As if, finally, someone bears the weight of my burdens with me. I’m no longer on my own. It’s a novel feeling.
“I thought you’d be comfortable here,” he says with what I think is chagrin. “The castle’s being searched right now, and you’re in no shape to handle that.”
“Handle what?” I ask with an inappropriate little giggle. “My teachers and servants being raped and murdered?”
I giggle again, even though on the inside, I’m aghast. I can’t seem to control my mouth, though. Still giggling, I gasp out, “Oh, dear. I think I’ve gone over the bend.”
“You are overwhelmed,” the Agnidari says. “But at least you’re alive. Count your blessings.”
My giggles turn into outright laughter so uncontrollable, I have trouble catching my breath.
“Well, I took care of it,” he mutters with a wry sort of resignation. “You don’t look like you’re about to faint anymore.”
“A-Alive?” I manage to gasp out between giggles. “I’ve been be-begging for death! Blessings! Blessings, indeed!”
He huffs with a pained sort of patience, as if he knows there’s no point trying to stop my hysteria even though he hates it. Then he speaks, and it turns out he can stop me, after all.
“Well, the five other princesses he could have married were dead before we scaled the walls of their castles. One was only four years old. Slaughtered by her own mother.”
My laughter dies in my throat. I stare at him in shock, my nausea back, throat threatening to close up. He winces, muttering a harsh word in a foreign language.
“You didn’t know. Of course.”
“What happened?” I ask, trying to sit up in his arms, which proves hard. He holds me tightly, and I refuse to grasp his bloodied shoulder for leverage.
As I wiggle and huff, I jostle him hard, and he hits his elbow on the wall. The Agnidari hisses in pain, baring his teeth, and I freeze completely, newly terrified.
Gods, it would all be bearable except for the teeth. I hate their teeth.
“Just… Here.”
He lets me down to my feet, positioning himself between me and the door. I turn in a circle, searching for a way out, but there’s none. When I look at him, it strikes me again how tall he is. The top of my head doesn’t even reach his armpit.
“Can we do this later?” he asks, rubbing his forehead with a graceful hand, the black claws glossy in the golden light. “Magnar will start throwing things soon, and then, he’ll throw people. Your father is high on his list of humans to throw, so if you want to see him again, I’d suggest you go out there, say the vows, and let this be over.”
“Magnar? The Tyrant?” I ask, swallowing thickly.
The Agnidari nods, and I release a shaky breath. Somehow during all this chaotic interruption, I’ve come to understand what will happen to me. Not death. Not even rape, at least, not yet.
I am to be married to the worst enemy of my people.
“What’s your name, then?” I ask my guard to distract myself fromthe horrible realization.
He runs his fingers through his hair until a few strands come loose, framing his face. He’s more and more nervous. Meanwhile, I grow unnaturally serene. His hair looks soft. Nothing beastly about it, and the dark blue color is pretty.
“I’m Khay. I am Magnar’s first knight. Look, we really have to go before…”
It’s too late. Something crashes outside, something thuds, and screams break out. Khay says a harsh word I don’t understand, probably a curse, and grabs my hand. We fly out the door, and I desperately try to keep up with his long steps, fear and curiosity propelling me onward.
We burst into the throne room just in time to see my father crumpled into a heap on the floor, his cheek pressed to the marble, his tongue out. The Tyrant holds it in a pair of pliers, crouching by my father’s side. He grunts andpulls.I choke on my gasp. My father releases a horrible, animalistic bellow as his tongue stretches out of his mouth, longer than nature intended.
“Call my queen a whore one more time, I dare you,” the Tyrant says in a calm, quiet voice that slices through the screams. “Go on. Say it.”
My father tries to speak, but with his tongue held rigid all he manages are grunts and whimpers. I walk toward him, barely conscious of my steps, my movements dreamlike, and Khay follows, firmly holding my hand.
“Please,” I hear myself speak as if from a hundred miles away. “Please, let my father go.”
The Tyrant looks up. For a moment, he’s utterly still as we stare at each other, his silver eyes narrow with rage.
