16. Chapter Sixteen Rhea
Chapter Sixteen: Rhea
T he metallic scent of blood is finally gone from the tower. I am unsure if it’s something I imagined or if it’s because I’ve kept the balcony doors and tower windows open for as long as possible each day. Either way, I am no longer hit with phantom scents of the night my soul fractured irreparably.
It has been three days—or perhaps more—since the guard dropped off the supplies, and our interaction has rattled around in my mind a few times since. So have those weird stomach butterflies. Which is absolutely ridiculous, because what is there even to reminisce about? He’s a guard, and he dropped off my supplies. He’s also tall and rather handsome , but I quickly shake that thought away.
Bella has been glued to my side, her pointed ears always erect as if she is straining to hear a shift in the wind that will indicate my breakdown is looming. Or maybe she’s just waiting for Alexi to come back too. I’ve kept my emotions under lock, deciding to stick with my no crying rule for as long as possible. Shedding those tears will not bring him back. Reducing myself to a sobbing mess will do nothing to help me escape this tower. As if I can barter with my own emotions, I promise myself I can break down once I’ve left this place with Bella in tow. Once we are safe, far away and hidden so that King Dolian can’t find us, then—and only then—will I permit myself to grieve.
To help keep myself unfeeling, I focus on how I will escape. A lot of my supposed plan requires luck, but I owe it to Alexi to try. I don’t want to spend any more of my life trapped in this place than I already have, and I can’t hold out hope that perhaps the king will eventually just leave me alone. A nagging feeling in my gut tells me that he’s kept me in this tower for a reason and I don’t want to be here long enough to find out why.
Working backwards, what will I need with me when I escape? Food is the obvious first choice—of course, I’d need something to carry it in. Changes of clothes would be nice, as well, but would take up a lot of room. Somehow, I’d need to get a pair of shoes, as I assume walking barefoot on the grounds and in the surrounding forests is probably not wise. I know I have to go east, partly because of that strange dream-that-isn’t-a-dream that replays in my mind, but also because I have no choice but to go that way. Going west just leads to the ocean, and as wonderful as it would be to sail away, I don’t exactly have a way to do that. So, that’s the beginning of my plan: get supplies—somehow. Get past the guards, both guarding my tower and any that might surround it—somehow. And then go east—that, I know how to do.
Sitting in front of my vanity, I brush my hair harshly, working all of the tangles from my post-bath hair. After sweeping and mopping this morning, I exercised and then soaked in the tub for a long while. The longer my hair gets, the more easily it tangles, and right now—with its length nearly skimming the top of the stool I’m sitting on—I know that it will only get worse if I don’t do something about it. I roughly grip the hairbrush as I remember that Alexi was the last—and only—person to cut my hair. The memory of him kneeling behind me, scissors in hand as he kept finding excuses to stall, robs me of my breath. He was meticulous, afraid cutting my hair would be a disaster, but it turned out just fine. My eyes close as I squeeze the wooden handle of the hair brush so tightly I think it might snap. Holding my breath, I count to five until the icy numbness I’ve grown accustomed to blankets my heart, until all that’s left is a shadow of what once was. Exhaling, my eyes open and I continue brushing my hair, tugging at the knots until they are either undone or ripped into the bristles in large clumps.
When I’m finished, I attempt to put my hair into a braid and fail miserably, the twisted strands completely undone by the time I make it down to the living area. Bella follows behind me, trotting delicately down the stairs. Grabbing food and water for us both, I take a seat outside on the balcony. Drawing my knees into my chest, I focus on my breathing. It’s the only thing I have control of anymore. The morning sun cradles my body and perfuses my skin with warmth, seeping in almost deep enough to penetrate the frozen fortress I’ve subconsciously constructed around myself. Almost.
The feeling of confinement weighs more heavily on me since Alexi’s death. I’ve always felt imprisoned here, the stones sucking out any sort of contentment or joy I might dare to feel. Although how content can one realistically expect to be when their very life is reduced to repeating the same things over and over again? It’s what I imagine free falling off a mountain must be like, except you never actually hit the ground. Your arms and legs flail about, but there is never any chance of finding anchorage. Eventually, you resign yourself to your fate as you tumble through the air forever.
