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CHAPTERONE
Irissa
Somewhere between my mother’s death and my betrothal announcement—both of which took place this week—I’ve lost every shred of self-control I possess. Now, I’m storming to the throne room to berate my father in front of a group of nobles.
Etiquette be damned. What I want is an explanation.
“Princess Irissa!” My handmaid, Lizette, hurries after me, even though she knows better than to try and stop me.
My pride came from my mother, alongside my long, silver hair and icy blue eyes. My bullheadedness came from my father.
I’m going to give him a piece of my mind, one way or another.
“You’re wasting your breath, Liz,” I snap, my eyes burning a hole through the stone wall at the end of the corridor.
A few more turns will land me in front of the double doors leading to the throne room. Everything I want to say—scream—at my father bubbles just beneath my skin, burning to escape. I’m blinded by rage, ready to explode.
May the gods have mercy on anyone who crosses my path. I certainly won’t.
“Perhaps we should wait until after his meeting,” she pipes in. “At least that way, you won’t embarrass yourself in front of the nobles.”
Lizette has been with me for nearly a decade, but she’s only a few years older than I am. She’s always been the voice of reason when my life is chaos, and she’s talked me out of a million bad ideas. Deep down, I know I should listen to her, but I can’t do it. Not this time. This is a rare moment where her reason won’t take root.
Nothing will change my mind.
Even if I arrive to the throne room and stab my father in the heart with the blade strapped to my thigh, the punishment for regicide would be better than whatever awaits me in Ulleh. My betrothal to their prince is a death sentence anyway.
“We probably should,” I say, not slowing my steps. “But if I’m going out, I’m doing it with a bang.”
She groans, but I ignore it. I know she means well, but right now, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything, except bursting into the throne room and giving my father the biggest piece of my mind I can manage. Besides, I know she’ll forgive me for being hostile later. She always does.
The steady clicks of our footsteps echo off the stone walls as we tear through the castle, and Lizette doesn’t speak up again. She follows on my heels quietly, surely bracing herself for whatever commotion I’m about to cause, planning what she’ll do after the dust settles.
Her logical thinking is something I both admire and envy the most about her. Where I’m a chaotic whirlwind, she’s a peaceful lake. We balance each other out, which is probably why she’s been with me for so long, despite multiple job opportunities in the castle. We need each other.
Aside from a few sporadic paintings, every corridor looks the same. It’s easy to get lost. Ever-burning lanterns hang evenly spaced on the walls, and high, arched ceilings stretch overhead. A burgundy carpet trimmed in gold runs the length of the floor, but it’s so worn from centuries of use that we might as well be walking on stone. Its shabby condition is a tiny reminder of the current state of our kingdom.
It’s hanging on by a thread.
Our resources and population have been worn thin by years of war, and the enemies stalking our kingdom at night to pillage and slaughter our villagers are the same monsters my father has promised me to: the minotaurs of Ulleh.
They come at night, sneaking through the streets, leaving everything ruined in the light of day. I used to creep onto my balcony at night to search for signs of them, to raise an alarm if needed, but when my father caught me scaling the roof a few months ago, he had my windows boarded.
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he’d yelled in my face, which seems comical now.
What value could my life possibly hold if he signed it over so willingly?
Another flicker of rage sparks in my chest, and I quicken my footsteps.
My loyalty has always been to my kingdom and my people, and I thought there was nothing I wouldn’t do to protect them. I would fight for them. I would kill for them. However, being betrothed to the leader of the beasts responsible for tearing my kingdom apart crosses every boundary I didn’t know I had.
I’m no good to my kingdom dead.
When we round the final corner, I finally see the throne room doors, and the liquid fire in my veins burns hotter. I’m only a few moments away from unleashing the fury I feel.
I just have to hold it together for a little while longer.
Usually, three or four knights would guard the entrance to the throne room, but now, a lone figure stands watch. It’s just another reminder of what this war has cost us. We’ve lost villagers, nobles, and knights to the minotaurs, along with countless buildings burned and rations stolen. We won’t survive much longer if the invasions continue.
