinda of Balinore,” the man said, giving me a brief, polite nod. Others moved to my side, not touching me, but their presence known. I was surrounded. The guard examined my hair and face, then said, “Your presence is desired in the palace.”
“I don’t wish to go to the palace,” I said in my most regal voice.
“It was not a request, Your Highness.”
I suspected as much. I turned my glare on the guards standing far too close to me, and gave another furious look at the one who wouldn’t let go of my arm. “I’m not going anywhere unless you have this lout take his hands off of me. Is this how you treat royalty?”
I expected my wishes to be denied, but the captain of the guards tapped the man on the shoulder, and he released my arm. They all took a step back, but didn’t give me more room than that. With the guards flanking me, I pulled my cloak closer and began to walk through the market street, my chin high and my posture haughty. I longed to look behind me and make sure that Annja had escaped, but I dared not check and give away her position.
Fear trembled through me – fear for myself and my friend, and I kept thinking of Alek. Had he been captured? Was he in danger? I had to protect him.
And so I marched to the palace to meet the usurper.
~~ * ~~
The palace itself was a sprawling series of cool white buildings, decorated with marble columns and nestled in the hills on the outskirts of the bustling city. Frescoes covered the floors with colorful tales, and the entire place was one of beauty and wonder…if it were not for the solemn-faced guards lining the walls.
This was a place under siege, a hostile place that had been overtaken by brute force and held by the same force. The guards seemed to be a cheerless sort, and I thought of Talis and Aleksandr - clearly not part of the new regime. They had enjoyed being soldiers; the men before me, armed with swords, looked as if they enjoyed nothing about their livelihood.
My hands clasped tightly in front of me, I let the soldiers escort me further into the palace. I was icy and calm. Early on, I had learned that when I grew emotional over something, my father would give me a triumphant look as if he had won some sort of great battle. As time went on, I learned to mask my emotions. So despite my anxiety of the moment, the expression on my face was one of bored disdain.
As I walked, I noticed that it seemed to be a place of changes. Beautiful tables had been flipped over into makeshift barricades, and soldiers glared at me as I entered, as if I were somehow a threat to them.
The troops escorting me led me to a side chamber, and then waited. One entered, and the rest stood outside the closed double doors. I wiggled my feet nervously in my slippers, They were so threadbare that I could feel the fibers of the carpet through the fabric. Alek would have to buy me new ones soon. Thinking of Alek made my icy demeanor waver, and I swallowed hard and prayed that he was safe and with Talis and Annja.
Before I could dwell on the thought, the double doors opened, and I slid back into my disconnected haughtiness. Arching an eyebrow at the soldier that reappeared, I watched as he bowed in front of me and then gestured for me to enter. I marched ahead, letting the sway of my hips swing my expensive skirts like the courtier I was.
As the doors closed behind me, I made note of my surroundings. This room was stripped like the others, and enormous windows made up nearly the entire back wall. They would have been lovely if opened, but they were boarded shut, yet another effort to make the palace into a fortress. A massive wooden table stood in the center of the room, curling maps dotting each end and a miscellany of dishes spread around them. One ornate chair sat at one end, and that chair had an occupant. I let my haughty gaze slide to him.
Enormous in stature, he wore unrelieved black and his looming figure seemed to swallow the far end of the room. His jaw was square and clenched with emotion, his brows heavy, his nose unpleasant. His hair was dark and his beard bushy, reminding me of the Scarecrow King. However, that king had been young – this man was as old as my father, and looked to be twice as unpleasant.
“Princess Rinda of Balinore, I assume,” he said in an amused voice that held a hard edge. “I suppose I should be honored.”
“You shouldn’t be,” I said in my most careless voice. “You should be honored if I came here of my own free will. The fact that twenty of your men had to march me through the city to the palace should tell you quite a bit about what I think of this ‘honor.’”
To my surprise, he chuckled, the sound low and humorless. “They warned me you had a nasty tongue. I thought princesses were supposed to be sweet and biddable?”
“Not when they speak to their inferiors, I’m afraid.” I kept the boredom in my voice, my expression bland. “We save the respect for our equals. I’m sure you understand.”
A slow, ugly smile began to cross his face. A tremor of fear crept up my spine, and increased when he stood up from his chair, moving to his full height. He stood at least a foot taller than me, his shoulders enormous.
“Do you even know who you are speaking to, princess?”
I pretended to examine my fingernails, but watched him out of the corner of my eye. “You’re the usurper who stole the throne here in Lioncourt, correct? Nasty business. Quite unbecoming.”
