Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
The streets of Icespire were lined with people, their faces full of excitement and celebration as the grand parade marched on. Flowers were tossed into the air, filling the cold, crisp breeze with petals that fluttered down like snowflakes. Banners and flags waved high above the crowds, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the heavy gray sky.
My carriage was at the center of it all.
I was adorned in a lavish gown of deep sapphire that shimmered in the pale light. The fabric was heavy, weighing me down, the intricate embroidery of silver thread glittering like frost. It was a dress fit for a princess—a princess I wasn’t, a princess who was dead because of me. The force of the kingdom’s gaze pressed down on me like the heaviest of burdens.
Beside me, Rhydian rode a towering black horse. He had a scowl etched deep into his face, his eyes narrowed against the spectacle. He was grumbling under his breath, a constant stream of complaints that I had grown accustomed to since meeting him. “I’m not looking forward to this journey,” he complained, his tone filled with irritation as his horse trotted on. “Damn sea air, damn rocking boats.”
I turned my head slightly, keeping my voice low. “You know, I could fall out of this carriage, and you could just trample me with your horse. Then you wouldn’t have to go to Emberfall at all.”
He scoffed, shooting me a sideways glance. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he grumbled, though I could see the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. It was rare for him to let it show, but there it was. I didn’t trust him, not even a little bit. But I suppose it was better to have someone who knew my secret protecting me than have no one at all.
My gaze drifted to the edges of the parade route, where posters clung to the stone walls of buildings, the faces of missing people staring back at me. Faces of those I had witnessed being murdered. Innocents who had been dragged to the dungeons, sacrificed for the kingdom’s protection.
Three hundred. Maybe more. All to bring back the invisible boundary that now hummed around the kingdom, unseen but felt, a protective barrier built on the lives of the dead. And beneath the castle, in the frozen dungeons, more bodies were being harvested for magic, their power siphoned to reinforce that boundary. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
As the parade began to die off, the cheers growing quieter, I cast a glance over my shoulder, back at the towering castle that had been my prison. High above, on a large platform, the queen stood watching me. Her figure was dark against the stone, her presence ominous even from a distance. She didn’t wave, didn’t smile. She simply observed, her eyes never leaving me.
The carriage rolled to a stop at the outskirts of Icespire, where the cobblestone streets of the kingdom gave way to the snow-covered road that wound its way down through the icy mountains. The grand parade that had escorted us here began to thin out, the cheers and shouts of the gathered crowd fading into a distant hum, swallowed by the cold winds that whipped through the valley. The grandeur and celebration felt far behind us now, replaced by the stark reality of what lay ahead.
Rhydian was nearby, his broad frame tense, every muscle coiled as if ready for whatever dangers might come our way. His usual demeanor was tempered by the load of the responsibility he bore—to ensure I survived this journey, to protect me and report back to the queen that I was behaving myself.
I looked past him, beyond the open gates, where the road stretched out before us, winding down from the frozen peaks of Icespire. The journey ahead was daunting—a two-day ride through the ice-bound wilderness, with nothing but snow and rock as far as the eye could see. The road would take us out of the mountains and down to the port, where a ship awaited to carry me across the sea to Emberfall.
I had never been on a boat before, and the thought of the two-week voyage across the ocean filled me with a mixture of dread and curiosity. The cold was a constant companion in Icespire, but the sea was an unknown, vast and unpredictable.
Fifty soldiers had been assigned to accompany us, their armor gleaming dully in the pale winter light. Ambassador Thorne was leading the procession. They were a formidable presence, a small army tasked with ensuring my safe passage.
I leaned out the window of my carriage as Rhydian spoke. “You know what’s waiting out there?” he muttered. “It’s not just the cold. It’s everything else. The ice, the wolves, and worse. Keep your wits about you.”
I leaned back in my seat, shaking my head with a smirk. “Careful, Rhydian, you almost sound like you care about me.”
He shot me a look that was all business, his brow furrowed. “I care about staying alive, that’s all,” he grumbled, not missing a beat.
“Sure you do,” I teased, rolling my eyes. “You’re just a big softie underneath all that armor.”
Rhydian scoffed. “I’m not a softie. I get immense pleasure from pissing you off, and to prove my point, I want you to meet Bertha.”
“Who’s Bertha?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Before Rhydian could answer, the carriage came to a sudden halt, the sound of horses snorting in the air filling the silence. The door creaked open, and a woman I hadn’t seen before came bustling up to the carriage. She was stout, with a no-nonsense expression, her graying hair pulled back into a tight bun. She bowed deeply, her demeanor a strange mix of sternness and reverence.
“Your Highness,” she greeted me, her voice warm but firm, though her rough edges were clear. “Name’s Bertha. I’ve been tasked with teachin’ ye court procedures, makin’ sure ye’re all set for your new role.”
I blinked, taken aback. “Court procedures?”
Bertha nodded, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes that suggested she had more up her sleeve. “Aye, Your Highness. But me duties don’t stop at just the fancy bits of court life. I’ll be teachin’ ye… other matters as well.”
A flicker of unease ran through me. “Other matters?” I echoed, frowning. “What does that mean?”
Bertha leaned in closer like she was about to share a juicy secret. Her tone became conspiratorial, laced with her unfiltered bluntness. “It means, Your Highness, that I’ll be schoolin’ ye in the ways of… marital relations. The fine art of seduction, if ye catch me meanin’. How to wrap yer husband around yer finger, both in the bedchamber and in court.”
My eyes widened in shock, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Whoa, whoa! Hold on a minute?—”
But Bertha pressed on, her voice calm and steady, as if she were discussing the proper way to peel potatoes. “Listen, lass, it’s crucial ye get a handle on the ways of passion. The touches, the sweet whispers, the art of allure. These are the weapons ye’ll use to keep yer man loyal and devoted, understand?”
