Death Bound (The Soulsworn Chronicles #1)

Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

I trudged down the grand hallway, flanked by a cluster of handmaidens who flitted around me like nervous sparrows. The palace was a dazzling labyrinth of towering marble columns and polished floors, all gleaming with the icy beauty that defined Icespire. Intricate carvings of snowflakes ran up the walls, the light of chandeliers casting eerie blue glow across everything, as if the magic of this frozen kingdom had seeped into the very stone itself.

And then there was me—dragging along in an absolutely wretched lavender dress that felt more like a punishment than a royal outfit. It was layers upon layers of heavy fabric, puffed sleeves, and lace that scratched my skin with every awkward step. The bodice was cinched tight enough to make breathing a challenge, while the skirt ballooned out around me like a tent, wide enough that I was sure I’d knock over the nearest vase if I moved too quickly. I’d refused the handmaidens’ offers to braid my hair after I saw the dangerous gleam in their eyes—so now it hung loose and wild, making me look even more like a mess playing princess.

The dining room loomed ahead, the definition of grandeur—walls draped in rich, blue tapestries depicting hunts and winter landscapes. A massive table stretched the length of the room, laid out with polished silverware and crystal goblets. And there, standing at the head of the table, was Princess Evadne. The second princess of Icespire.

In Icespire, the rank of the royal family was everything. The first prince was heir to the throne, groomed from birth to rule. The second princess was the kingdom’s diplomatic jewel—poised, beautiful, and meant to secure alliances with other nations. And then there was the third princess, Aeliana… or rather, there had been. The exiled one, the forgotten one.

Evadne was everything a second princess should be—graceful, attractive, and radiating an effortless authority. Her silver hair, intricately braided and threaded with pearls, gleamed like moonlight. Her gown, deep blue and fitted to perfection, made her look like she’d stepped out of one of the very tapestries on the wall. And then there was me, clumsy, stumbling in like an outsider.

“Hello,” I said, my voice far too loud for the serene, frozen beauty of the room. I realized a second too late that I’d skipped the formal bow. “Uh…” I fumbled and bent into a clumsy curtsy, barely managing not to trip over the ridiculous gown.

Evadne raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. She stood there like a statue carved from ice, her gaze assessing me with a hint of sadness.

Not one to stand on ceremony, I rushed over to the table and grabbed a roll from a silver basket, biting into it with a hunger I didn’t bother to hide.

“Sorry,” I mumbled through a mouthful of bread. “Was starving.”

Before I could make more of a fool of myself, the door to the dining room swung open, and the temperature seemed to plummet. Crown First Prince Lucien strode in, his very presence draining the room of whatever warmth had been left. The firstborn of Icespire carried himself with an air of absolute authority, as if the castle and everyone within it already belonged to him.

He paused in the doorway, his blue eyes sweeping over the room before landing on me. “Oh,” he drawled, the mockery laced in his tone as he approached the head of the table. “I thought you died.”

There was no concern in his voice, no warmth. His pale blond hair gleaned under the chandelier’s light, and his aristocratic features bore the same calculated cruelty I’d come to expect from him, the arrogance of someone born into power and fully aware of it.

“You certainly look different than the last time I saw you. You’re scrawny now. Must have been all those provision cart delays.”

Next to him, Princess Evadne remained still, her hands folded neatly in her lap, but I saw the flicker of tension in her posture. Her gaze remained lowered, not daring to meet Lucien’s.

Evadne’s hand trembled slightly as she reached for her goblet, her knuckles white as she gripped it. She kept her eyes down, silent, but the fear radiating from her was palpable. It wasn’t just me Lucien enjoyed tormenting—his cruelty extended to everyone around him.

“I’ve heard whispers,” Lucien said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, almost intimate murmur. “About the crypt. About magic. About things that don’t quite add up.” He leaned forward slightly, his icy blue eyes narrowing as they bore into mine. “So, what I want to know, dear sister, is how you came back from the dead.”

I stiffened. The way he said sister was laced with mockery. And worse, he was digging—searching for something he could use, a weakness, a lie.

“I didn’t die,” I said, forcing the words out. “I escaped. Isn’t that enough?”

Lucien tilted his head, studying me with a calculating gaze. “Escaped,” he repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth. “No, I think there’s more to your little survival story, isn’t there?”

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“I guess you’ll have to wonder,” I said, forcing a smirk of my own, even though my hands trembled beneath the table.

Lucien’s eyes darkened, but his smirk didn’t falter. “Oh, I will,” he said.

Before I could respond, the queen entered the room, her presence as chilling as the coldest winter night. Her hair, jet-black and coiled into an elaborate updo, was adorned with silver pins shaped like delicate snowflakes. The very air seemed to tighten, as if her mere presence was a force of nature.

“The king was too tired to join us,” she announced smoothly, her voice commanding as she took her place at the head of the table.

Without warning, a blast of ice slammed into my chest. I yelped, stumbling as the freezing shock forced me to bow. My heart raced as I looked up to see Prince Lucien, smirking, his hand still raised, fingers shimmering with icy mist.

