Page 117 of Bride of Ash & Dust

His guard, Mel, stands next to him, frowning in a way that makes me feel like my skin is crawling. And beside Mel, there’s another man, wearing another uniform.

The blue and scarlet of Vsenrog.

My breath catches, and my steps falter. Owain pauses beside me, then clears his throat.

“Your Highness,” Owain begins. “The princess has an urgent message for you.”

No one speaks. I keep my gaze focused on my father’s scowl, ignoring the scurrying whispers from the people gathered in the throne room. I don’t recognize the broad-shouldered man wearing the uniform of Vsenrog. I also don’t recognize the older man sitting near him, who is wearing a formal coat studded with golden medals and watching me like I’m something the dog just vomited onto the floor. He looks like a diplomat. But why would Vsenrog send a diplomat?

My father shakes his head, then comes to his feet.

“Lilias,” he booms, making my name sound like a curse.

He steps off the throne, and Mel rushes forward to take his arm. My father pulls away from Mel.

“What in the hells are you doing?” my father hisses to his attendant.

“Sire, your health—” Mel begins.

“Damn it all, I’m healthy as a horse!” my father booms.

He steps off the dais, then crosses the polished tile floor toward me, his face like a thundercloud. I want to turn, to run out of the door, but that’s not how a princess should behave⁠—

My father hits me across the face. My head snaps back, and my vision goes white. My ears ring; blood spreads across my tongue. The room swims behind a veil of tears. Some strange, distant part of my mind whispers that this wasn’t how this was supposed to work. This isn’t at all what was supposed to happen.

“Whore,” my father says.

He doesn’t shout. He just says the word, almost like he’s bored with me already. My cheek burns as I open my mouth.

“F-Father—” I begin.

He hits me again. This time, I stagger backward. Owain catches me. My eyes sting with tears.

“Sire,” Owain says. His voice trembles. “It is urgent that we speak with you.”

“I have no words for you,” my father thunders. “You traveled with my son, did you not? You’re all a bunch of traitors!”

Owain’s hold on my arm tightens. When he speaks again, his voice is much lower.

“What are you talking about?” Owain says.

My father turns to me. Through the haze of my tears, his eyes burn like a forest fire. I feel like I’m sinking into the polished stone floor.

“You,” he growls. “Wretched whore of a daughter! The kingdom of Vsenrog wasn’t good enough for you, was it? The match I made for you wasn’t enough?”

My father reaches into his robe and pulls something out. It’s a piece of parchment, neatly folded, and sealed with a blot of red wax. He shakes it open and waves it like a flag.

“The emissary of Vsenrog brought this,” he says, thrusting it into my face. “Proof of your indiscretion.”

I can’t read all of the letter, not while my father’s waving it around under my nose. But I already know what it says. Gods above, I’ve read it before, sitting at the worst pub in Vsenrog with my husband, reading by candlelight the letter he’d just taken from Blayne. I miss you terribly, it said. The snake violates me every night.

Blayne. My tutor. My lover.

He wrote another letter. The realization sinks into me like a block of ice on my chest. The letter Zarek took from him was just one of many.

And this is why. To frame me for infidelity.

I open my mouth to say it’s not my handwriting, but nothing comes out. My eyes trace the blob of red wax on the back of the letter, and I wonder if it’s in the shape of my seal. Or maybe it didn’t even matter.