Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Tyrant gathered a massive following, wielders of every sort, swayed by promises of gold and power and prestige, sowing death and despair across the lands —
I yawn, stretching my legs out on the large bed. The book snaps shut in my lap. I should have started with the Arbinji history tome, but I was curious about what story Zev loved as a child. I don’t dwell on that decision.
Instead, I check the time. The sun set hours ago, and I haven’t seen Zev since last night.
He was already gone when I woke. Irritation blooms inside me, even as another yawn forces past my lips.
I listened to him and didn’t leave our chambers, all my meals delivered here.
Eaten alone. Like a tidesdamned prisoner in a gilded cage.
Irritation swells into rage. Tides damn this. I’m determined to remain awake so I can throttle Zev when he finally deems to show his face.
Sleep claims me anyway.
Again, I wake alone the next morning, but it’s clear Zev has been to bed—the sheets on his side are rumpled, his faint, smoky scent lingering in the air. And if I press his pillow over my face and inhale deeply, even as anger roils in my stomach, well, that’s no one’s business but my own.
I head to the washroom for a quick bath—my handmaids have thankfully agreed to ready me only for formal events. After emerging, I sit at Zev’s—our—large wooden desk, rummaging in the drawer for parchment and a quill.
It’s time I wrote home.
Dearest Father,
I trust you are well. By now, you must have heard of my nuptials to Prince Zevayr. I imagine you must be shocked. I was, too, at first. But I realized this was the best decision for both myself and Tundrayn.
You need not worry for my safety. Zevayr has treated me with kindness and respect. He protected me during our journey to Arbinj. I believe he has grown to care for me. I feel safe with him.
I came to Arbinj with the goal of peace and safety for our people—that remains unchanged. I stand in a better place to achieve it with my husband by my side. Please accept my decision.
I am acclimating well to life in Arbinj. I have not seen much of the capital, but I hope my husband will find time to show me. And I will be helping plan the Equinox Festival. I eagerly await your visit and your reply.
Please tell everyone that I am safe and miss them terribly.
Tides protect you.
Your devoted daughter,
Mayah
With sharp, even creases, I fold the parchment into a neat rectangle, sealing it with a drop of wax. I don’t have the Tundrayni royal seal with me, so I let the green wax dry into a sigil-less circle. There’s no doubt in my mind the letter will be read anyway before it leaves the palace.
After handing the envelope to a servant in the hall, I return to our chambers. The dark walls are suffocating. With a sigh, I grab the tome on Arbinji history and settle into the sofa for another day of reading. Alone.
Later in the afternoon, a servant—Farzina—stops by to discuss plans for the Equinox Festival—color schemes, menus, outfit choices.
Riveting. A wonderful use of my time.
Zev doesn’t come to bed tonight either.
I try not to sulk.
The next day drags by much the same—alone in my gilded cage with only my thoughts and books for company.
I try to strike up conversation with the servants who come to tidy the room, but they only offer pitying smiles.
One of them, for some unfathomable reason, scatters fresh rose petals across the mattress and dresser.
As if it’s still our wedding night.
As if I haven’t been sleeping alone since.
After they leave, I count the rose petals scattered across the vanity—forty-three, all soft as velvet—and I’m dangerously close to counting them again.
Outside the large window, the gardens sprawl across the grounds.
Eight blue rose bushes. Eleven pink ones.
I know because I counted them. Twice. Maybe if I ask nicely, the servants will plant three more blue ones and make it even.
I take a long soak in the bath, until the water cools and my fingers prune, but even familiar, comforting water can’t drown the ache of restlessness writhing beneath my skin.
Now, I lie on my massive bed and stare at the ceiling, debating whether I should cut up Zev’s clothing or fling myself out the window for a change of scenery.
Around lunch time, the door opens slowly as if it’s wary of drawing attention to itself. My husband enters with cautious footsteps. It’s been over two days since I last saw him.
I slam my book shut.
“Are my eyes deceiving me?” I exclaim, hand pressed over my heart, glare fixed on his face. “Is that my husband?”
He stands in the doorway, looking sheepish, a large tray of food clutched to his chest. “I’m sorry, Mayah. I’ve been a terrible husband. Neglected you and broke my promise to have you try mushroom stew on your first night.”
“I’m tired of your apologies,” I snap. “I’m a prisoner, locked within these four walls. Alone. I can’t live like this, Zev.”
He sits beside me on the sofa, setting the tray down on the small table. He reaches for me, but I jerk away from his grasp. A soft sigh escapes him, his hand dropping to his side.
“I don’t have an excuse, Mayah. I need to find a better way. I’m truly sorry.” He pinches the bridge of his nose tightly. Dark shadows line his eyes, as if he’s not slept much at all.
He looks like he’s aged years in just two days.
And still, I want to remain angry.
“Tell me what’s kept you away.”
Zev plates our food, handing me a bowl of stew before answering.
“The Rebellion. They’ve been attacking both Arbinji and Tundrayni battalions stationed along the contested borders.
They have more wielders than expected—waterwielders, earthwielders, healers.
We’ve suffered many casualties. Sulon is in communication with your father’s generals.
We’re trying to devise a joint strategy, but neither side is happy about working together.
” He rakes a hand through his dark locks.
“If things don’t get better, I’ll have to head to the border.
I’ve been trying to manage the situation.
Delegate tasks, strategize. It’s why I’ve been absent. I’m trying to stay here. With you.”
My heart softens slightly at his genuine expression, though my frustration doesn’t completely disappear.
“Anything else?” I munch aggressively on bread soaked in stew. Zev was right—fungus or not, it’s delicious. When he reaches to wipe the corner of my mouth, I don’t pull away this time.
“My father is working on securing an alliance with Volca. He’s sent so many gifts for their princess, I’ve lost track.”
“She must be smarter than me if she’s refusing to marry Faramir.”
Zev’s lips curve into a faint smile. “Impossible,” he says softly, his fingers playing with a lock of hair before cupping my cheek. “I’ve missed you. How have your days been?”
“Slow. Boring. Mindless.” I frown, crossing my arms. “I wrote a letter to my father. Finished reading my books. Picked out the menu for the Equinox Festival.” The next time Farzina stops by, I’ll have her add mushroom stew.
“I’ll take you to the library to get more books.”
I don’t respond.
“And tomorrow … we’ll do something special for dinner.”
He gives me a winning smile.
I give him my silence.
“We can explore the capital?” he tries, raking his teeth over his lower lip.
I finally let my lips curve. The stiffness in his shoulders eases.
“All right.”
Maybe I forgive him too easily. Or maybe I’ve just missed him.