Chapter 4
Chapter Four
The Dark Commander rises, tugging me up with him, our joined hands held aloft.
“The new princess of Arbinj!” he announces.
The hall remains painfully silent.
Zevayr’s grip tightens around my hand, unyielding even as Father ascends the steps and embraces me. The touch is so unfamiliar that I remain stiff in his arms. When he draws back, his icy eyes soften—for once—as they rest on me.
The moment is fleeting, passing through my fingers like water as Father turns to Zevayr. “We’ve prepared a feast tonight, and a grand celebration tomorrow. The servants will show your party to—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Zevayr cuts him off, waving a dismissive hand. “We return to Arbinj within the hour. Enough time for the princess to pack her belongings.”
I gape at him. He can’t be serious.
Father’s face reddens, fingers tightening around his staff. “We have spared no effort in preparing for this occasion. You insult both my daughter and Tundrayn,” he hisses, spittle flying from his mouth.
“That is not my intention,” Zevayr says easily. He still doesn’t release my hand. “I was tasked with delivering the princess immediately. Your efforts are appreciated and not unnoticed.”
Angry muttering erupts within the hall. Zevayr casts a narrowed gaze around the room. “I’ve also brought the first shipment of food stores. Plenty of meat and grains.” His words have their intended effect. The hall quiets, though Father remains scowling.
From the corner of my eye, I spot Daak stalking over, his icy gaze fixed on mine and Zevayr’s still-joined hands. He faces the Dark Commander, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “You can’t expect the princess to be ready for travel in an hour,” Daak snarls.
Zevayr eyes Daak with unconcealed disdain. “You are?”
“The captain of the royal guard.”
Daak’s eyes flit to me.
A powerful thunderclap sounds out, louder than any I’ve ever heard. I flinch, my heart battering my ribcage. A distant ringing sounds in my ears.
Lightning flashes, bathing the room in blinding light for a heartbeat, and I inadvertently squeeze Zevayr’s hand. His attention cuts to me for a fleeting moment, brows furrowed, before he resumes his staring match with Daak.
Thunder rumbles like icebergs scraping together.
By the Tides.
I can’t pass out in the middle of the hall.
“It’s all right, Father,” I reassure. My voice is steady even as my stomach stumbles. “I’m ready to begin my new life.”
Before Father or Daak can object, Zevayr guides me down the aisle, his soldiers snapping into formation at our sides. Behind us, Daak’s voice cuts through the hall as he commands the royal guards to follow us to my chambers.
Zevayr halts so abruptly it throws me off-balance.
“That won’t be necessary,” he says without turning. “She is a princess of Arbinj now. She is under my protection.”
Cold fury rushes through my veins. The insufferable man sees me as property—goods to deliver. I may wear his brother’s ring now, but that doesn’t mean he owns me.
“She is still a princess of Tundrayn,” I snap heatedly, glaring up at him. Amused gray eyes meet my own. I want to claw them out with my nails. “Your guards may accompany me, but so will my Father’s.”
Zevayr studies me, eyes narrowed, but I refuse to flinch beneath his scrutiny. I brace for a boom of thunder to threaten me into obedience, but surprisingly, it never comes.
He finally nods, and we exit the hall, Zevayr and Daak flanking me, trailed by both Tundrayni and Arbinji guards. When we reach my chambers, Zevayr insists on inspecting my room before I’m permitted inside. Not to be outdone, Daak checks it again after him.
Both men wait outside my door while I change into warm leggings and a thick tunic suited for travel. My handmaids pack a few bags of my belongings, but just clothing for the journey. I won’t need my furs and wools in Arbinj’s warmer climate.
There’s only one thing I refuse to leave behind.
From my dresser, I lift a silver chain, its teardrop pendant glimmering softly—the only piece of my mother I have left.
After she died, Father burned all her belongings, too overcome with grief to bear the sight of them.
The necklace survived only because it was in my pocket.
Even now, he can’t stand to look at it, which is why I never wear it.
I clasp it around my neck with trembling fingers.
I’m dressed and ready, but I still don’t open the doors. Not yet. My footsteps stall, frozen to the floor. I cast another lingering glance around my chambers—I don’t know when I’ll return.
If ever.
Slow, unsteady steps carry me back to my dresser.
Numbly, I slide open the top drawer and lift out a small wooden box.
My fingers are reverent as I ease off the lid, revealing a stack of letters, their envelopes creased and worn.
Mayah-bear is written across each one in a looping script I know as well as my own name.
Gently, I trace the faded handwriting with the tip of my finger.
My throat is tight as I replace the box, then cast one final gaze around the room. My heart constricts painfully at the fate awaiting me in Arbinj.
In a new set of chambers. In a new bed.
But I knew this day would come. I expected it. I waited for it.
So I move.
I walk.
I obey.
When I open the doors, Zevayr and Daak are glaring at each other, likely seconds from unsheathing their weapons. I ignore the Dark Commander, addressing only Daak with a dip of my chin before gliding down the hall. The men trail behind me.
My heart beats in my throat as I cross the threshold of the palace’s towering doors. A host of nobles and advisers are lined up in neat rows in the snowground. Every balcony is filled—servants, guards, warriors, nobility. Everyone come to bid their princess farewell.
Perhaps, forever.
I nod at each of them but don’t let my gaze linger on any face for long. I’m afraid of what I’ll see.
Disdain? Pity? Approval?
Father waits at the end of the line. Behind him are four Arbinji carriages.
Three are large and regal, crafted from gleaming polished wood.
The carriage at the end of the procession is smaller, the wood faded and scarred.
At least four dozen men on horseback flank the carriages—the soldiers wear dark leathers and armor, a stark contrast against the white snow, like soot stains on our pristine landscape.
Father envelops me in another stiff embrace while the servants load my bags into the largest carriage. I stand awkwardly in the circle of his arms, willing my body to relax. It refuses.
“Don’t disappoint me,” he murmurs in my ear. Sharp words whispered so softly. “I will see you at the Equinox Festival. Tides protect you.” I nod stiffly against his shoulder. When he pulls back, his gaze snags on my mother’s necklace. His lips tighten, but he doesn’t say a word.
“Father,” I whisper. “The feast tonight … divide the food amongst the people. All the people. Please.”
His eyes sharpen into a blade, cutting through me.
He doesn’t deign a response.
Daak stands beside him, mournful blue eyes fixed on me. I wish I could say goodbye to him properly. He bows his head, but his fierce gaze says so much more.
I’ll always love you. I’ll find you. Tides protect you.
With one last nod to Father, Zevayr helps me into the carriage.
I leave my home behind.