AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Only one question: how much longer will he rot until I grant him my flesh and blood?
Squeezing my shoulders, I scramble out of the bed, throw a spider-silk robe over my shoulders, and rush from our room. I don’t forget my crown. Grateful I don’t bump into anyone, aside from servants, I hasten down halls and pause when I arrive at my old suite. But Franzy is not there.
That must mean...I purse my lips, then hurry to the Prince’s suite one wing away. I arrive at the door where I bite my lip but muster my courage to knock. All these weeks, these months, I’ve gone to Franzy, who sleeps in a separate suite from Prince Aydon, but I should have known it wouldn’t last. Not with how generous my bonnya sweetheart is.
Once Aydon opens the door and a faint smile crosses his face, eyes glinting and no tension in his shoulders, my suspicions are confirmed. Fully dressed in his Princely garb, he nods to me. I frown but nod back. As the Queen of the Talahn-Feyal, my status outranks him, however ironic. My crown is superior.
“Your Highness,” he acknowledges and swings the door open to welcome me into his suite where Franzy sits at the corner breakfast table dressed in nothing but a silken purple robe. She smiles at me beyond the teacup rimming her lower mouth. Her cheeks are blanched, curls ragged, shoulders lower fromfatigue.
Without another word, I bustle inside, ignoring the click of the door behind me. When Franzy blushes and smiles, leans in, and pecks my cheek, I deadpan with her, tilting my head to the side.
“Dynna fyash, Isla,” she scolds me, pleading with me to not get emotional, then winks, returning to her teacup. “You said all it would take was me removing my gown, and he would do the rest. It didn’t hurt much. He was very gentle. And no blood,” she reveals and slides her hand to cover mine. “I am not so breakable as you may believe, my Scarlet Skathyk. Besides, you haven’t shared a word about your nuptials.”
I sigh, cross my arms over my chest, and slump in my seat, huffing while remembering mine and Allysteir’s disastrous wedding night. And how un-orthodoxically quiet Kryach has been?apart from his frequent Death shades lulling me to sleep.
After tapping my finger upon my arm for a few moments, Franzy picks up on my body language, but her smile spreads. “I’m happy it hasn’t happened yet, leyanyn,” she expresses, squeezing my hand. “Though I’d never believed I would be the first following our marriage to men. Or royal men!”
“I was ready, Franzy. I truly was!” I gush, almost throwing my arms around her neck, masking the crack in my voice behind hardened resolve.
Franzy sets down her teacup, folds her hands on the table, blinks, and waits. More than grateful for her listening heart, I unleash everything I’ve held in since the wedding night. Why I’ve sought her more at our “Sweetheart Suite” and why I’ve avoided the King as much as possible. She’s never pressed, nor asked. My mouth turns dry. My throat thickens from my adoration of her until a shameful knot invades my belly since I haven’t given her the same respect. No, I’ve relied on her unconditional patience and forgiveness.
A few moments breathe before Franzy cups her cold teacup and screws her brows low. Finally... “How long do you think the Corpse King can remain alive while separated from his head?”
I blink. Then, the two of us double over, bursting with laughter until I throw myself at her feet, kneeling before my leyanyn. I bury my face in her lap while she strokes my hair. No tears shed, but I breathe heavily, emotion swelling in my belly and throat. After a time of Franzy allowing me to shiver with my face in her lap, she nudges her hand beneath my chin, urges my face to hers, and questions, “Nothing like it has happened since?”
I shake my head.
“He has respected your flesh?”
I nod. “He hasn’t asked to bite me once!”
“Or tried to sleep in your bed?”
“Not until I practically forced him to.” I recall last night’s events.
With a heavy sigh, Franzy purses her lips, strokes my hair, and advises, “Forgiveness is a process, Isla. It cannot be achieved or earned overnight. But perhaps all it requires is a crack of acceptance, a first step. You alone must decide if you are prepared to take the first step. Regardless, I will always be here for you, my leyanyn.”
It’s one of few times Franzy claims my mouth in a poignant kiss of her own initiation. I bow before her, flutters engulfing my belly. Forgiveness will come later.
Penance first.
* * *
I can’t fathom why Allysteir has blindfolded me when his Underworld is dark, but I don’t protest. As he pointed out: I love a challenge. I also ignore how his bony arm weaves around my waist to secure me as we ride upon Ifrynna. And how I’d promised to rip apart all his bones and feed them to the Cryth River spirits. I suppose this is my crack.
With my crown resting on my hair, I maintain a regal chin, chest tauter than a new bowstring. My expectations are high. Ifrynna pounds her spirit paws upon the landscape for quite some time.
By now, we’ve passed the Isle of Bones and the reaches of the Bone Sea, forsaking the tide and the scent of salt and bone powder, until we embark into the deepest recesses of the White Ladies.
Allysteir closes his robe around me in a gesture of shelter. At first, I part my lips, prepared to refuse, but I’d only donned a thin, silken gown. I cannot pretend icy bumps don’t protrude from my skin thanks to the Underworld chill. Beyond the blindfold, darkness congregates deeper as eerie fantasies. Welcoming his robes, I stiffen when his tunic brushes my back, and the Nether-mark upon my spine pacifies from his touch. Kryach quells its heat far more.
As if sensing my thoughts, the skull rouses blood fire to kindle my skin. From the barest edge, the mark betrays the telltale burn of his skull eyes. Always watching. Why hasn’t he come to me since? Why hasn’t he attacked me as he had on the wedding morn? No Death-maidens either. My skin prickles with the suspicion of a false sense of security. Surely, he will strike soon.
None can hide from Death.
Ifrynna slows. Her body stills from a thunder to a trot and finally to a sliding standstill. Her body gives a resounding jerk; the inertial would have toppled me clear off her three bone heads if Allsyteir had not secured me. My throat constricts with the knowledge, but I blink behind the blindfold, relieved when he lifts his gloved hands to the sash at the back of my head.
Once my eyes adjust to the dim light of the dome-stalactites shimmering hundreds of yards above our head and the pockets of sky offering moonbeams to slant through the expanse, I seethem. And gush! Allysteir stops me before I lurch and leap for the beauties.
