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His boots clap against the marble floor as he closes the distance between us—now fully dressed—and upon reaching me, he cups the side of my face in the palm of his hand. “I don’t want to have to watch you die.”
“Then close your eyes. It’s in the fates’ hands now, and should their spirits let me live, I’ll wear someone else’s last name by morning. Either way, this is the end of us.”
He nods his understanding, pressing his lips together before placing a gentle peck against my forehead. As much as he wants to savor this moment, I have to pay off a witch doctor before meeting my suitors in the ballroom.
“I’ll see you in there,” he says, dropping his gaze to the floor as he takes a step back.
“It better be by my father’s side and not because you pledged to enter the gauntlet.”
“We’ll have to see.” With that, he’s out the door, sneaking down the hall without a single witness.
I watch him go, the silence of his footsteps soothing me as his form disappears around a corner at the end of the hall. The sun has set now, casting long shadows across my room. A breeze drifts in through the window, carrying the scent of sweetgrass and lavender. I inhale deeply, letting the fragrance calm my racing heart.
Even as I close my eyes and try to find some peace, I know that Zelix’s words have stirred something within me. His questions about the future, about the endless cycle of violence and death that seems to define our realm—they are ones that have been on my mind for quite some time.
And yet, I have no answers.
I let the sheet fall to the floor, my body still humming with a strange mix of desire and fear of what is to come. I wonder if anyone else in my family has ever had doubts about the traditions we uphold, and the sacrifices we make for the sake of peace. Perhaps they have, but they never voiced them. Not that they would’ve had a chance to. As soon as a gauntlet is announced, the promised daughter is separated from the rest of the king’s daughters. We’re not allowed to speak to one another until after the wedding.
Biting my bottom lip, I try to push those thoughts aside. There’s work to be done. Slipping on a thin gown, I make myself presentable and don a thick cloak, pulling the strings tight around my throat. The nights get cold here, and the fabric might offer me some discretion should I run into one of my sisters, or worse, my father in the hallways. They’d suspect something if they caught me visiting the healers without a valid reason, and here, an accusation might as well be a conviction.
Moving down the hall, I wind through the labyrinth of stone walls and stairwells, until finally, I come face to face with Amara’s door. Knocking quietly, I wait for the rustle of feet and the click of the lock, but she doesn’t bother to invite me inside. Instead, she slips a note through the cracked door. I take it, feeling something other than paper wound up inside of it.
I don’t dare open it here. Amara’s hand waits for me to fill it with the sack of gold coins, and once she’s been paid, the door shuts without a word or a mumbled goodbye. Shoving the folded note in my cloak pocket, I return to my room, and no sooner do I make it inside, I’m ripping the note open without care.
‘Here are the herbs. Put them in your tea. It will last for one tick of the sun, so use it right before they come to check. I’ll miss you. -Amara
She’d been one of my closest friends before joining the healers. We used to spend hours talking, strolling through the gardens, or getting lost in the castle library. Once she joined the Bekorium Order, she wasn’t allowed to do such things. It didn’t stop us from exchanging notes, though, or from her helping me now.
Rolling the sachet of herbs in my hand, I bring it to my nose. Amara has never steered me wrong before, and I hope that won’t change. The pungent aroma fills my nostrils, making me grimace. It’s amazing what a simple concoction can do, and this will supposedly make it appear as if I’m just losing my virginity, rather than having lost it years ago to Zelix. That is, assuming I survive to see the examination. The odds aren’t great, but I’d rather be prepared.
The truth is, I have no idea what will come of tomorrow. The only thing that is certain for me is this has to happen. And if I’m going to play the part of sacrificial lamb, I might as well maintain some dignity and not spend my final moments chained to my throne.
2
Hook
Smee’ssharpwhisperjoltsme from my trance. I nearly drop my spyglass into the sea below, jostled by the rolling waves that rock our ship.
“Looks like we’ve got company,” she says, her dark curls whipping in the wind.
“It would appear so.” I wipe away the saltwater beading on my brow, but it’s pointless. With the choppy waves crashing against the hull of our ship, everything above deck is covered in it.
The sharpness of her glare bores into the side of my face as if it's the tip of a dagger, and when I meet it, her lips purse. She’s out for blood today.
“I know that look.” Pushing off of the wooden rail of the Jolly Roger, I shake my head. Nothing good could come of this conversation, not when she’s in a mood, ready to lecture until her tongue goes numb.
“You know nothing.”
“Is that so?” Raising a thick eyebrow, I halt and Smee plows into my back. For as talented as she is with a sword, by the gods, she’s obnoxiously clumsy.
I love my half-sister with all of my being, but she’s more brazen than what’s good for her. It doesn’t matter who you are or what your title is, she’ll tell you exactly what she thinks. It’s led to me having taken more lives ending fights she started, than I have in the years I’ve served as the second mate of this ship. I can commend her courage, but that mouth of hers will be her undoing one day.
Smee rights herself and takes a step back as I slowly turn to face her. Those hazel eyes don’t even flinch, challenging me as she clears her throat and crosses her arms over her chest. The motion causes my gaze to drop, and I immediately regret it. Clenching my fists and grinding the hinge of my jaw, I glue my eyes to the caps of the waves.
Would it kill the woman to wear a proper shirt?
I could’ve gone my entire life without seeing the bite mark bruise she’s wearing with pride on the curve of her breast. Smee is a grown woman who can handle herself. She doesn’t need her big brother floating every man that dares to touch her. For the most part, I try to stay oblivious to her... endeavors, but sporting things like that test my patience.
