3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
T he ride to Keuron is four or five days, at most.
I ride in the carriage alone. It seems that the Crown Prince can’t be bothered to spend the days of travel with his betrothed. Though I can’t say I’m unhappy about it. After everything he’s done, I might have strangled him had I been forced to accompany him.
For the whole ride, and when we stop to make camp for the night, I try to see the prison wagon ahead of us. But it’s no use—the coach and the horses that pull it obstruct my view.
It’s only when we finally arrive in the city that I perk up in my seat. When we pass through the city gates, I uncross my arms and lean to look out the window.
Tall buildings reach for the skies. Multi-story homes with cobbled roofs line the streets. Colorful banners hang on lines of string that stretch overhead. Bustling shops filled with people, of many different backgrounds, fill the roads with chatter, mingling as if they’re the greatest of friends. Smells of baked goods I don’t recognize fill my nose. There are market stands outside of the shops, with vendors calling out to people that pass by.
One vendor, a lesser fae merchant, holds out a gold necklace and a paperweight made from gohlrunn —a weighted kind of gold alloy that Slyfell’s artisans use for crafting expensive items—shouting out ridiculous prices. Sure, crafted pieces are more valuable than raw metal, but the gold seems to be worth more here than back home. The lack of men and women covered in dirt and dust makes me remember that there are no miners in Keuron. All the mining is done in the Courts, so any metal found here is imported. That explains the higher price.
My mouth parts in awe. Slyfell is by no means a small city. But the sheer number of people I see here in Keuron makes it seem so. Even though it wasn’t my choice to come here, I can’t help but feel drawn to the city’s vibrant activity. Whereas Slyfell is relatively quiet and safe, Keuron is loud and new and exciting. It makes me wonder what else is out there, what the cities in the other Courts look like.
We ride through the city until we reach a wooden drawbridge. A moat separates the land across the bridge from the rest of the city. In the center of the man-made island sits a large castle—High Keep. The seat of power of all Inatia, home to the royal family. The Crown Prince.
And now, it’s my home, too.
My gilded prison.
We wait a moment, and then chains lower the drawbridge.
Once it’s secure, the horses pull the carriage over the bridge, and more of the castle comes into view. The stone bricks are worn with age but look well-maintained. There isn’t much greenery, but what vegetation is there is finely trimmed into neat squares and rectangles. Two thin towers stand guard at either side of the bridge, where a steel gate stands between the castle and the outside world. Bronze colored banners, adorned with the circular crest of House Avanos, hang down from the towers and sway gently in the wind.
The gate rises as we approach, and the carriage passes under its teeth.
Panic grips my stomach when I realize I’ve lost sight of the prison wagon. I have no idea where Loren is now.
Or what fate awaits him.
But my own fate surges to the forefront of my mind. Unease skitters across the back of my neck, my stomach twisting into knots. Seeing what lies ahead, I mutter a prayer to Imone, Goddess of Mercy, for Loren. And for myself.
A line of guards stand at the castle’s entrance .
And front and center, stands who I assume to be the High King, with the Crown Prince at his side.
High King Vorr smiles when the carriage slows to a stop. It’s a polite smile, a decent attempt at warmth. He wears leather gloves, and his clasped hands rest by his waist. A regal, bronze crown sits atop his head of cropped black hair. To his right, wearing a similar crown made from the same metal, the Crown Prince Viridian doesn’t even attempt to mask his displeasure.
The carriage trembles when the guards disembark.
I wait for them to come around to my door. The guard closest to the carriage opens the door and holds out his hand.
I don’t take it and exit on my own. The guard doesn’t say anything, merely shutting the carriage door after me. With nothing more to do, the guards position themselves around me, one on each side. As if they’re waiting to see if I’ll run.
The thought does cross my mind. But with the drawbridge likely up, I doubt I would make it far.
“Cryssa, is it?” the High King asks. Much to my surprise, his voice is warmer than his smile or his burnt-orange eyes. “Welcome to Keuron.”
There’s a tense silence, and then the High King turns to his son with a pointed look.
“Yes, welcome,” Viridian echoes, as if he forgot why we were all here.
Out here, in broad daylight, I see more of him than I did that night in the stables. His fair skin seems to shimmer in the sunlight, his wispy, medium-length black hair combed away from his face. Still, tendrils of it fall in front of his eyes. Those amber eyes study me, with a tightness in his jaw that I can’t read.