“Bow when the queen enters,” he said mockingly.

Princess Evadne, seated beside him, shrank into herself. Her gaze dropped to the floor, and her hands fidgeted in her lap, almost trembling. She seemed… terrified.

I straightened, rubbing the chill from my chest, seething beneath my calm exterior. Lucien had inherited his father’s royal power. He was a force to be reckoned with, much like the king.

“Enough, Lucien,” Queen Marisella said, her tone icy, though her gaze never left me.

Lucien rolled his eyes, though the smirk never left his face. He dropped the conversation but remained fixed in his chair, still watching me, still toying with the idea of putting me in my place.

I straightened, resisting the urge to rub my sore chest.

As the first course was served, a thick, steaming soup that filled the room with the rich aroma of herbs and spices, Prince Lucien eyed me with barely concealed disdain. His lip curled as he turned to his mother, but not before letting his gaze sweep over me with a look that could freeze even the warmest hearth.

“How long must we endure this terrible company?” he drawled as he glanced pointedly in my direction.

“Not too long,” the queen replied. Did that mean she’d kill me soon?

The handmaidens moved around the table, serving the soup with practiced grace, but I couldn’t focus on the meal. The rich scent of the food should have made my mouth water, but instead, it only reminded me of all the times I’d gone to bed hungry, the hollow ache of starvation gnawing at my insides as I lay in the crypt.

Aeliana and I had often shared the smallest scraps, trying to make a single loaf of bread last for days. And here, in this opulent dining room, with its gleaming silver and polished crystal, the abundance felt like a mockery of those lean times.

I could barely stomach the thought of eating, but I forced myself to pick up my spoon, the memory of starvation too fresh to ignore. As I dipped it into the soup, Prince Lucien gave a small, derisive sniff and pushed the bowl away slightly, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

“Is this the best they can do?” he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear but quiet enough to maintain the veneer of subtlety. He poked at the soup with his spoon, swirling it around but never actually bringing it to his lips. “Disgusting.”

The second princess, Evadne, sat quietly, her eyes downcast as she stirred her soup without taking a single bite. Her silence spoke volumes.

Then, the conversation unfolded like a carefully laid trap, each word a thread designed to bind me tighter. “We have much to discuss regarding your future, my dear,” Queen Marisella said. “Specifically, your upcoming marriage to King Ciaran of Emberfall.”

The spoon slipped from my fingers, clattering noisily against the bowl. I could feel the heat rising in my face. “What?”

The queen’s icy gaze never wavered, her lips curling in that faint, detached smile. “You’ll be the seventh wife. Our kingdom needs to rebuild its military might. The destruction of the crypt has weakened our defenses, and with the boundary failing, we must act swiftly to prevent further disaster.”

She glanced at Lucien, who looked as indifferent as ever, swirling his soup without taking a bite. “It took quite a bit of convincing,” the queen continued, her tone still as cold as the winter air outside, “but Emberfall is on board. Their armies are formidable, and their king is… ambitious. King Ciaran’s first wife, as you may know, is the daughter of a powerful warlord, and they have agreed to join our forces in the fight against the Dragon King.”

My stomach twisted into knots. I had heard stories of Emberfall—a kingdom isolated by water, its people fierce and unyielding. King Ciaran was known for his ruthlessness, a man driven by conquest and expansion. His alliance with Icespire, a kingdom defined by ice, was unthinkable just months ago. Even if I hadn’t seen much of the world, I remembered the soldiers’ whispers.

Lucien’s scoff echoed in the grand dining room as he leaned back, stretching languidly in his chair. “From third princess to seventh wife,” he drawled, the words dripping with condescension. “Imagine that. I didn’t think the daughter of a concubine could get any lower in rank.”

I clenched my fists under the table, nails digging into my palms. But I swallowed my anger. Reacting now would only give him more ammunition.

Lucien wasn’t done, though. “I heard King Ciaran’s second wife wasn’t too fond of the last girl they tried to marry off to him. Killed her before the wedding could even happen. They said six wives were more than enough.”

My stomach twisted as his words sank in. Killed her? I glanced toward Queen Marisella, hoping for some denial, some assurance that it was just one of Lucien’s cruel jests, but the queen remained perfectly composed.

“Why me?” I choked out, my voice cracking under the mass of the terror building in my chest. It was the only question I could manage—the one that screamed the loudest in my head. Evadne was the second princess of Icespire. She was royal, truly royal, not some orphaned handmaiden thrown into the role of a dead princess. It would be hard enough to pretend to be Aeliana here, but who would protect me in a foreign land? And what if King Ciaran found out I was an imposter? He’d have me executed.

Queen Marisella barely spared me a glance as she responded. “We cannot have the second princess of Icespire reduced to the role of a mere seventh wife. It’s a much more fitting role for the daughter of a concubine.”