Each year that passes with me still trapped here is like a layer of myself slowly being peeled away. Sometimes they are small insignificant pieces, like when I see the lanterns from the Summer Solstice celebration floating in the sky and realize with a pain in my gut that it’s my birthday. Or when I reach for one of the hundreds—no, thousands—of books in the library, only to find I’ve already read it. Then there are bigger moments, where I know a huge chunk of my soul has been ripped violently from me and shredded in such a way that it can never be replaced. Like when the king first laid his hands on me. Or when I watched Alexi die because of me. These moments have chipped away at me until I’m nothing but a husk of a person, and I’m afraid that even if I somehow escape, I will never know the peace of being whole again. How could I?
As if in response to my thoughts, I feel the warm, humming sensation inside of me stir near my stomach. It has been dormant since that night, and I wonder if it somehow knows I don’t want to sense its presence. Can it feel my vexation at having the ability to heal but being unable to save Alexi? I don’t know if I’m just going crazy or if the magic inside me is actually sentient, but I can sense it there—lying in wait until I’m ready to use it again. My hand flexes in front of me, and I consider pulling that little invisible string that calls my magic up. However, the thought is fleeting, gone before it ever has the chance to settle.
We stay outside a little longer, letting the sun move higher up into the sky before eventually coming back in and settling onto the window seat in the library. Covering my legs with a blanket, I grab the half-read romance novel I started last night and lean back against the sea of pillows stuffed onto one side. With each word, my mind drifts off into a fantasy land and I become that much more insensate to my surroundings.
The living area of the tower sparkles in the dimming light of sunset. Needing to keep my body moving, I start sweeping the floor while Bella watches from her curled up position on the couch.
“You know, it would be nice if you helped every once in a while. Most of what I’m sweeping up is your hair,” I tease half-heartedly, placing a hand on my hip as I lean against the broom.
Bella doesn’t move for a few seconds, and I’m inclined to believe she’s ignoring me when suddenly her head shoots up, ears perked in that way she does for only one person. Our eyes meet as she lets out a small whine, but we both already know what’s coming. Who’s coming . She bolts up the stairs right as the door opens.
King Dolian walks in, his eyes moving right to mine where I stand in the middle of the living area, broom still in hand. His five trusted guards flow in behind him in a flurry of black and gold, three blocking the door and two standing in front of them closer to the king. The guard who took Alexi’s body catches my gaze again—his black eyebrow rising as our eyes stay locked before his dart back to the king.
King Dolian slowly looks me over, hands clasping behind his back. Posed like this, he is very much the depiction of regal importance—a benevolent king. His clothes fit him impeccably, and his chestnut hair is coiffed to perfection. Even his dark brown beard is trimmed flawlessly close to his face. But I see a side to him no one else does. Well, except for these guards. He leers at me, too many emotions to decipher flashing through those hazel eyes. His stalking steps towards me are an ominous march, matching the beat of my heart.
When he’s close enough that I can see a few of the freckles on his cheeks—the small pigmentations too much like my own for comfort—I freeze. It’s then that I remember my mistake. I start to lower into a curtsy, but it’s too late. His hand snaps out to grab my arm, the grip so painfully tight that I let out a yelp.
“You will no longer be required to bow before me, Rhea,” he says with a tense voice, barely lessening his grip as his thumb moves up and down my arm. “At least, not in that way.”
I don’t know what he means, but the tone of his words cause nausea to churn incessantly in my stomach. I can feel the power of my magic, but something else is there too. It surrounds the warm buzzing that I’m used to feeling with something dark and ancient, like a small spark in the middle of an inky cave. I grit my teeth together, forcing the magic—and whatever that other feeling is—back down.