Part of me wants to stay quiet. To deny them the pleasure of my response.
But I also want to live long enough to free Loren and make our escape. And being rude to the High King and Crown Prince seems contradictory to that goal.
So, I force myself to bow, even though I would rather walk across hot coals. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to. Viridian,” the High King says, gloved hands gesturing to me, “escort your betrothed to her chambers.”
Viridian dips his head in response. “Very well.”
Just as I expected, his voice is cold, monotone.
Pretentious noble fae prick.
With that, the High King and a slew of guards enter the castle. The remaining guards stand at attention, looking to Viridian for his command.
“Come,” Viridian says, keeping his eyes away from me. He turns on his heels, using two fingers to motion for the guards to follow. The female guard closest to him nods, then signals to the rest, who move to form a unit around me—two in front of me, two behind, and one on each of my sides. Viridian leads us, with the female guard trailing him, and the guards surrounding me move as one .
I have no choice but to follow.
There is no turning back.
Lifting my skirts so I don’t trip over them, I climb the small set of stairs and enter High Keep. A bitter laugh coats my tongue. I know so many girls back home that would kill to be in my position. Who would give anything to be hand-picked by the Crown Prince to be his bride. To come live here, in Keuron, and wear lavish gowns and attend balls.
And I would give anything to trade places with any one of them.
Oh, how the Lady of Fate is cruel.
The stone walls swallow me as soon as I pass through the threshold, surrounding me with cool air. Perhaps everything—and everyone—here is cold. I long for the warmth of our hearth already.
Viridian leads us through a long hallway, lined with more of House Avanos’s bronze banners. A bronze colored carpet runs the length of the hallway, with actual bronze metal lining the edges. Tall, stone arches make up the walls on either side, with large open spaces that let me see into the adjoining rooms. Through the arches, I see an array of decorative suits of armor—made from metals from each of the five Courts—standing neatly in a row along the far wall.
Viridian turns a corner, taking us up a flight of stairs. Above us, hangs a steel chandelier, its circular rows of lit candles giving off a warm glow. We reach the landing and continue beyond an intricately carved stone railing, decorated with twisting copper vines and roses, into a large open space. More carpet lies beneath my feet, and to the right, is a corridor adorned with glorious paintings unlike anything I’ve ever seen before—all depicting portraits of people I assume to be members of House Avanos. The sight of them makes me long for my sketchbook.
One of the guards nudges me with her elbow, and I quicken my pace to match Viridian’s swift stride.
We enter another hallway, this one with a row of gold-rimmed windows. It’s the brightest place in High Keep I’ve encountered so far, and I close my eyes to bask in the sunlight while we pass.
It’s possible that I might not get the chance to do so again.
Turning left, into yet another corridor, I see this one is lined with heavy-looking wooden doors sitting on steel hinges. Approaching one, Viridian slows to a stop and waits for me with his hands behind his back. The female guard with him stands to his right, about a little less than a shoulder length behind him. Gray eyes focused, she stands tall, her blue-black hair seeming to reflect the stone surrounding us. She’s young-looking, too—her tan face shows no sign of age. Then again, she could be older than she seems. The fae age slower than humans.
Still avoiding my eyes, Viridian turns his head to the female guard. I take note of the twin, steel short swords that hang sheathed at her hips. “This is Lady Lymseia Wynterliff, second-born daughter of Head of House Wynterliff, and Captain of the High King’s Guard.”
Lymseia bows her head. “It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Thurdred.”
I try to release the tension in my shoulders before responding. Though, I don’t succeed. “The same to you, Lady Wynterliff.”
“Lady Wynterliff will stay to assist you in getting settled in,” Viridian tells me, sounding distant. “Should you need anything, call on her.” After that, he starts down the hallway, and thankfully, the cluster of guards—except for Lymseia—leave with him.
Lymseia holds her hands out toward the door. “Shall we?”
I nod, taking a deep breath.
Lymseia opens the door for me and waits for me to pass. I do, and then she comes in after me, leaving the door open.
I pause, taking it all in.