He didn’t lose that evil smile, though. It shone through his thick black beard. “My name is Xavien, and I am the commanding lord of the largest regiment of mercenaries in Lioncourt. My father was a byblow of the old king Renard, but he was never acknowledged, unlike the current king. My blood is just as noble as his, and my army stronger.” The cruel curve of his mouth tilted up into a sneer. “As for who truly belongs on this throne, princess – that is debatable. Some might not agree that the current king belongs on it any more than I do.”
“I doubt that very much.”
“Do you? You do know why he traveled so far to get to Balinore, don’t you? It wasn’t because of your beauty, though I will say that you are pleasing to look upon.�
� Xavien’s avid, pale eyes lingered over my body and I resisted the urge to shudder. “It was because his claim to the throne was spotty at best. As the bastard of the old king, some felt that he was not ‘royal’ enough. What better way to quiet them than to marry a royal princess of a neighboring kingdom?”
A bit mercenary, but unsurprising. I had wondered why the Scarecrow King had traveled so far. Now I knew. “So you sought to ease his mind by stealing his throne, I see? Very classy of you.”
“Now now, princess. You shouldn’t speak that way to your future husband.”
This time, I couldn’t maintain my bland expression. Surprise crossed my face, and when his smile widened, I recovered quickly and gave him a withering stare. “I am already married, sir.”
“Indeed? I have not seen the banns posted in the city proclaiming your handfasting is done.”
Unease began to creep over me. “You have not, have you?”
“Yes. It is a Lioncourt tradition that the priests submit the names of the handfasted to the king for his blessing. Yours has never come up; therefore your marriage cannot be completed in the eyes of the kingdom.” His eyes gleamed and Xavien began to stalk across the room toward me. “I am positive I have not seen it, because I have been looking for it these long days past. It has been my goal to find you and make you mine, and thus secure my claim on the throne instead of my cousin’s.”
“I didn’t marry your cousin,” I said in an icy voice. “I refused to marry such a savage, filthy beast, and I will refuse to marry you.”
“No, instead you married a pauper, didn’t you?”
I stilled. Had he been spying on me?
Xavien smiled, the expression completely without humor, and continued to move forward.
Though a shiver ran through my body, I held my ground. I would not let him bully and intimidate me, not even when he came up next to me, his form looming over my own. Not even when he put his finger under my chin and forced me to glare into his eyes.
“We intercepted the king’s party a week ago. My intelligence reports tell me that you were handfasted in your castle a few days before; therefore we only need to wait twenty more days until your marriage is annulled, and you will be free.”
His words sent a chill through my body. “You cannot keep me here as your prisoner.”
“Can’t I, Princess Rinda? I have taken the throne. I am now the king.”
I ripped his hand away from my chin. “My husband will come for me,” I snarled at him, completely out of defenses. This man was not intimidated by my nasty words or my icy demeanor, unlike every courtier I had ever met. He was clearly not noble…and I had no idea how to intimidate him into submission. “He will come for me and you’ll be sorry.”
“So your little husband will come for you?” The smile that curved Xavien’s hard mouth was evil. “That is precisely what I am hoping for, Princess Rinda.”
~~ * ~~
But Alek didn’t come.
Chapter Eighteen
They kept me in a lush prison – a guest room with barricaded windows and a door guarded by no less than three men at all times. I spent the first day refusing to eat or drink, my body locked in utter fear. But as day faded into night and no one came for me, my fear turned to nagging worry. Alek would know by now that I was gone…what was he going to do?
I never doubted that he would come for me. He loved me – it was in every smile that lit his face, and every touch of his hand. Instead, I worried that they would do something awful to him and I’d never see him again. That I would wait and wait for him, and then be shuffled out to marry Xavien at the last minute, only to find out that Alek had been dead for these long weeks. Those were my fears.
Days passed. A week. My prison was a polite one – the guards brought me tempting foods and drinks, and I ate small bites, hating myself all the while for being so weak. They brought me fine dresses and sent in maids to bathe me, and to wash and style my hair. They left expensive books for me to read and offered me needlework to pass the time. In short, they treated me like the princess I was, and I was miserable with fear.
I grew used to the knot of fear that clenched in my belly like a daily companion. I grew accustomed to it, but it did not make me easy. And every time Lord Xavien – I would not call him king – came to visit me, my stomach clenched even more, and my hope died.
Where was Alek? What could he do against a king?
On the eighth day of my captivity, the door to my room opened. The captain of the guard stalked in, and I sat upright on the bed.
“Princess Rinda,” he said, his tone stiff with courtesy. “You have been summoned.”
“What has happened?” I swung my legs off the side of the bed and hopped forward. “Is my husband here?”