King Dolian smiles wide, his white teeth showing in a horrifying display that looks more animal than man. He leans over me, my body naturally moving away until my back is straining at a curved angle to keep distance between us. “I have so many plans for you, Rhea,” he whispers, his breath touching my forehead.
My stomach plummets, leaving me feeling dizzy and sick. “What do you mean?” I ask with a shaky voice.
The king lets go of my arm jarringly, making me fight to maintain my balance as he steps away. He begins pacing the tower, his hands clasped behind his back once more, as if he needs to restrain himself from acting. On what, I don’t know. The atmosphere in the room is vile, a sort of heavy and thick foreboding that suffocates me as I try to wade through it.
“Did you know that word is spreading around the castle—throughout the capital even—about the traitorous bastard?” he asks, far too calmly. I don’t answer because he already knows what I will say. No, the king is cruelly taunting me. He halts his pacing to peer out over the balcony, but even with his back to me, I can feel his sickening gaze like a brand. I watch as his knuckles turn white from how tightly he clasps them, my fear rising with every second that passes. “Apparently, a few guards who liked Alexi don’t agree with the fact that he was punished . They find it unjust that I executed him for stealing something of mine.” He pauses, the air around us tightening. “As if that is not enough cause for his head on a stake.”
Shock rolls through me as I fight back the urge to vomit at the image of Alexi’s kind face rotting on a spike. I had never considered that he would get anything other than a proper burial, one deserving of the man he was.
“Why are you telling me this?” I plead, unable to reconcile this information in a way that doesn’t leave me near fainting. King Dolian whips his body around, those hazel eyes alight with something far more sinister than ever before. My fear is replaced with revulsion the longer I look at him, and like the lighting of a candle in a pitch black room, clarity strikes me—I cannot possibly survive whatever future he has planned for me.
“I am trying to make you realize how much I am willing to lose in order to maintain your safety!” His face grows red with his barely tempered fury. I subconsciously step back, feeling my magic hum more strongly. “This is your proof, Rhea! How can you not see all that I do for you? How can you be so ungrateful when I am allowing my people to believe I’m the villain, just to ensure you are protected? To guarantee no one touches what is mine!”
“Alexi never touched me—”
“Rhea,” he interrupts, scowling at me. “There is only one reason why a man would come to visit you. Don’t think me naive!” He approaches me, a predatory gleam in his eye.
I take another step back, shaking my head vehemently as disgust slices through me. “He never—”
“Don’t lie to me!” My uncle quickly closes the gap between us and grabs me by my hair, viciously tugging until my chest crashes into his. “Do you expect me to believe,” he whispers gratingly, his horrific mouth so terrifyingly close to my face, “that a guard was just leaving his post to talk to you? Am I to assume you gave him such alluring conversation that it kept him coming back? Do you think I am a fool?”
My eyes squeeze together as I shut down, trying to tunnel deeper into myself to avoid his putrid words.
“Look at me,” he whispers, gripping my hair harder when I don’t immediately obey. “Look. At. Me.” Each unmercifully enunciated word hits me like a knife, gutting my soul until tears blur my eyes as they open and meet his wild gaze. “No one—absolutely no one —will ever touch you again. Except for me.”
“What?” Dread floods my body as my eyes widen. I want to scream. I want to struggle out of his touch and run so far away from here that I end up at the edge of the world. Even that might not be far enough.
“When I look at you, I see a second chance, Rhea.” His mood is now somber as his heavy gaze drags over every inch of my face. Terror bleeds into my limbs, freezing me in place as a single tear rolls down my cheek. He brings the hand not gripping my hair up to cup my face and wipes the tear away with his thumb. My head jerks away from his touch—I can’t help it. All my movement does is enrage him further. His pupils widen, nearly eclipsing the hazel of his irises, as his lip lifts in a snarl. “You will understand soon enough,” he claims, trailing his thumb down my cheek again. “But for now, you must be punished for allowing him to touch—”
“He didn’t touch me!” I scream, the sound shrill and panicked and far too loud. But I don’t care. I can’t let him talk about Alexi this way. That man was my father . In every sense of the word, he was. He protected me as best as he could. He took care of me when no one else would. He taught me when he had no reason to.