A large, four-poster bed sits in the center of the room. Thick, bronze colored bedding hangs over a huge mattress. A collection of long, fluffy pillows is neatly arranged by the headboard. Matching bedside tables sit on either side of the bed, with silver candelabras placed atop them. An oval-shaped rug covers most of the stone floor, with bronze metal woven into the threads. There are two windows on the far wall, both clothed with heavy-looking cream drapes. On the opposite wall, closest to where I’m standing, is a mahogany wardrobe and a vanity table with a mirror and padded chair.
Lymseia moves ahead and leads me to a doorway opposite the bed. “The washroom is right over here.”
I follow her deeper into the room and peer through the open threshold.
A massive copper tub sits inside, with a stack of clean towels on a shelf beside it. There’s another mirror in here, hanging in front of a small table with a washbowl set down on top.
“The main areas of the castle are free for you to explore,” Lymseia tells me, leading me back to the room’s center. Her tone shifts, becoming more authoritative, like a general laying down the law. “The Crown Prince’s only request is that you stay inside High Keep. So don’t get any ideas.”
I press my lips together, hardening my expression. My mind translates the words.
I’m not allowed to leave the castle.
“If you ever need anything,” Lymseia continues, her voice relaxing again as she looks at me, “just ask. The Crown Prince’s first priority is your comfort.”
I snort. “Of course it is.”
Lymseia’s expression softens. “I know you must feel alone here. Please, know that I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”
I nod, but don’t meet her eyes. It’s hard to believe that she’s here for me, when she’s the one telling me that I’m a prisoner here. And when as the Captain of the High King’s Guard, she’ll be the one enforcing the Crown Prince’s ‘request. ’
“Your ladies’ maids will be arriving shortly to attend to you. They’ll see to all your needs.” Lymseia’s voice warms. “You will be cared for here, Cryssa. On my honor, you have my word.”
She lingers for a moment, searching my face. I give her nothing. Then, she bows her head and leaves, gently closing the door behind her.
I may have come here willingly to protect my family, but I won’t be a prisoner. And I won’t condemn myself to be shackled to this life by marrying the Crown Prince.
I need to escape.
My body goes utterly still. I wait a moment until I’m sure Lymseia’s gone.
Then, I launch across the room to the window. If I can see how high I am, I can use the bedding to make a rope that I can then use to climb down. My fingers slide across the windowpane to open it.
I curse. The windows don’t open.
So much for being free .
Looking around the room, my eyes land on the vanity table. Perhaps there’s something in the drawers that I can use to get out of here.
Swiftly, I cross the room and crouch before the vanity table. Pulling the drawers open, I rummage through them. There’s a hairbrush, some powder puffs along with other beauty products I don’t recognize, and loose hair pins.
The hair pins seem promising. There might come a time when I’ll need to pick a lock, so I take a few and slip them into my hair.
Racking my brain, I try to think of something else. The window isn’t a dead end yet. It can still be my way out, but I’ll need to find something strong enough to break the glass. But breaking the window will surely draw attention, and I’ll need to act quickly if I choose to escape that way.
I move to the wardrobe and open it. Finely made gowns hang within it, and I push them aside, searching for anything useful. My hands linger on the one piece of clothing I would have never expected to see here, of all places.
My cloak.
The gray wool looks out of place amidst all the silks and satins.
I reach out to touch it, rubbing the material between my thumb and forefinger.
Viridian must have brought it here. He and Loren were the only others there that night, and I didn’t see it in Loren’s hand when he came running after me.
He noticed that I left it behind.
The thought stirs something in my stomach. But I promptly dismiss the feeling. Viridian may have thought to bring my cloak, but he is still the one holding me captive.
Footsteps sound in the hallway.
I quickly shut the wardrobe. The wood makes a banging noise when I do, and I wince. When the chamber door opens, I jerk back, putting some distance between myself and the wardrobe.
A cluster of servants enter, flocking to me. All of them are human.
My ladies’ maids. Lymseia meant it when she told me they’d be arriving shortly.
I hold back a sigh. I’ll have to continue planning my escape once they leave. Which I hope is soon.
With the ease of someone who’s done this many times, the ladies maids usher me into the washroom and strip me of my clothes. They turn on a faucet, and once the tub is full, they herd me into the water.
Hot water meets my skin. I suck in a breath.
One of the ladies’ maids places her hands on my shoulders, guiding them lower so my body is enveloped in the hot water. Then, there’s tugging at my hair and scrubbing at my scalp. They stretch out my arms, rubbing soap and washcloths into my skin until it’s raw. I’m embarrassed at how much grime comes out. At home, I’ve undressed in front of Acantha, and never once felt self-conscious during any of the times I’ve been naked in front of her.