The word concubine stung like a slap. I wasn’t truly Aeliana—I knew that—but hearing the queen refer to me as such solidified just how little I meant to her, or to anyone in this palace.

Evadne flinched at her mother’s words but remained silent, her eyes still downcast. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself as though every second was a battle. And maybe it was—living under the queen’s icy grip, trapped by her title. But at least she wasn’t being shipped off to become the seventh wife of a war-hungry king.

Lucien chuckled, clearly relishing in the discomfort radiating from both me and Evadne. “You’ll fit right in, I’m sure,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

I felt bile rise in my throat at the thought. Seven wives? King Ciaran’s court must be a battlefield of alliances and rivalries, with each woman vying for power. And I was supposed to step into that? Into a world where one of the wives had already killed to keep her position?

“No,” I said. “I… I can’t.”

The queen’s eyes hardened. “You will. You don’t have a choice.”

Lucien leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, his icy blue eyes glittering. “Cheer up, dear sister,” he said mockingly. “If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll make it past the wedding day. Certainly the wives won’t kill you the moment you step off the ship.”

My stomach churned at his words, the insinuation enough to send a wave of nausea through me. “And what does my father think about this?” I asked. “Does he even know what you’re planning?”

The queen’s eyes narrowed dangerously, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Your father’s opinions,” she began, her voice laced with venom, “are irrelevant.”

Her tone left no room for argument, but I pressed on. “Won’t he be concerned for my safety? The storms have been getting worse. I think it’s better if I’m here, to help my father cope.”

Lucien snorted, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “The king?” he asked mockingly. “Concerned about you? He barely even noticed when you were shipped off to the crypt. He won’t shed a tear if you don’t make it through the marriage either.”

“Your father,” she said, almost mockingly, “is thrilled at the prospect of you serving your kingdom. Emberfall’s military is crucial to our survival. Our people are unaware that the crypt was destroyed. It’s only a matter of time before rumors spread. We need them to feel secure. Your marriage to King Ciaran will ensure that stability. His military strength will reinforce our own, and you, as his seventh wife, will play a key role in solidifying that alliance.”

I realized then, with a cold certainty, that my safety and keeping the king sane had never been a priority. She kept me alive for the marriage. This was her plan. A means to secure military power and keep the truth about the crypts from unraveling the kingdom.

“Don’t worry, maybe you’ll get pregnant and raise your status,” Lucien said. “Though I doubt the king will want to look at you let alone let you sire an heir.”

“You will become the seventh wife of King Ciaran,” she said. “And you will do your duty for this kingdom.”

I tried to speak, to protest, but the words caught in my throat.

“King Ciaran has expressed his desire for the marriage to be held as soon as possible,” the queen continued, her tone businesslike. “With the Dragon King on our heels, we don’t have time to waste. You will depart on the night of the next full moon.”

“The next full moon?” I repeated. “That’s… that’s barely any time at all.”

“It will give you enough time to assist me with a project I’ve been working on,” she said, her tone shifting from almost casual to something far more pointed, more dangerous. The change was subtle but unmistakable. “Princess Evadne has been helping me, but she lacks the… resolve necessary for such a task.”

At this, Princess Evadne, who had been sitting silently with her head bowed, suddenly looked up. Her eyes, which had been empty and distant, flashed with a brief spark of fear. Her hands, which had been lying still in her lap, began to tremble slightly as she clutched at the napkin, her knuckles turning white. “Mother…” she whispered, her voice trembling as if she were afraid to say more.

“What exactly do you mean?” I asked.

The queen’s smile sharpened, her eyes gleaming with something predatory. “You’ll find out soon enough,” she replied, her tone almost mocking in its certainty. “For now, eat well—you’ll need your strength. Tomorrow will be a very busy day. I’ll have the soldiers fetch you at dawn.”

She rose from her chair with the kind of grace that only someone who had mastered the art of control could manage, every movement deliberate, calculated. Her presence lingered in the room even as she turned to leave, a cold shadow that settled over me like a blanket.

Prince Lucien followed suit, but not before he leaned in close to me, his words hot against my ear as he whispered, “The King of Emberfall will treat you like the whore you are, just like your mother.”

His words were a poison that seeped into my veins, igniting a fury within me that I couldn’t control. The tundra in my blood flared, and I felt it gathering around my fingers, ready to lash out. But Lucien was already striding out of the room, his laughter echoing through the cold, empty space like the tolling of a death knell.

I turned to Princess Evadne, hoping for some explanation, some reassurance that I wasn’t walking into a nightmare. “What did the queen mean?” I asked. The words came out in a rush, as if saying them faster would somehow make everything make sense.

Evadne’s response was little more than a broken whisper, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry…” she choked out, tears welling up in her eyes. “I… I can’t…”

Without another word, she fled the dining room, leaving me alone in the oppressive silence, the echoes of her retreating footsteps mingling with the fading sound of Lucien’s laughter.

I was left with nothing but the cold dread in the pit of my stomach, the realization that I was being pulled into something far darker and more dangerous than I had ever imagined.