AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I sigh and force myself to stand. “Thank you.”
She touches my shoulder and casts another purposeful glance over me like she’s taking in what the last seven years have made me. Her grip tightens, and soft eyes search mine. Offering affection that I can’t take hold of.
Then she glides out of the room without touching me again.
I remain there. Frozen in the empty place where I spent the first eighteen years of my life. A place that should feel like something beyond a hollow. But it doesn’t.
The door opens. Two light-haired servant girls startle and gasp out apologies.
I wave a dismissive hand and breeze past them into the corridor before I try to get a good look at either young woman.
The sooner I leave my chambers, the sooner they can clean them, and the sooner I can leave my dead brother’s room and return to this one. Return to a bed that is mine but no longer my own, in a palace that was once home but is more foreign than welcoming, in a kingdom I now stand as the next in line — no, as the only one in line — to inherit.
As much as I wish to leave such thoughts behind, they follow me to Farrid’s former bedchambers, cramming their way inside with me as I crack the door and slip through. Mother was right about this room being cleaner. Daylight floods in from four vaulted windows. No leaves or dust to be seen. Nor do I care to look.
I turn to the right and head toward the washroom. A handful of servants scurry around the tub, tossing different spices into the water. Another servant uses her magic to heat it. Within seconds of my approach, they scramble out of the washroom, bowing their heads in a flurry as they make their escape.
Steam wisps from the water, inviting me closer, but I don’t move. The swirl of spices and oils darkens the surface. If I squint, it could easily be spilled life mixing with rainwater. Never mind that every time I’ve bathed in the last seven years, I’ve gone without spices or oils. Sometimes without warm water.
How am I supposed to do this?
I move forward on wooden feet, forcing away the instinctive feelings that I’m invading my eldest brother’s privacy. If Farrid were still here, he wouldn’t care, would have laughed at me for it. Yet if he were still here, I wouldn’t be entering his chambers or taking his place as crown prince.
I could let my legs turn to branches in the washroom doorway, rooted in place. This place that is not mine.
Only until tonight.
Even as I think it, I know that’s not what my mind means with its soundless cry.
Thisroleis not mine.
With listless movements, I undress and step into the water. It flushes over me, scalding but not hot enough to burn my thoughts and cares away. How I can feel both nothing and everything at once, I do not know.
I tip my head back against the tub’s smooth edge and finally let my eyes close. I brace myself for flashes of combat. For flaxen hair between my fingers and her soft lips smiling up at me. There’s only darkness. And apart from the sloshing of water, there’s silence.
It won’t last, can’t last, but for this moment, it remains. And I wrap myself in it.
But my mind won’t stay silent.
A masquerade ball. To celebrate my return and our victory over the humans who just don’t know when to quit. That celebration part, I suppose I can accept. It’s the other part.
Finding a bride…
Again, my insides tense at the word. Like any of this pomp matters. It’s a waste of time, resources, food. Completely unnecessary and all for show. My father should’ve just picked a woman from our kingdom — even from one of the other fey kingdoms — and presented her as my bride.
Though he probably assumed I’d rebel against the woman he chose.
A younger me would have. A different me. This me, whatever husk of a man has come home from the frontline, can’t even pretend to care who I marry. I won’t be able to love her, so it doesn’t matter who she is or what she is. She doesn’t even have to be pretty or kind or close to my age — might be easier to ignore her if she’s undesirable in nearly every way.
Though I’ll still have to produce at least two heirs. I’d probably best remember that.
The notion turns my guts to ash.
Once, I would have cared. Had cared. Had wanted everything that came with romantic love. Once upon a time I wish I could forget, I thought I’d found her. Had been sosureI’d found her.
But now? Now, any woman is fine. So long as she doesn’t expect anything from me. Least of all for me to want her. Marrying me — it’s a dreadful fate for any woman who will attend over the next three nights. I already pity my wife. Not one girl knows what she’s walking into. What kind of marriage she’ll actually face if she’s chosen. Maybe the splendor of being queen will be enough to appease her, give her a happy enough existence.
Still would’ve been better to make it entirely political.