But I do now.
Once they’re satisfied with my cleanliness, the ladies’ maids help me out of the tub and dry me off. Wrapping me in a silk dressing gown, they guide me out of the washroom and sit me down in front of the vanity table. In the mirror, I get a good look at myself .
My fair skin looks clearer, cleaned of all dirt and oil. My golden-brown eyes narrow while I study the reflections of the ladies’ maids as they work. My auburn hair is already curling, pulled in several directions while two servants run combs through it. The ladies’ maids that are not laboring to tame my hair leaf through the gowns in the wardrobe and pull one out, laying it flat on the bed.
The servants combing my hair set down the combs and run their fingers through my locks, weaving half of it into braids that they secure to my head. The rest of my hair hangs free down my back.
Pulling me to my feet, the ladies’ maids steer me to the other servants, who now hold up the gown, ready to dress me with it. They hold the garment out in front of them, and I step into it. Then the servants move behind me and button it up before fussing over my skirts.
When they’re satisfied with the way my skirts fall, the ladies’ maids step back to look at me. They exchange nods, and then bow to me again before seeing themselves out just as swiftly as they came.
It’s then that I realize I didn’t say a word to any of them.
Not even a “thank you.” If he were here, Father would scold me for my rudeness. A knot twists in my chest.
Father.
He and Acantha must be worried sick about me, not knowing when I’ll be home—if at all—or if I’m all right. The bite of their absence is an ache in my chest .
All the more reason for me to leave this gods-forsaken place.
With the room to myself again, I continue my search for anything I can use to aid my escape. I find pairs of heeled shoes sitting beneath the dresses in the wardrobe. While I could use them to shatter the window, I hoped to find something more substantial. Much to my disappointment, I don’t find much else that can be of use.
Not long after my measly discovery, more human servants arrive. This time, they come with a cart of steaming food, covered by silver domes with curved handles on top. The aromas reach my nose before I answer the door, and it makes me realize how hungry I am.
After I open my chamber door, the servants roll the cart into my room. They bow and ask me if I need anything else.
I decline, and say “thank you” this time, not forgetting my manners. The servants stiffen when I do, as if they’re not used to being thanked for their service.
They leave, and I’m alone again.
Part of me doesn’t want to accept the meal. Or any sort of gift that can be traced back to Viridian. But I’m not a fool. I’ll need my strength if I want to find Loren and run.
My stomach growls, as if to emphasize my need for the food.
Swallowing my pride, I drag the cart closer to the vanity table and sit on the chair. I remove the silver covers from the dishes, my mouth watering at the sight .
There’s some kind of roasted poultry—duck or turkey, if I had to guess—with a fruity glaze, vegetables sauteed in butter and garlic, thinly sliced potatoes with copious amounts of aged cheese, and a thick slice of chocolate cake for dessert. To pair with the meal, there’s a pitcher of a dark liquid with the tangy, aged scent of wine.
I don’t touch the wine. It’s not wise to impair my thinking while trapped in the wolves’ den.
The flavors and textures melt in my mouth, and I eat slowly, savoring every bite. Guilt creeps into my chest, turning the experience sour. It feels wrong to be here, eating like this, when so many miners and their families struggle to make ends meet. Even more so now that the families of many miners mourn the loss of their loved ones, left with no one to care for them.
When I’m done, I leave my dirty plate and fork on the cart.
My hunger recedes, and I’m left to my own devices. What more can I do?
Homesickness and despair close in around me, all at once. I’ve been forcing myself to think of my escape and nothing else. But now, as night falls, all the emotions I’ve worked to ignore force their way in.
Fear. Sadness. Anger. Powerlessness.
Standing, I move to the bed and pull the covers back. Without undressing, I climb into it and bury myself under the expensive-looking blankets. I curl into the fetal position, with my arms raised so my hands are parallel to my head.
It’s early, but fatigue settles into my bones. There’s a hollowness in my chest.
This is the first time I’ve ever left home. The first time I’ve slept in a bedroom alone, without Acantha. It feels empty without her.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the tears that gather there.
I stay like that until I eventually fall asleep, and don’t feel anything at all.