28. Chapter Twenty-Eight Rhea
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Rhea
“H ave you played cards before?” he asks from where he sits across the tea table from me the following night.
“Alexi and I used to play on occasion,” I answer. I study the cards in my hand, sadness taunting the edges of my mind and reminding me it is never very far away.
“So I shouldn’t take it easy on you?” His grin is cocky as he looks at me.
“I doubt you’d take it easy on me even if I hadn’t played before,” I reply sarcastically, eyeing him suspiciously over the top of my hand. He returns his own mock-menacing glare before he motions for me to go first. Back and forth we go, placing cards down and picking new ones up, making small conversation and telling jokes as we play.
“If you could be any animal, what would you be?” I ask him as I tap the cards in my hand to my chin.
“Something very formidable and fierce, like a jaguar or forest tiger,” he declares, flexing his right arm. I snort but definitely notice his muscles through the thin black tunic as he moves them. I pretend to be unaffected. “What about you?”
“I’ve read about these bears that live in the Nalka mountains of the Fae Kingdom. They are smaller, have black and white striped fur, and live in packs,” I reply, laying my card on top and looking at Flynn. “I would like to be one of them.”
“Why?” He eyes me curiously, and I wonder if it was a silly thing to say.
“Because they stay together as a family. Even when they get old and can’t move around as much, they don’t leave anyone behind,” I answer, watching as Flynn lays a card down and picks one up from the deck. “No one is ever alone.” I stare at my cards, planning my next move when I realize that Flynn hasn’t responded. I peek up at him, noticing the slight frown of his lips.
“Are you okay?” I quickly replay our conversation in my mind in case I’ve said something offensive.
Flynn clears his throat but doesn’t speak for what feels like an eternity before giving me an appeasing smile and murmuring quietly, “That’s a great choice.” We resume our game in easy silence until we reach the end of the deck, each of us holding one final card. “How about a little wager?”
I look him over where he sits: feet flat on the ground and knees spread, elbows resting on top and hand dangling in between holding his card. He looks more well-rested and relaxed today, with a kind of ease that comes so naturally to him.
“What are you thinking?”
“The winner gets to ask any question, and the loser has to answer it,” he smiles, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that’s probably meant to be silly but on him looks suggestive.
Control yourself, Rhea. I pretend to hem and haw, finger tapping playfully on my chin. Flynn laughs, the sound of it wrapping around me like a star-kissed breeze. Looking down at my last card, I know there is only one in the entire deck that is higher in value, though I can’t remember if it has already been played. However, the potential to ask him anything and know he has to answer is too enticing.
“Deal. Beat this,” I taunt smugly, laying my card down on top of the pile. I watch his face for the moment he realizes he’s lost, a question for him already on the tip of my tongue. But he doesn’t look defeated or even surprised. My fear is confirmed when he lays down the one card that could beat mine. I scoff, acknowledging my defeat with a childish pout. He laughs again as he sits up, placing his forearms on the table. In the light of the gem between us, his eyes take on a dark silver hue. “Fine,” I concede, leaning back against the couch, “what do you want to know?” The teasing smile melts slowly from his face and is replaced with a thoughtful look instead. His jaw catches the light in a way that it shows the cut of it more sharply, accentuating it along with his cheekbones.
“There are many things that I would love to know about you, Sunshine.” Gods, that nickname. I open my mouth to ask him, again, why he insists on calling me that, but he continues speaking before I can voice it. “But there is one thing that I can’t stop wondering about,” he says, pausing before adding softly, “do you wish to live outside of this tower?”
I freeze, my eyes trapped by his. I don’t know how to answer that. I mean, I know what my answer is, but panic is preventing me from voicing it. Why does he want to know? The blood oath makes it so that he can’t help me leave—at least that is how Alexi explained it—but could it be that he would also have to act if he thought I was even thinking about it? Would he have to report to the king that I’m planning an escape? His words are careful—specific—not asking me if I want to escape but if I want to live elsewhere.
“Rhea, don’t panic.” He gets up from the floor and makes his way to sit next me, our knees touching where he’s angled his body to face mine. “I’m just wondering because I want to help.”
My lips part as my emotions tumble inside me. I wanted this. I wanted his help. And yet now that he’s offered? I’m overwhelmed with anxiety about it.
“You can’t help me,” I say, confusion and indecision roiling inside me at how much I should tell him. At how truthful I should be when the magic of his blood oath might make him stop me. His brows draw down over his eyes while his mouth settles into a thin line. My heart aches at the look on his face, like he’s betrayed by my rejection of his help. “Not because I don’t want you to,” I add with a shaky breath. “It’s just the blood oath…” I trail off.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” he declares.
“Of course I do,” I state, trepidation echoing with every beat of my heart. “Alexi told me that it prevents any of you from letting me leave. Are you telling me that’s a lie?” The thought that Alexi could have helped me this whole time makes my stomach lurch and chest squeeze. I can’t handle anything that devastating on top of everything else I’m keeping locked up inside. It is enough to destroy me.
