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Arthur’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Florian Emrys. He has been rather a thorn in your side, hasn’t he, Sister? His devotedness to you leans rather heavily towards fiendish obsession. Why, when he told us he had actuallybrandedyou as his property, I admit, I was skeptical. Would you really sit back and allow such a thing?Mysister? The one who fights so ferociously in the practice ring?”
My hands trembled in revulsion.
Arthur gestured lazily at my gown. “But then, I suppose you were probably urging him on. After all, if you’d wanted Florian to stop troubling you, you’d have put up more of a fight. And I see you’ve kept the place where he claims he marked you covered up. So it’s true? Care to indulge me in a peek?”
The thought of doing so made me feel physically ill. “You knew. You knew what he was doing to me. All along you knew. And you did nothing to stop him.”
Arthur didn't bother to answer. His expression was all the proof I needed, anyway. The mask he had sometimes chosen to don on previous occasions had now been entirely removed exposing the malicious man beneath.
The cold, brutish, and yes, even slightly-bored-looking young man who was staring back at me with only contempt in his eyes?Thiswas my brother. He was everything I’d always known he’d be capable of one day. Full of capricious cruelty towards not only his own people but his own family.
Why had I hoped for anything different? Why had I hoped Kaye and I might be the exceptions?
I was suddenly filled with dread at the prospect of leaving Kaye with this man.
My stomach churned. I had to get out of the room. I had to get away from him. Away from Arthur.
“Let me take Kaye with me,” I said beseechingly. “You fear he will undermine you somehow. It’s a ridiculous notion, but if you truly feel that way, let me take him with me, Arthur. He’ll be out of your way. As you’ve said, Draven and Whitehorn can protect him easily. You’ve chosen well. Let him...”
“No.” Arthur’s voice was hard as nails. “Kaye remains with me.”
I swallowed. “Very well. May I be dismissed?” My tone was that of a meek child. But what else could I do? I had no desire to become one of the heads in the horrific box. Who would there be to protect Kaye from Arthur then?
“You may. Sleep well, Sister.” Arthur’s voice was deceptively gentle.
“Thank you, Arthur.” I was thanking him for my release. But he didn’t have to know that.
I left the room as quickly as I could, walked down the corridor, and headed straight to the nearest door leading out into the bailey. Standing on the low stone staircase, I leaned over the side, retching and heaving.
When my stomach was empty, I stood with my back pressed against the wall, trembling.
The wind had picked up. I wrapped my arms around me, as the gale howled through the castle walls, its fury matched only by the pelting rain that lashed against the stones.
I was already shivering but I didn't care. I couldn't go back inside.
I walked down the stairs and across the courtyard, my mind numb.
The sky was dark, save for an occasional flash of lightning that lit up the bailey in a stark, otherworldly light.
I could feel the force of the wind against my bare skin, as if it were trying to push me back inside. I forced myself to walk into it. I moved aimlessly at first, then veered to the right, walking towards the stables where the horses would be kept for our journey tomorrow.
As I stepped inside, the only sounds were the soft whinnies and snorts of the horses in the long rows of stalls.
A dim light came from the lanterns hanging over the stalls. The hay strewn across the floor muffled the sound of hooves as here and there a horse shuffled and stomped. The scents of sweet hay, leather harnesses, and horse sweat permeated the air.
The ambiance was everything the castle had not been. Peaceful. Comforting. There was a purity and an innocence to this place, to these animals, that Arthur's court utterly lacked. I knew it was unlikely to improve in my absence.
I walked down the row of stalls. The stable was quiet and empty. Everyone was out celebrating the festival.
A few days ago, I had met with the castle stablemaster, Gregor, a tall man with weathered skin and calloused hands, who had spent his lifetime working with the royal equines. Together we had selected the horse I would take on the journey.
My usual mount, Macha, was a sleek and graceful mare with a shiny black coat and a fiery spirit. She was well-trained and obedient, but wasn't suited for a long journey. Her delicate build and high-strung nature made her prone to fatigue and stress. While she was a lovely horse, perfect for riding about the city and on short rides on the outskirts of Camelot, I knew I needed a sturdier mount.
I stepped towards the stall, whistling softly under my breath.
A chestnut-mare stepped forward, her eyes intelligent and proud.
“There you are my beauty,” I murmured. I touched her head, rubbing gently.
