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I fall out of bed, scrambling to my feet in front of those of Myron, the Crow King. He scowls at me, taking in my disheveled look, my bare legs sticking out from under the shirt, which has ridden up dangerously close to my hips, and something like shock crosses his face. At least, that is what I would have called it had I not known the Crow King was above any emotion other than hatred.
“Get up.” He pivots on his heels, facing the wall with the armoire as I tug down the shirt and scramble to my feet.
“What are you doing in here? It’s the middle of the night.” At least, the sky is dark outside the window. I don’t see a moon or stars with the fairy lights bobbing under the ceiling.
Were I not so embarrassed, I might have found a million different curses to send him out the door, but he saw my bruised legs, saw whatever else the shirt exposed of me as I tumbled from the bed.
He takes a stiff step toward the dresser, picks up the leather pants, and tosses them at me without looking over his shoulder. “Put these on.”
His aim is impeccable, the pants landing in my arms without me even needing to grab for them. Not that it makes any difference when he let himself into my bedroom in the middle of the night.
“Get dressed first,” he orders, back so straight it’s almost comical. But this is the king of the Crow Fairies, a monster who has let ninety-nine brides die.
I slip into the pant legs, cursing as I barely get them over my ass, and tie the leather strings in the front before sitting on the edge of the bed.
He whirls around so fast I shrink back half a foot, but he keeps his distance. “You were making noises in your sleep. I thought someone was trying to strangle you.”
My eyes dart to the dim fairy lights as I pray to the Guardians they will hide how my cheeks turn crimson. “It was a… A nightmare, that’s what it was.”
He crooks a brow but doesn’t say anything as he marches out the door.
It doesn’t matter how often I close my eyes that night; sleep won’t find me, and my heart either breaks at the memory of Ludelle’s arms around me, or it freezes from fear at the thought of being tied to the feathered king to whom lives mean so little he goes through one bride a year.
Then a small voice reminds me that he came to check on me because he thought someone was trying to kill me, and I don’t know how I should feel about that.
Thankfully, the sunrise burns through all thoughts as I am painfully reminded that it doesn’t matter what my heart does as I’m summoned yet again to join King Myron in the dining room.
Eight
The daily mealswith the Crow King are silent and full of tension. Myron doesn’t speak other than to tell me the number of days until Ret Relah, and he doesn’t look my way more than when I enter the room and when I leave. Sometimes, I try to provoke him into conversation just to relieve the building fear and tension in my chest, but all I get is a glare before he shifts his features into those so similar to a bird that I have a hard time looking at him either.
It is Royad who escorts me around the palace, pointing out all the ways I can’t exit and hovering close when we pass the hungry gazes of the Crow guards.
I haven’t asked him why he is loyal to a king who lets women die each year, but then, we aren’t exactly on good terms. If anything, we are on ahe-dragged-me-across-half-a-continent-to-stuff-me-into-an-arranged-marriage-to-a-monster-I-didn’t-even-know-existed-and-I-hate-him-for-itbasis.
It’s more like I ask him why he even bothers to be my bodyguard when I’ll likely die within the year anyway. He never responds to that question, so I save it for the next time I’ll see Myron—which is tomorrow if he sticks to his usual routines.
Today, Royad picks me up at the dining room door after an especially dire dinner with the Crow King himself, and I don’t even bother to be afraid of him as he ushers me past the stairwell, off our usual course, to a long, torch-lit corridor.
“Where are we going?” My slippers thud over the stone tiles as I trudge along beside him.
He gestures at a steep set of stairs that is unguarded, and I go ahead, my hope to escape stirring at the sight of an empty hallway with an open window at the end where it makes a left turn.
“Ret Relah is tomorrow.” Royad switches sides, placing himself between me and the window as I slow to get a better look at what’s outside. “And you are not going anywhere.” He says it like he’s scolding me, but something in the way his brows furrow tells me it could be pity just as well.
His claw touches my shoulder, guiding me forward with light pressure, but I flinch away as I feel the sharp points lightly through my tunic. He doesn’t speak until we make it to the end of the hallway, and he opens a door to more stairs leading underground.
“Don’t say you’re smuggling me out of the palace through a secret tunnel.” I attempt a joke because my life has become so dire I barely remember what it is like not to live in constant fear, and I need a break, no matter how small.
Shaking his head, Royad points at the bottom of the stairs where a large pool spreads under a low, arched ceiling. “This is all I can offer.” He doesn’t look back to see if I’m following as he leads the way down to the pool.
For a heartbeat, I stand there, taking in the glow of torches lining the walls, the pattern of rocks making up the walls and ceiling. This is different from the rest of the palace. Steam rises from the water, wafting around Royad as he reaches the end of the stairs, and the scent of herbs and blossoms kisses my senses. The sight is so surprising I need to blink a few times to fit it into my head. “What is this place?”
Royad turns so his wing covers his side as he glances up at me. “The people who built this palace had a great sense of luxury.” His claws gesture at the expanse of the pool, the columns carrying the ceiling, the brass bowl filled with fire sitting on the floor by the edge of the pool. “But what’s best about them is the everlasting fire.” He toes the edge of the bowl with his boot. “Thousands of years, and not one torch has died.”
That’s—“Magic. Those flames are magical?” I can’t help but ask. I’ve always been curious. It’s part of the reason I chose a pirate ship as a refuge when my family was gone. I wanted to see the world, learn new things, make a new home that was nowhere and everywhere. And I wanted to be away from the mainland so I could never fall victim to the winged fairies stealing women at night. Yet, here I am.
A wary smile spreads on Royad’s face. “Everything is magical in Askarea, Ayna.” He ruffles his wings, a reminder that he is made from magic, too. “So many different sorts of fairies have lived in these lands that it doesn’t matter if they have wings or antlers, hooves, or can conjure everlasting flames. In the end, it’s all the same magic.” The wistful look in his all-black eyes stands in stark contrast to the menace of his form, and I can’t help but take a step back.
