AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Take her back to her room, and make sure she doesn’t run.” King Myron says it with such nonchalance that I don’t realize what he’s saying before Royad ushers me around the corner and up the stairs two floors, ‘to the residential part of the palace’ as he explains.
My breathing comes the tiniest bit easier as I’m released to my room without being paraded in front of the Crow King’s court all evening. The Guardians know the brief introduction was enough for my nerves to all but snap.
The guards who filled the hallway before are gone, probably in the crowd, celebrating with the rest of them the demise of a new bride, and I am not ready to be locked in my room. My knees still ache from where they hit the floor, but I manage to ignore the pain as I calculate the distance from the front door to the stairs. Royad won’t let me go; if I’m certain of one thing, it’s that. Nonetheless, once he’s delivered me to my room, I’ll find a way to get out and sneak to the door. As long as the guards are in the throne room, there might be a chance.
It is only when he enters the room with me, sealing the window with a flick of his claws that makes the air ripple before moving on to the bathing room window, that I realize this wasn’t a prison before compared to what it is now.
“This is as much for your protection as it is to keep you from running, Ayna, trust me.”
“I don’t trust you.” I don’t trust any soul alive. Everyone I once loved or trusted is dead.
“Good.” He runs his claws over the door as if searching for something. “Because you shouldn’t trust anyone in this palace. You are the new bride, and brides aren’t meant to last. There have been ninety-nine brides since Myron ascended the throne, and each of them suffered a horrible death—not all of them after the wedding. So, rest assured that it is in your best interest to stay in this room with all doors and windows sealed.”
I try to process his words.Try.But all I get is the sense he is mocking me.
“What? Is there a monster out for my blood?” I fold my arms, leaning against the dresser, and glower at him.
“One?” He laughs, and the sound grates along my bones like an instrument of death, and I can’t move. Nodding to himself, he steps out the door, questions once more unanswered.
The air ripples around the heavy wood as the lock clicks into place.
I’m sealed in. And I’m never getting out.
* * *
It takes three hours before someone thinks to bring me food and fresh water, and when it arrives, I’m not surprised to see Royad himself carrying a tray and a grim face. His beak is on display, as are the feathers down his torso. That means his voice is also more of a hiss laced with the occasional caw as he explains that it is up to me to believe he isn’t trying to poison me again.
Yet he doesn’t give me answers. Not when I confront him about how Myron knows my full name or what he meant by the brides all ‘suffered a horrible death.’ All he does is tell me to sit tight and not try to run.
It could be a tactic to keep me from even looking for ways to escape, so I tug on the latch by the window and rattle the doorknob, all to no avail as they don’t give an inch. With nothing to do, I start pacing until my feet hurt. Then I sit on the edge of the bed until that becomes uncomfortable, too. Every sound from the hallway startles me back to my feet, be it the soft thuds of boots, the occasional caws and hisses as the guards communicate, or the knock on the door when Royad returns with food every three hours like clockwork.
By the time the sun sets, I’m exhausted from the constant fear and tension, but I’m not done with my room. I open the armoire and pull out a bunch of black dresses I will never wear, and I roam the dresser for a pair of pants and a tunic that will be comfortable enough to sleep in. When I open the first drawer, lacy underthings are all I find, and I want to smack my head for even hoping that this room hasn’t been occupied by at least those ninety-nine brides Royad mentioned. I don’t know why I even care. I won’t be number one hundred.
The dresser shakes as I slam the drawer shut, opening the next one with my good hand. Neatly folded in the corner sits one pair of leather pants. They look entirely too small for my comparatively tall frame, but with the current state of my body, they’ll probably fit. One drawer down, I find an assortment of tunics, most of them tight and lace-trimmed, and, naturally, all of them black. All but one.
I reach for the loose shirt and tug it on over my dress before reaching to the side where the bodice opens—one can never be too careful with how the Crow King likes to make an appearance in this room—before stepping out of the gown and discarding of it in the corner between dresser and armoire.
The shirt is not only long enough to cover me to mid-thigh, but the sleeves are so long I have to roll them up a few times. If I know one thing for certain, it is that none of the brides before me have ever worn it.
I set the pants on top of the dresser for the morning and curl up in bed, struggling to accommodate the sense of the soft mattress when all I am used to is the pallet of straw I slept on in the prison for the past nine months. It reminds me too much of Ludelle’s arms, of a time when I woke up in the morning and the world seemed to be smiling at me across the glistening waters around the Wild Ray.
I have nothing now. And what I am will soon cease to exist if Royad is to be believed. If I don’t find a way out, in a few days, I’ll be bride one hundred, and I’ll die a horrible death like the ninety-nine before me.
That night, I cry myself to sleep until the soft waves of the ocean cradle me and the sun kisses my face…
I haven’t been this lazy in weeks, but after plundering King Erina’s ships, a feast and a few days of rest are more than deserved. Ludelle tells me as much as he reaches across the oil lamp on the nightstand for the bottle of Tavrasian wine he picked from the loot. I blink up at him, kissing his stubbled jaw as he props himself up to take a swig.
“This”—he holds up the bottle, reading the ornately painted label with squinted eyes—“was meant for the king’s personal collection.”
“Pity.” I take the bottle from his long, slender fingers and take a drink. After two gulps, it is empty, but the wine is sweet and heavy, reminding me of summers northwest of Meer where my father took us when he had business in that region. My mother loved that sort of wine. I was too young then to know what wine was exactly, but I recognize the taste of the grapes anyway. Honey and freedom and something wild that I’ve only experienced in the vineyards of that region.
Ludelle studies me with large brown eyes, pupils blown out as his gaze follows the sliver of skin where my tunic has fallen open. “You are beautiful, Ayna,” he whispers. “Precious. And I will always love you.”
His arms wrap around mine, and the bottle falls to the floor, forgotten as he covers my mouth with his, our lips finding a familiar, easy rhythm that I will never get tired of. He tastes like sunshine and salt, and my heart is so full it might burst.
“Ayna…” he murmurs my name as I moan his. “Ayna.”
“Wolayna!”
