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“Get out,” I said, pointing at the door.
In her eyes, there was a momentary hesitation. An impasse. An uncertainty. A doubt.
“Out,” I repeated. “Unless the King himself ordered you to do my hair, it’s my word you’re bound to listen to. So get the hell out of this room before I have you stoned for disobedience. Or hanged for mistreatment of a royal.”
The words felt like they were coming from some other woman’s mouth, but whoever she was, I was damned grateful to have her inside me. The attendant dropped her head and did a quick curtsy, then scurried to the door.
I needed to be alone. I wasn’t some show horse and if I walked down that aisle, I was going to do it with messy hair and dirt on my cheeks.
As the thought of Vasile once again had me on the verge of tears, the door flew open behind me.
Spinning around in surprise, I was confronted with a ghostly but familiar face.
“Natasha! Thank God!” I said, my heart leaping at the sight of my room mate from the school. “I don’t know what to do.”
But she was different. Frailer. And the look in her eyes was vacant, like she wasn’t quite sure where she was.
“What happened to you?” I asked, backing up as shards of glass crunched beneath my boots. “You don’t look like you.”
“Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been?” Natasha said, looking wild-eyed and strange. Her glances kept darting to me and then away, like she couldn’t focus on any one thing for more than a second at once. “How dare you, Valeria? Running away like that! And with Petre’s own brother. Do you wish to humiliate your family?”
Her voice was trembling, high and unsure, and the words came out in strange little rushes, like she’d memorized tiny chunks of a script but couldn’t remember the whole sentence.
I held her arm, as I had done so many times before, to try to calm her. But she snatched her wrist back from me, gripping it tightly. That gesture drew my attention the exactly place she was trying to hide, I realized. Beneath her bony fingers I saw angry purple bruises.
“Who hurt you?” I said, trying to pull her into me again.
“No one!” she shrieked. “It’s just like you, isn’t it? Being handed everything and then pissing all over it? You’ve never known how lucky you are! Never!”
I was horrified and stunned. I had long suspected that something was going on with her, but never had she been so unpredictable.
Then, it dawned on me. An explanation that made sense. And I knew who had to be behind it. Of course, Petre would want eyes close to me, and who better than my roommate? He had drugged her. He had forced her to work for him in order to keep getting them. But had he…
Oh, God, the thought made me sick. The rumors about how Petre treated his women, about how he used them up and cast them aside when he was done. But not Natasha? Not the sweet girl I’d been friends with all these years?
“Let’s just sit down for a second,” I said, taking a seat on the window bench. “Please. Sit here with me.”
Natasha hovered there, staring at me, wobbling like a hanging marionette. I didn’t know if she was going to start screaming me again or collapse to the floor, but before I had a chance to find out, the door swung open once again, and my so-called “bridesmaids” rushed into the room. Though their dresses were deep blue, the fabric had a grayish sheen; the way they moved, like a quiet pack, reminded me of half a dozen rats, all acting and thinking as one.
The women seized me, and this time my protests and orders fell on completely deaf ears. Before I knew it, they’d hauled me through the graveyard, and down a path that led to the front of the cathedral. At the steps of the big church, they jammed a bouquet in my hand, opened the cathedral doors…and shoved me inside.
Stumbling forward, I raised my face to the sound of a hundred pews squeaking as the assembled guests rose and turned to face me. The organ bellowed the traditional Praquean bride’s march, but the organ was off tune and it sounded more like a funeral dirge than anything else.
I wanted nothing more than to turn and run, and I was about to do it. But there, at the end of the long aisle, decorated in silks and flowers, were my parents, waiting for me by the altar.
My heart dropped. My father looked pale, shaken, and unkempt. My mother looked thinner than ever, seated in a special chair beside him. She was clearly too weak to stand, even for this.
As if I had been winded once again, all the fight drained out of me when I laid eyes on them, which I was sure was the point. To remind me of what I stood to lose. My father looked terrified. Quite literally, scared to death. With his eyes, he urged me forward, shooting sidelong glances at Petre, who stood there waiting as well.