I felt the heat rise to my face, my mind reeling from the unexpected turn of the conversation. “I… I’m not sure I’m ready for all that,” I stammered, feeling completely out of my depth.
Rhydian, who had been listening with a barely suppressed smirk, finally let out a low chuckle. “You want to win over your new husband so he works with you, don’t you? Now you have someone to teach you. You’re welcome.”
I shot him a glare, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks even more. “I hate you, Rhydian,” I snapped, crossing my arms defensively.
He just laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed off the surrounding walls. “You’ll thank me later,” he called over his shoulder as he rode off, clearly amused by my predicament.
Bertha climbed into the carriage with a determined look on her face, settling in beside me. I tried to keep my composure, but the whole situation was quickly spiraling out of control.
Bertha leaned in, her expression turning serious as she reached for the curtains and drew them shut, casting the interior of the carriage in a soft, dim light. I swallowed nervously, already regretting the direction this conversation was taking.
“I assume, Your Highness,” Bertha began, her voice low and carrying the influence of hard-earned experience, “that ye’re a virtuous princess, untouched by the rougher ways of the world.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she continued, her words flowing like a relentless tide. “No need to fret, lass. We’ll start from the beginnin’. A good foundation is key.”
“Really, that’s okay—” I tried to interject, but Bertha was having none of it.
“On yer weddin’ night, the king’ll come to yer chambers,” she went on, her tone as smooth as she could manage, completely ignoring my attempts to halt this impending embarrassment. “He’ll be expectin’ certain… rites of passage, as is custom.”
“Bertha, I know about the sword and the sheath,” I blurted out. My cheeks were already heating up, and I could feel the mortification creeping up on me like an avalanche.
Bertha paused, one eyebrow arching. “Ah, the sword and the sheath, eh? But tell me, lass, do ye know how to keep that sword polished and sharp?”
My brain stuttered to a halt. “What metaphor?—”
Bertha didn’t miss a beat. “It’s all in the grip,” she said. “A firm yet gentle hold keeps the blade sharp and polished. Ye need to tend to it regularly, or it’ll grow dull and useless.”
I stared at her, my mouth slightly agape, and wondered if my brain had finally frozen over.
“Keep the blade sharp?” I asked weakly, my voice trailing off as my imagination spun wild metaphors I’d never encountered before.
“Aye, precisely,” Bertha confirmed with a knowing nod. “And remember, Your Highness, a well-maintained sword is the mark of a bride who knows her way. A wife who knows how to wield it ensures her kingdom stays strong and secure.”
I could feel my face turning a deep shade of crimson. “I don’t think I need to know all that, Bertha,” I mumbled, wishing the ground would just swallow me up.
“Nonsense,” she said briskly, patting my hand in a way that was meant to be comforting but only added to my discomfort. “It’s vital ye understand these things. Ye want to keep yer husband pleased, don’t ye? Make sure he stays loyal and devoted?”
“I guess,” I muttered, shifting awkwardly in my seat. “But I don’t think I need a full lesson on sword maintenance, Bertha.”
“Oh, but ye do,” she insisted, leaning in closer. “There’s more to it than just the act itself. There’s the build-up, the tension, the slow reveal of the blade?—”
“Okay, okay!” I cut her off, waving my hands in surrender. “I get it. Sword, sheath, cleaning… everything. I think I’ve got it now.”
Bertha leaned back, a satisfied smile on her face. “Good. Because knowin’ how to handle yer blade is just as important as knowin’ how to rule a kingdom. Both take patience, skill, and a delicate touch.”
I threw my hands up in exasperation, my patience finally snapping. “Okay, enough! I don’t want to do this!” I glared at Bertha, hoping she’d take the hint and drop the subject.
But instead of backing down, her expression solidified, her warm demeanor vanishing like morning mist. She straightened her back, her eyes locking onto mine with a steely intensity I hadn’t expected.
“It’s the harsh truth of our world, Your Highness,” Bertha began, her tone unyielding. “We women don’t have the luxury of doin’ what we want, not if we want to survive. Men, with all their bravado and bluster, can stumble through life, fattenin’ themselves on power and gettin’ better with age. But us? We’re tossed aside for younger, fresher faces the moment we show a wrinkle or two.”
“When they seek pleasure,” she continued with bitter wisdom, “we’re expected to just lie there, smile, and be grateful for whatever attention they throw our way. But that”—she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a powerful whisper—“that’s where our power lies.”
I blinked, trying to process her words, but Bertha wasn’t done.
“We can use what they think is our weakness and turn it into our strength,” she said, relentless. “We scheme, we charm, we use our wits. Because in a world made by men, it’s the only way to thrive. Or,” she added, her gaze never wavering from mine, “we can let it destroy us. We can become the silent, obedient, forgotten things they expect us to be.”
The air in the carriage was thick with her words, heavy with the truth she’d laid bare. My throat tightened, but I forced myself to meet her gaze, to understand what she was telling me. This wasn’t just a lesson in seduction or courtly behavior—it was a lesson in survival.
“Do ye understand?” Bertha asked.
“I… I think I do,” I finally replied.
Bertha nodded. “It’s not a lesson ye’ll find in any book, Your Highness. But it’s one ye must learn if ye want to survive. And thrive.”
This wasn’t just about pretending to be a princess, about fooling everyone around me—this was about playing a game I hadn’t even known I was in. And if I wanted to win, I’d have to be smarter, stronger, and far more cunning than I’d ever imagined.
“Alright, Bertha,” I said, my resolve hardening. “Teach me.”