And it's hard to believe I can unravel it without it killing me.
I'm allowed only a single visit with Briar, which comes on the second day of my indentured servitude. Just enough for them to prove to me that she's actually here, actuallyalive, and to cruelly remind me of what's at stake if I can't figure out how to make myself useful to the ruler of this palace.
The palace itself grows no more inviting as I settle into it. I'm given relatively free roam, protected by the king because of our agreement, as he promised…
But that doesn't mean I can leave, so I’m still more prisoner than guest, as far as I’m concerned—andprotectedalso doesn’t meanaccepted.
Only a few of the palace courtiers seem to truly believe I have a legitimate dragon bond that could prove useful to their king. The rest are distrustful, at best, while a few are outright cruel, whispering about everything from my appearance to the city I hail from. And far, far too many are watching my every move, just waiting for me to make a mistake so they can report it back to their king in hopes that he’ll punish me for it.
Prince Arlo remains one of the few bright spots. He pays several visits to the arena, usually to play with Blight while I'm recovering from whatever torture Gareth has inflicted upon me on any given day. Even on the days I don't see him, he often leaves me little gifts and scribbled notes of encouragement.
I don't witness any more of his strange episodes of pain, or illness, or whatever happened on the day we met. He's mysteriously absent some days, though, and I see more than one doctor coming and going from the direction of his room.
Just a frail disposition, I hear some of the servants muttering to one another. No one seems to know why he's sick, or how. Elise snaps at me to mind my own business when I try to pry; Gareth always changes the subject; othersjust outright ignore any questions I ask about the royal family’s health.
I'm not surprised they have secrets, of course.
I'm just afraid of how deep and twisted they might be.
As for the king himself, he comes and goes at all hours of the day and night—he isn't an idle ruler, I'll give him that much. It's both a blessing and a curse to see so little of him. Because every second I spend with that man only reinforces my hatred of him and everything he stands for…and yet, so much of my fate, and Briar’s, unfortunately lies in his hands. So whenever I catch a glimpse of him, I can't help being drawn in his direction, like a moth to a funeral pyre.
On the eighth day, I rise early and with a vengeance, determined to seek him out on purpose.
A week. That was the agreement we made on the morning I arrived here—one week, and then we would discuss Briar's release and all the other rewards I was promised.
And even though I haven't made much progress with the dragon bond, I'm still holding up my end of the bargain, as far as I'm concerned; I haven't missed a single day of Gareth's abuse. I'm more bruised skin than not, with more failed attempts than I can count, but I've marched myself into the arena every single morning, prepared to try again.
After dressing and inhaling breakfast, I head for the small study on the second floor. This seems to be the most reliable place to encounter the king, during the rare occasions I've seen him sitting still; either there, or in the library adjacent to this room.
But before I make it to either of these places, the sound of familiar barking catches my attention. I follow it to a side entrance that opens onto a grand veranda, with steep stepsleading down into a small courtyard lined with rose bushes and flowering white trees.
Arlo and Ruffus are playing in this yard, the boy throwing a stick while the massive dog bounds after it with clumsy enthusiasm.
I didn't see the prince yesterday, and he'd seemed even paler than usual the day before that, so I'm relieved to spot him out and about.
And, as luck would have it, the king appears only a moment later—though I hesitate at the sight of him; the confrontation I'd planned isn't one I want to have in front of the young prince.
Quietly, I draw back, waiting for an opportunity to get the king alone. I sit down on the top step, where I'm mostly hidden from the courtyard thanks to one of several wide columns spaced across the veranda.
Peering around that column, I watch Arlo run immediately to his brother, Ruffus tripping over himself to keep up. The king scoops him into his arms and lifts him impressively high into the air. Arlo stretches his skinny arms wide, prompting Reave to launch him so high it makes my stomach drop.
Reave catches him, of course, and is easily persuaded to do it again, and again, and again.
It's a private, softer moment—one of the few they probably get away from the spotlight. I feel somewhat wrong for encroaching on it. But I can't help it; over and over, my gaze is pulled back to the king.
He looks oddly…human.
Maybe because it's the first time I've ever seen an actual smile on his face. Not a predatory smirk, but an honest-to-gods grin. Maybe it's the laugh that eventually rumbles out ofhim, which is too sincere, too pure of a sound for a monster to make.
It doesn't change any of the monstrous things he and his family have done, but it's interesting nonetheless.
A few minutes pass before anyone happens upon me. The click of heels and the jingle of jewelry, followed by a long-suffering sigh, tells me it's Princess Kestrel even before I glance back to confirm it.
“Spying on the royal family? I could have you executed for that, you know.” She leans against a nearby column, a wine glass in her hand. An incredibly strong scent of alcohol wafts from it—something much stronger than a typical wine. A bit early for that kind of thing, maybe, but I'm not one to judge.
I keep my gaze on her brothers as I say, “On the plus side, if I'm executed, I'll never have to speak with you again.”
She snorts. “Cheers to that.”
