CHAPTER FOURTEEN #2
“You said this morning I wasn’t your concern.
” I ignored the weight settling over my chest as I spoke the words I knew would hurt her most. “You were right. I’m not.
And you aren’t mine either. So I’m going to find the King, and you’re going to get out of my chambers and go back to the life you led before a princess was dropped in your lap.
We’ll both be better for it.” I turned, yanked my chamber door open, and stepped out into the corridor without waiting for Anise’s reply.
My father wasn’t in the royal chambers, he wasn’t in the great hall, and he certainly wasn’t out in the courtyard cavorting with the villagers.
If he were a more festive man, I might check the Feast of Comets’ observatories, but I knew better.
The last place I could think to look was the throne room.
As both a princess and non-member of the Council, I’d only been inside of the room a handful of times.
I wasn’t disallowed from entering, I reminded myself as I approached the Sentinels flanking the massive carved door that had been propped open—it just wasn’t particularly encouraged.
My stride was confident until I noticed the Hollow guards positioned against the wall. I despised how our clothes matched, and the way their dark eyes raked over my form.
“Is King Lunamor in the throne room?” I asked without sparing the Hollows a second glance.
Both Sentinels bowed their heads deeply.
“He is, Your Highness, but—”
I pushed past them without waiting to hear another word. Praise the stars no one attempted to stop me.
The throne room was strictly off-limits to the villagers, so I was unsurprised to find it mostly empty, save for my father and King Hollowmire.
The Lunamor castle throne sat elevated on the far end of the massive room, resting atop a platform lined with several steps.
It was tall-backed, and both it and the archway looming overhead were laced with silver filigree.
Standing candelabras peppered the space, although never too close to the expansive tapestries that covered the windows, and were kept lit regardless of the time of day.
There were eleven thrones, each dwarfed by the King’s, arranged in a semicircle around the platform with an empty, carpeted section down the middle.
I would not envy any individual made to walk through the center of that room and kneel before the king atop his throne.
I drew my attention to the large painting of my father mounted behind the throne’s archway. He always looked so severe in the paintings commissioned by the Council, and the same surly expression plastered his face now.
“Daughter,” Father said, irritation clipping his syllables. “You were not summoned to the throne room.”
King Hollowmire turned to assess me, his long, silver hair flowing like water with the movement.
His golden eyes drew up and down my frame, lingering on my neck.
I’d never given much thought to Hollowmire’s colors, but I found my mind searching for Rowland and Silvia in the dark silks the king wore, and had to swallow my revulsion so as not to be disrespectful.
His cloak was extravagant, an inky purple so dark I would have thought it was black without the candlelight shining on it just so, with gold embroidery that caught the fire when he shifted his footing.
Although I had seen King Hollowmire before, this was the first time I’d met either of his children, and I could see parts of them in his face now.
His features were more similar to his daughter’s than his son’s, which was particularly comforting given the mere idea of Rowland roiled my stomach.
“Princess Alyssum,” King Hollowmire said smoothly.
His voice was deep and enveloping, with a more subtle charm than his demented heir’s.
He brought his hands together, sapphire rings reflecting candlelight as he turned to face me fully.
Dissimilarly to his children, his skin was nearly as pale as mine.
“I hope you’ve been enjoying the feast.” His gaze flitted once again to my neck, that eerie smile never quite reaching his eyes.
“I have, Your Highness,” I lied. I curtsied with an elegance that would have made Tilda swell with pride.
I turned to my father, his hazel eyes had narrowed into thin slits.
“Father, my lord.” I rose after another deep curtsy, blood pounding with such vigor I could barely hear my own voice.
“My deepest apologies for interrupting. I have urgent need of an audience.”
Father’s exhale was audible as he stared at me, face emotionless.
“Ah, well then…” King Hollowmire clasped my father’s hand. “I’ve heard so much about the observatories your Soran Scholar erected for star study.”
“Yes, I’ve had one reserved for you and your heirs. A Sentinel will escort you. I’ll join once I’m finished with my daughter’s… urgent business.” The skepticism in his tone was blatant, and I clenched my jaw so hard it ached.
King Hollowmire and my father both bowed their heads to one another before he turned to exit the throne room.
A visceral shiver skittered through my body as he approached, and it was all I could do to remain still when he paused beside me, our arms nearly brushing.
“Our colors suit you,” was all he said. Before I could think of a reply, he was gone.
I followed his footsteps towards the corridor—“I need to have a word with the King in private,” I offered to the quirked-brow Sentinels—and pushed the massive doors closed.
I rested there for a moment, composing myself, before I turned to my father.
He stood still, surveying me with a blank expression.
That he didn’t even appear curious was maddening.
“I cannot marry Prince Rowland,” I said simply, my shaking voice betraying the composed demeanor I’d hoped to manage in his presence.
Without that slow blink, I might have thought he’d fallen asleep standing. I stood there awkwardly, the unsettled pit in my stomach deepening. The only emotion I had ever been able to summon from within my father was anger, and I needed that power now—just not directed at me.
“I was resigned to my duties as a Treaty Princess of Lunamor. I’m sure you know I wasn’t quite…
thrilled at the prospect of leaving home to marry a stranger, but I understood that it was required of me.
Until… well, we met after your speech, and he was…
” I swallowed hard against the metallic taste souring my mouth.
I gathered my hair to one side of my neck, angling away from the candlelight to hopefully illuminate the bruises that were forming against my comparatively colorless skin.
“He did this to me. He threatened to do more. Princess Silvia intervened.”
If Father was affected by my words, he did not show it. He brandished silence like a well-sharpened blade, and I felt compelled to continue speaking. If I could just say the right thing, maybe…
“Silvia, she said he tortured animals. They found, in his bedchamber—”
“What did they find?” My father’s drawl was painfully unconcerned.
