AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter1
Kaia
This mock genuflection hurt, both physically and mentally. In the past, my display of reverence would not have felt like I was compromising my integrity. Now, I knew better.
I was shoved roughly onto my knees in front of the raised platform of the Council Chambers—in front of the most powerful men in the kingdom. These men were responsible for days of torture and Father’s execution. This was the customary sign of respect for the monarch and his council, and they'd want their show of deference—even if the guard’s hand was on the back of my neck, forcing me forward.
I was not in the best mindset. With these men, I needed decorum that I hadn’t been able to maintain under previous interrogations and torture. I tried to take a steadying breath, attempting to calm my racing heart and short temper. The breath hurt more than it helped. My cracked ribs protested.
Gritting my teeth against the pain, I cradled my dislocated arm against my stomach, holding the degrading position as well as my broken body would allow. I waited longer than usual to be given leave to rise, keeping my eyes lowered and mouth shut.
For days, I had lived under the worst possible conditions. Every day, some lower guard would come and take me to interrogation. All unfamiliar faces. All cruel in their technique. They shackled me in power-reducing manacles and questioned me with their words. And hands. And feet. And fists. And all sorts of different materials depending on the day’s activities.
At first, I tortured myself with my own thoughts. Being alone with my grief and injuries threatened to swallow me whole. I relived that same nightmare every night and then the next day added to the previous day’s abuse, making me long to go to a place without dreams, without pain that consumed me, soul deep. A place I could be with Father again.
But I chose to live. To fight. For him. For me. For us.
Father wouldn’t have wanted me to give up. He wouldn’t have wanted me to lie there and die. If I let them break my mind, it would surely break my soul.
And no matter what, I would still choose to live. I wouldn’t stop. I owed it to Father. And to myself.
My reflection marred the otherwise pristine, white marble floor; the abundance of afternoon sun reflecting off the ground, burning my eyes after days in the dark expanse of the dungeon. Bruises and lacerations in varying stages of healing deformed my swollen, heart-shaped face. A curtain of bloodied and filthy blonde hair covered my face, showing one gray eye, which was almost sealed shut. My thin nose was now crooked, with a nasty gash across the bridge. It actually looked better than it felt. A healer had come a couple times during my captivity, but I was only permitted enough healing to stay alive. The lesser, non-life-threatening injuries remained a constant reminder of the torture I had endured, and would continue to endure, until they heard what they needed to hear.
The problem was that I didn’t know what they needed to hear. I had screamed my innocence enough times to know they were not interested in the truth.
“You may rise," Jaime Ashton, our mighty king, said, waving his hand dismissively in my direction, finally giving me permission to uncurl after several long, painful minutes. Until that point, the room had been utterly silent, no one daring to speak before being given leave from the king.
My broken body made rising difficult. The guard’s tight grip on my upper arm wrenched me to my feet when I didn’t move fast enough. I locked my knees and held my head high, holding the gaze of the men who would decide my fate.
King Jaime sat in the direct center of the elongated table on an ostentatious throne accompanied by the three members of his council—all fire users, of course; the vibrant red design swirling within the dark outline of the triangular Fire Marks on each of their necks.
The markings for Air, Earth, and Water were all solid black. Only the Fire markings were tattooed in vivid color.
Markings of supremacy covered every visible inch of their arms, exposed in elaborate sleeveless gold and red tunics. Adarians strived to get a marking. It symbolized power and station. Prestige. Everyone had their power symbol on their neck, but only the best, the strongest, had markings all down their arms. They could be earned through hard work, dedication, and loyalty to the kingdom and crown, but no other individuals would ever be permitted to acquire as many.
Even Father, who was the leader of the king’s elite guard and one of the highest members of the court, the Denailians, had only fourteen. Those had been hard-earned in service to the kingdom—battles won, riches secured for the crown, prestige earned. He had scars as well as markings as his reward and still didn’t have as many markings as these high-born, self-satisfied nobles.
I could practically feel them casting judgment before the hearing began, staring down their noses at me as I used most of my strength to stand on shaky legs before them. As I waited for the inevitable questions and, ultimately— the accusations.
The door clanged deafeningly behind me as it slammed shut, resounding eerily throughout the otherwise soundless hall. Elijah Ashton, head Councilman Elias Ashton’s oldest son, and nephew to the king, walked down the aisle separating rows of red-cushioned chairs leading to the dais.
He stopped beside me, bowing low, but I refused to look. I refused to acknowledge him in my shame— in restraints and wearing filthy rags covered in fresh blood stains. I guessed I smelled worse than I looked after living in that pungent environment for so many days. I was grateful to be already standing, even if I had to force my legs to steady. It would have killed me for him to witness that humiliating display of trying to stand. I couldn’t bear that.
When Elijah stood, he took up a position leaning against the wall to the left, just out of my line of sight, so I had to turn to follow his progression out of the side of my eye.
I was always aware of the darkness that was Elijah—a stark contrast to the gold wall where he had propped himself. The red Denalian symbol on his black uniform stood out as the only speck of color besides the fire symbol emblazoned on his neck. He was so dark and imposing. And big, with his arms crossed tight against his chest, showcasing his massive arms and broad shoulders.
I didn’t need to see his face to know it would be handsome yet masculine, capped off with midnight hair and gorgeous eyes. The Ashtons were known for their eyes. They seemed to draw in and absorb all the light in the room— the same eyes as his brother. I felt his eyes on me. I always felt his eyes on me. And I knew he’d be scowling at me, wearing the same cold expression of his father.
I’d known the Ashtons my whole life. Our families grew up together. We were all reasonably close in age and had been thrown together since the day I was born. Eliam Ashton, my best friend, was Elias’ second-born son.
Elijah and Eliam.
Though to me, Eliam was just my Liam. And to Elijah’s friends, a category he made clear I was not included in, Elijah was Ash. To me, he was often Ash-hole.
I didn't know if Liam was aware of what happened to Father and me. Though I assumed he had to be aware at that point, the whole kingdom probably knew.
Seeing Elijah made me long to see Liam even more. I ached to see his face. I hadn’t seen a single person I loved—leaving only Liam at that point—since the morning before I was arrested. I needed Liam to give me hope. Hope could get me through this ordeal. Hope could keep me fighting.
