13. Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
I followed Dey back to the castle, and we passed through four long corridors and three flights of stairs before I recognized my surroundings.
“Are we going back to my room?”
Dey flashed a grin at me over his shoulder. “Do not worry, Rain, my intentions are purely honorable.” He pushed open the door, pausing at the threshold. “In case you were wondering, my chamber is the one at the end of the hall on the right. Should you find yourself in need of… anything.”
I swallowed. I was definitely not memorizing that factoid and tucking it away safely for later.
Once inside, Dey marched over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room and threw open the double doors. “For you, Princess,” he announced, stepping aside to reveal the numerous dresses that threatened to explode out into a pile of colorful lace and fabric.
Each dress was a similar style to the ones I saw on the courtiers earlier, if not a bit more elaborate. I pulled out a green one with a corset top and a silvery ribbon looping through at least twenty eyelets. It was sleeveless except for two fabric cuffs with organza attached that would loop around my upper arms in flowing waves. Small diamonds sewn into the sheer material glittered in the light.
I felt Jenn’s absence strongly as I ran my hand over the delicate fabric. She would have absolutely loved these. They were exquisite. They were flawless. They were… not me at all.
I put the dress back and shut the doors. “Thanks, but I can’t wear these.”
Dey stared at the closed wardrobe for a long moment, unblinking. “What do you mean you cannot wear them?” he protested. “Are they not resplendent?”
“Oh, they’re gorgeous, no doubt. But it’s still a hard pass. I wouldn’t feel comfortable wearing any of these dresses.”
I thought Dey’s eyes might actually pop out of his head. “You must! The palace seamstresses have been working on these ever since you arrived yesterday. They toiled throughout the night to ensure you would have the most beautiful gowns for your first dinner with the court this evening.”
I shrugged and picked at a chipped nail. “Well, I’ll make it easier for everyone. I’m not interested in some fancy-ass dinner tonight, or any night, so I don’t need a dress. I’m sorry they worked so hard, but I didn’t ask anyone to do that.” I took in Dey's silent look of sheer disbelief and started pacing restlessly around the room. “Did anyone here think to talk to me first? All of you are so set on me embracing life as a princess, but did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to be a princess? I’m not royal or refined or any of that crap, and I don’t want to be. Yeah, I hate being poor back home, but at least I’m free to live my life however I choose. You have no idea what it was like for me growing up. I spent my whole life in foster homes where I had to do exactly what I was told or risk getting sent back to the orphanage.” I gulped. “Or worse. The constant fear and pressure to be perfect was torture.”
My chest constricted at the reminder of my traumatic adolescent years. I couldn't go back to being judged and scrutinized all the time. I just couldn't .
My knees trembled, but Dey lunged forward, catching me before I could fall altogether.
“It will be all right,” he said, running his hands over my back in long soothing motions. “We will find something else for you to wear, and I will tell King Verren you are not able to dine with the court this evening.”
“Thank you,” I said, though it came out muffled since my face was firmly pressed against his chest.
Eventually I pulled away and sat on the bed.
“I will see if I can find you some breeches and a tunic,” he said, moving toward the door. “I will return shortly.”
I waited until I heard the door click shut, then pulled the chair from the hearth over to the window so I could watch the people moving about the courtyard below. The suns were low enough that the diamonds were no longer a concern, and everyone down there just seemed… happy.
Was it wrong to not even consider a possible life here? Maybe. The truth was no matter what anyone said, I didn't feel like a princess or a Vitaean. I felt human. And that part of me would never belong in this world.
The first sun had fully set by the time Dey returned with a stack of sleeveless shirts and tight pants. He offered to escort me to dinner in the king's personal dining room so I could avoid the courtiers, but I declined, telling him I needed some time alone. He left, but not before I saw the disappointed look on his face.
I spent the rest of the evening at the window, lost in thought as the day bled fully into night.
Before heading to bed, I decided that I should at least say goodnight to Dey and maybe apologize for my meltdown. He was just doing what my father asked, yet he kept taking the brunt of my anger.
I padded down the uncomfortably silent hallway, my bare feet feeling cool against the stone floor. As I passed the room next to mine, a flicker of candlelight caught my attention, drawing me toward the open door. Looking for any excuse to stave off my awkward apology a bit longer, I peeked inside.
A young lady slept on a spacious bed in the middle of the room, candles spread throughout tossing a warm glow onto her porcelain face. I turned to leave before I woke her up, but my hand hesitated on the door knob. There was something about her, something off.
I took a step further into the room. She lay flat on her back, arms against her sides, a look of youthful innocence on her sleeping face. I guessed her to be no older than sixteen. She didn’t shift or make any indication that she even knew I was there. I edged closer, fearing at any moment she would awake and start screeching at me in Rivellan to get the hell out of her room.
She didn’t stir, so I moved right up to the side of the bed. Her hair was long and dark, like mine, yet her lips and face were pale. Too pale. Everyone here had at least a hint of the sun's kiss to their skin. I leaned over and could see that she was breathing at least, though the blanket tucked into her sides barely rippled.