He ignored my demands, and instead, presented a length of rope. “We are to bind your hands behind your back, princess.”
The dread in my stomach grew monstrous. But what could I do? So I crossed my wrists behind my back and waited as they tied my hands, trying to think of ways to fight against armed men.
“We must blindfold you as well, Princess,” the captain said.
“Do as you must,” I said, my voice clear and unwavering. The last of my hope burned away and I stood strong. I would not be a coward in front of them, or in front of Xavien, no matter what he had planned for me. Alek would want me to be brave.
They covered my eyes with a sash and I immediately regretted letting them bind my hands without a fight. I thrashed against their grasp, but it was too late.
Rough hands grabbed my arms and escorted me forward, and I stumbled down the corridor with the guards leading me. The carpets changed beneath my feet, the only thing that told me how far I had walked. After a time we paused, and I could hear the sounds of double doors opening. Then we moved forward again…
I was immediately thrust toward someone. I stumbled forward with a gasp, my body pitching as I slammed toward the ground. Someone caught me just before I did, but the faint scent of an unwashed body tinged my nostrils a scant second before I felt the rough grasp of Xavien. His hand tangled in my hair and tilted my head backward, and I felt his chuckle on my neck.
“Xavien,” I greeted coldly, determined to be regal.
“Remember me, princess? I’m touched.”
“Your smell does tend to linger in the air,” I said back. “The scent of baseborn filth is impossible to mistake.”
His hand clenched hard in my hair, yanking my head back so far that my back cracked. “You are a nasty piece of work, aren’t you? I should cut out your tongue.”
I pursed my lips angrily, saying nothing.
“Not so lippy now?” His low growl of a laugh echoed in my ear, and he steered me forward. “Come then. Let us begin the show.”
I heard the sound of another pair of doors parting, and then a breeze began to touch and lift my hair, and the warm sun touched my skin. I tilted my head, trying to recognize where we were – a balcony? The wind played with my skirts.
“Rinda!” Alek's anguished cry came from somewhere below.
I stiffened in utter fright, my heart pounding, my throat dry. “Alek?”
What were we going to do?
“Let her go, Xavien,” Alek's shout echoed around me, and I desperately wished he was closer. The ring of swords being drawn – a great many swords – made an entirely new fear pulse inside my body.
Xavien’s arm moved to my neck. I felt something cold and hard press against my throat. A knife. It dug into my skin, and I felt something wet slide down my throat.
Blood. He’d nicked my skin.
“Wait,” Alek called. “Don’t hurt her!”
I remained stock still, my mind fixated on the blood dripping down my throat. A bare trickle, but I let a shiver of my Birthright magic out. Please be lucky for me, I told it. I didn’t know if my magic could work in reverse, could make other people’s objects work against them, but I prayed for it. Be lucky for me, I told the blood sliding over the knife. Be lucky
for me.
“I don’t want to hurt her, boy. I want to marry her and secure my claim on the throne. After all, a king needs a royal bride.” His arm tightened against my shoulder. “But right now, you stand in my way and you leave me little choice in the matter.”
The knife cut harder into my throat.
This time, I couldn’t help the frightened gasp that whistled out of my throat.
A long pause, and then Aleksandr spoke. “Don’t hurt her.”
“Then lay down your weapons. Surrender to me, and I won’t cut her pretty throat right here.”
Fear shot through me – he was going to kill my husband. “No, Alek, don’t do it–”
The knife dug harder, cutting off my words. I tilted my head back, trying to avoid the blade, and whimpered.
“I yield,” Aleksandr said sharply. “I yield. Don’t hurt her.” And I heard the sound of a sword clanging to the ground.
The blood flowed thicker down my throat. Be lucky for me, I told it again. The sound of a hundred swords hitting the ground filled the courtyard, and Xavien began to laugh.
Oh Alek. What would happen to him now?
“Take her away,” Xavien said, and I was thrust into a pair of unfamiliar arms.
“No! Wait,” I cried.
No one listened to me. Another pair of hands grabbed me by my arms, and they began to drag me back into the building. The uproar from outside faded away and I could hear the quick patter of boots on the rugs, but everyone seemed to be heading in the opposite direction of where the guards dragged me. I writhed, frantic to get away, but it was no use. I was weak and they were much, much stronger than me.
Ignoring my protests,they dragged me back to a quiet room and thrust me in a chair. I stilled, waiting for them to untie my hands and the blindfold over my eyes.
The door clicked shut. Silence fell.
“Hello?” I said tentatively.
Nothing.
“Is anyone there?” I shifted in the chair. Now that I was out of immediate danger, the bonds cutting my wrists were beginning to throb. “Hello?”