He loved me.
He loved me .
“You will stop saying that he laid a single hand on me. No one has ever done that except for you ,” I seethe, my vision going red as I lose all rationality. “And I would rather die from your hand than hear you speak another vile, untrue thing about Alexi.”
King Dolian looks at me, silent for all but a moment before a menacing smile creeps over his face. “You might wish for that but the truth is, my darling,” he taunts, his breath warm on my cheek, “you will never escape me. You are mine .”
I try so, so hard to stay strong. To not cower under the weight of his words and actions but when he leans in to kiss my cheek, I can’t do it. I struggle, trying everything I can to get away from him, even knowing that it won’t matter in the end. It never does. And when his hands alternate their hits—fists and slaps and shoves—I reach out to that imaginary place I can run away to. I picture a free and happy version of myself picking wildflowers in a sun-filled meadow. My bright green eyes aren’t tarnished by the ministrations of a madman. My heart isn’t broken beyond repair by grief.
When the king leaves me, a battered mess on the ground, the fantasy fades away and I’m once again reminded of the cold reality of my prison.
A knock on the door wakes me from sleep the next morning. The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, nothing more than a crescent glow emerging above the horizon. My throat feels scratchy and raw; my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I’m willing to bet that my magic has healed any physical mark left by the king on its own while I’ve slept, but I still have that aching feeling in my bones. In my soul. I suppose the magic can’t heal the damage there.
When another round of gentle knocks sounds, I slowly move out of bed, Bella immediately at my side as we warily make our way down the stairs. Her ears twitch as she listens to who is outside. When she doesn’t growl or whine, I step up to the door but don’t open it.
“Hello?” I say, needing to clear my throat several times after.
“My Lady, I’m here to drop something off for you. It’s from Tienne and Erica.”
I tense at the familiarity of his voice. “Are you… Are you the guard from the supply drop-off?” I inquire, leaning in closer.
He chuckles, the sound oddly enticing as he answers, “Yes, I am.”
I contemplate opening the door for all of one second before I remember that I’m in my night dress and probably still have drool on my face. There is also the fact that I still do not particularly trust this guard—in any fashion. I stand frozen, the silence slowly stretching between us until, I’m sure, he thinks I have left him. Finally, he clears his throat, and I brace for what he’ll do or say next.
“Would you like me to leave this out here for you?” he asks matter-of-factly, like he understands why I would hesitate to open the door for him. My magic hums from deep in my stomach, in what feels like approval—or maybe it’s those stupid butterflies fluttering again.
“I—I just—” My hand covers my mouth to stop my stammering.
“You don’t have to explain. I’m happy to do as you command.” He hesitates before adding, “Have a good day, My Lady.”
I hear his footsteps trail away from the door and down the stone stairs of the tower. When the echoing of them fades away, I carefully open the door a little and peek through the small crack. Once I’m sure he’s gone, I pull it open the rest of the way and find a small wooden box on the stone landing. My brows knit together as I bend to pick it up, the feeling of it light in my hands. The arched wooden door creaks as I close it and walk over to the couch, sliding the lid off of the box. Laying inside is a brand new silver brush, the bristles straight and white and the handle engraved with a floral pattern. Next to the brush is a bundle of new hair ribbons in a variety of colors. While I can’t quite find it in me to smile, I do feel a glimmer of happiness at the thoughtful gesture. My current brush is years old and nearly unusable, something they must have noticed when they washed and braided my hair.
Bundling the new items, I make my way upstairs and lay them on my vanity, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. Briefly, I eye the tub in the bathroom, like it’s beckoning me to go to it and get ready for the day. But the truth is, I don’t want to. The abyss that opened inside of me when I watched that sword move through Alexi’s chest is all consuming. It’s a pit of inky shadows and ice and regret and guilt—so much guilt. So I crawl back into bed, pull my comforter up to my chin, and allow the darkness to claim me.