There was something pulling me to her, something so familiar about her face. I reached my hand out hesitantly, just to touch her cheek, to confirm for myself that her skin was warm and she was alive.
As my fingers were about to make contact, her eyes flew open, and her hand shot out to grab mine. I gasped and tried to pull back, but her grip was painfully firm, holding me in place. Her eyes, wild and unseeing, were identical to my own, and a word came unbidden to my lips—sister.
This was Verren’s daughter. He told me his children died, but there was no denying my resemblance to the girl on the bed.
She held me in her grip, unmoving beyond the one hand clutching my arm tightly. Her eyes connected with mine, and her lips parted.
“Selvarea.”
Then her eyes closed, and her hand released mine to drift back to her side.
Before I could register what happened, the door to the bathroom opened, and a servant stepped into the room. Her eyes took in the scene, saw me leaning over the king's daughter and gave me a horrified look.
I threw my hands up, backing away hurriedly. “I swear I wasn’t trying to hurt her.”
I couldn’t tell if the servant was angry or scared, but I didn’t wait to find out. I tore out of the room as fast as my legs would take me.
Spinning to the left, I took off back down the hall. I barely made it two steps before I crashed into a hard body.
Strong hands gripped my shoulders and slammed me roughly into the stone wall. Pain from the impact shot down my spine, and I cried out.
I struggled against my attacker, but he didn’t budge, his arms locking me against the wall. A glowering face appeared in my vision, and the scent of salt and something darker surrounded me. Pale green eyes practically glowed in the dim lighting, but any beauty was overshadowed by the anger raging in them.
The male barked something at me in Rivellan, pushing me harder against the stone.
“Stop!” I cried out. “You’re hurting me.”
His hands held firm as he snarled something that sounded like a question.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re saying!” I shot back, pissed that this asshole thought it was okay to push me around. I thought people in this castle were supposed to kiss my ass or something, but this guy clearly didn’t get the memo. He wasn’t dressed like a servant, but he also wasn't dressed like the courtiers. He wore tight black leather breeches and a long sleeve purple tunic. It was the first time I saw someone who wasn’t displaying their tattoos obviously.
He shoved me once more, then dropped his hands, taking a step back but maintaining the scowl on his face. Now that I wasn’t being manhandled, I could actually make out his features. He appeared slightly older than me, maybe late twenties, and his face was all hard lines and dark edges. High, sharp cheekbones, strong chin and a slightly crooked nose that had likely been broken and not set correctly—an oddity in this world of perfect beings. The only soft thing about him was his wavy, espresso colored hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck, the length kissing the back of his shoulder blades. He looked like an angel of death, beautiful and terrifying all at once.
His eyes were still fixed on mine, anger blazing in them, and his hands clenched at his sides like he was forcing restraint upon himself. I had no idea what I had done to enrage him so thoroughly and that only fueled my own anger more.
I closed the gap between us and shoved him backward. He obviously wasn’t expecting a return assault because he actually stumbled, shock flashing across his face.
At least a head taller than me, his body was all tight, lean muscle. It occurred to me in a brief moment of clarity that I rarely had to look up at a guy. At five-foot-ten, I usually met them eye to eye, and if I was wearing my chunky boots it was basically a guarantee. This guy, though, had to be at least six-foot-four. Taller even than Dey.
His anger rekindled, and he was back in my face yelling at me in Rivellan.
“What is your problem, asshole?” I shot back, a darkness inside me rising to meet his wrath head on. It was hard to intimidate someone you had to look up at, but I was doing my damned best. I would not roll over for this jerk.
He glared at me, our bodies so close I could feel the pressure of his chest on mine as I breathed in and out. The confrontation lasted longer than it should have, but we were both trapped inside our own fury.
Finally I took a small step back, needing a break from the heat coming off his body and the swirl of his intoxicating scent surrounding me. It was such a familiar smell, but I couldn't place it.
The side of his mouth curled into a smirk. Clearly he thought he won our standoff.
“Don’t you know who I am?” I demanded. I felt a little dirty saying those words, but for the first time since I was brought here, I actually wanted to claim my title. If only to force him to his knees. “Princepa,” I hissed, recalling the one Rivellan word I knew.
I expected his eyes to grow wide. I expected him to drop to his knees and begin groveling. I expected he might even shed a tear as he begged my forgiveness.
What I did not expect was the loud bark of laughter that echoed through the hall as he invaded my space once more, shaking his head. No begging, no groveling, not even a head tilt in deference. Instead, he spoke softly in Rivellan, paused, then leaned in close to my ear and growled, “Fea Remia.” Those two gravelly words punctuated the silence and settled into my brain.
He stalked off down the hall, leaving me with my chest heaving, pulse racing, and fire coursing through my veins.
I took in a deep breath, trying to calm myself and caught a hint of that lingering scent of his. It hit me then, what it reminded me of, and I remained in the hallway until it dissipated, wishing I could bottle it.
He smelled like the ocean during a thunderstorm.