“I… well… I don’t know exactly what they found, but she said he was demented.
After my brief encounter with him, I’m inclined to agree.
” I stepped closer, arms outstretched in a plea.
I sought the words that might make him understand.
“I had been perfectly polite—even charmed by him, if I’m honest—and suddenly he turned.
It was one of the most frightening things I’ve ever…
” My shoulder blades tensed reflexively as my back began to itch.
I steeled myself against the memory that threatened to press in on the present moment.
“I know you must be disappointed,” I continued lamely. The strange, empty look on my father’s face heightened my discomfort. “But I’ll do anything to be free of him. Anything you ask of me.”
Finally, he moved. He drew closer with slow, deliberate steps, hazel eyes resting upon my neck. Every muscle tensed as fearful energy flooded my legs, but I knew I couldn’t run; my father, who seemed all but incapable of selflessness, was my only hope.
“Have you read the Treaty?” Father said with a would-be quizzical expression. He tilted his head to the side, almost playfully, and the hair on the back of my neck prickled.
“I… of course.”
“You’ve read the entire document,” he confirmed, the slight narrowing of his eyes prompting me to question myself.
I cast a quick glance around the chamber, searching his words for a trick but finding none. “I have, yes.”
“Then you know,” he said slowly, “that at least once every fifty years, we are to supply Hollowmire with a princess whose veins hold equal parts Lunamorian and Soran blood. And if we do not, the Treaty is broken.”
“I… I do, but—”
“Do you know what would happen if the Treaty ceased to exist?”
I lowered my head in defeat. “I know it would be devastating for Lunamor.”
“Not just for Lunamor. The three kingdoms benefit equally from this arrangement, and to disavow it would be catastrophic for all of Morwyn.” His tone was cold, and I could barely hold his gaze when I lifted my head.
“I don’t understand,” I admitted for the second time that evening, my voice small.
Lunamorians were permitted to read the Treaty, but not the supporting documentation surrounding it; I knew that the exchange needed to occur, but not why.
Further, I had never been told that all the land depended on the Treaty between our three kingdoms—how was that even possible?
My eyebrows must have knitted together in disbelief, because Father took a step forward, and the look on his face prompted me to step back in reply.
“You don’t need to understand,” he said, his voice exceptionally even. “You are not the only individual who has had to make this sacrifice, and I can all but guarantee you will not be the last.”
I felt my lips quiver. Could I do it? Not just for my kingdom, but for all of Morwyn?
I tried to imagine a life as Rowland’s wife.
A life of survival, of disregard, of pain.
Then, there was panic. Coursing through my veins, flooding my limbs, and prompting me to shout against my better judgment, “No!” I drew my hands to my mouth, terror forcing tears from wide eyes.
I had never once used that word with him, let alone raised my voice. I knew then that I had sealed my fate.
“No?” Father echoed, the humored smile and indentation of his brow sending another shockwave through me.
“She says no,” he murmured to himself, quizzical and mocking.
Suddenly, as if a thought had just occurred to him, he clapped his hands together.
“There is one other option.” His tone dropped to that gentle register that often meant I was being toyed with.
Hesitantly, I bowed my head, choking back a sob at the relief I wouldn’t allow myself to fully embrace.
“Anything,” I whispered.
My father neared, and once again I forced myself to stay rooted to the spot despite every instinct telling me to run.
He reached me, lowering his head so that he could whisper directly into my ear.
His hot breath sent an unpleasant bubbling sensation down my spine, and I suppressed the grimace that surfaced against the scent of wine and digesting meat.
“Hollowmire will have their princess,” Father warned. “So either accept Prince Rowland as your husband, or I will have Linus fuck another half-blooded Soran out of you.”
I lunged backwards as if I’d been bitten. I nearly stumbled to the floor, clutching one of the Council’s thrones to remain upright. I searched my father’s face for even the slightest indication that he wasn’t serious.
“No…” I whimpered, shaking my head slowly.
The wine I’d imbibed threatened to come back up, but I swallowed hard, refusing to heave.
Helplessly, I looked down at my boots and thought of how they’d reminded me of buckets only a couple of hours prior.
Even then, I’d thought my world was ending. If only I’d known…
“Yes,” Father countered. “You can have Rowland, or you can have Linus. Even with the unfortunate proclivities of Hollowmire’s prince, I do think he would be your safest bet.
After all, even if Linus managed to impregnate you with a girl in time, you’d be forced to relinquish your barely aged daughter to Rowland’s castle. ”
“Relinquishing your daughter to Rowland’s castle doesn’t seem to be the torturous punishment you make it out to be,” I snapped.
I immediately took another step back, expecting my father to lunge for me in the face of my insolence, but his features only split apart into a sinister smile that flashed my nightmare before my eyes.
“You could never do what I have done for Lunamor,” he said, eyes wide and face twisted. “But that cunt between your legs is valuable, and it will be used. Your only choice is by whom.”
I breathed shallow as the pieces of this particular puzzle fell into place.
Father had already told Rowland he could take me whenever he wanted.
A fresh wave of trepidation chilled my skin as my imagination saw the Hollows entering the royal chambers and taking me by force, illuminating a simple truth: I was no longer safe in Lunamor.
I forced myself back to the present moment, realizing Father was providing me with the illusion of choice, just as I had done with Phinara and Bjorn.
He could not revoke his promise to Hollowmire without the threat of war, and even if he could, he knew I’d sooner die than bed Linus.
The only path forward was clear.
I pooled strength and resilience into my throat as I raised my chin and locked eyes with the King of Lunamor. With three simple words, I would solidify my demise. But I refused to allow my voice to waver. I wanted to say, “You win.” Instead, I forced out:
“I choose Rowland.”