“No, it’s not a lie,” he answers quickly. “The blood oath all of the guards take includes a line about not letting the princess—you—escape the tower in any capacity.” His jaw clenches, a muscle moving in his cheek. “The king says it’s because you aren’t in your right mind.”
I snort at that, rolling my eyes and shaking my head. I need to change the subject and get away from the severity of this topic. To move away from how close he is to discovering that I’m planning to leave on my own. So, of course, I settle on the first thing that pops into my head.
“What has the king said about the Cruel Death lately?” I ask, wincing at my lack of tact. Flynn’s eyebrows shoot up momentarily, and the speed with which he’s moved from dismay to shock is almost funny enough to make me laugh.
“You are terrible at being subtle,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair.
“I wasn’t trying to be.” I smile with forced sweetness. He huffs out a laugh, but I don’t miss the way his eyes linger on my lips, like a smile is so rare from me that even a fake one is worth taking a double look at.
“We will be revisiting this topic,” he says pointedly before sighing and leaning back against the couch. “And the Cruel Death is steadily getting worse. So many young men and women have fallen victim to it. The king keeps telling everyone that he is working on a solution, but no one other than him knows what that entails.”
“Of course,” I snark, not at all surprised by the lies my uncle tells. He’s nothing if not a skilled manipulator.
“I get updates from the other guards about cities outside of Vitour, but the general consensus is that it mostly targets men of age to serve in the king’s army and women in their child birthing years.”
“Have you ever seen someone die from it?” He nods, but doesn’t offer anything else, so I continue, “Do you know if the Cruel Death is in the other kingdoms?” I wonder if they have this affliction too.
“I’m not sure,” he replies, tapping his knee with his finger. There’s a silence in the air that holds a different kind of tension. It’s the strain of unsaid words and secrets kept. I feel the weight of it all, heavy on my shoulders. “What are you thinking about?” Flynn asks, reaching over to gently tug on a strand of my hair.
I consider telling him everything. Everything . My promise to Alexi. The truth about what the king does to me. I think about sharing that I am finally ready to escape, that I believe I actually can. Briefly, I contemplate telling him that I’m composed of a myriad of broken and mismatched pieces, but talking with him makes me feel like maybe I’m not just those things. That being with him makes me feel softer—less jagged. But when I try to speak, the words won’t come out. My mouth closes, and all I can do is stare at him and hope he understands. Hope he sees that I want to try opening up more to him, but there is an intrinsic part of my soul that has been keeping track of every time I’ve had something precious and every time it was ripped away. My parents. My freedom. My autonomy. Alexi. Nearly Bella. My life. More than likely my future. And Flynn, he’s precious to me. Even if it pulls the frayed strings of my heart farther apart, I’ll take being the cause of his sadness over the cause of his death.
I expect him to be angry with me. Pulling in a breath, I brace for the irritation to come over his face. For him to see me as I see myself: someone completely out of place. But his eyes only ease further as his lips tug into a small smile. He holds his hand out to me in the darkness, palm up. Like a rope thrown into the chasm, it’s an offering of physical comfort. I reach over slowly and lay my hand onto his, interlacing our fingers, and my entire body relaxes.
“I don’t know what it has been like for you here. Not wholly anyway,” he states quietly, gesturing to the space around us with his free hand. “But I would like to know. One day, when you’re ready, I would like to know everything about you.”
“You claim that, but my life hasn’t been one of joy and whimsy. There has been no fairytale happy ending,” I whisper, willing the tears in my eyes to stop.
“Then it is not your ending yet,” he says. “I haven’t known you for very long, Sunshine, but you are stronger than you give yourself credit for.” I start to disagree with him, but he squeezes my hand in a silent protest, never actually speaking over me. I pinch my lips together—a move he chuckles at—and let him continue. “I think you are too hard on yourself. You have lived—no, survived —in this place for your entire life. And you’ve done it mostly alone. There are men walking around this tower acting as guards that don’t have half the courage, half the perseverance, that you do.” I huff out a breath and turn my gaze down to my lap. The way he’s looking at me, like I’m something to be admired, is too much. “Rhea,” he rumbles, the sound laced with a richer, deeper kind of intent.
When my gaze meets his again, the pained sincerity in his eyes nearly undoes me. He truly believes everything he’s just said. It’s written on his face and in the way he holds himself steady, not shifting under my stare. I may not be able to tell when people are pretending around me, but Flynn wears his feelings out in the open for me so that I don’t have to search for them.
“What are we doing?” I quietly ask.
“I don’t know,” he answers raggedly. “When it comes to you, I am cast out to sea without any sense of direction. I—” He pauses and swallows. “I have never felt this way about anyone before. I’ve never felt so lost and so sure about someone at the same time.”
“Me either.” Smirking, I add, “Obviously.”
He laughs at that, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Just consider what I asked before. Please.”
Please. That word from his mouth, the pleading I see reflecting in his eyes… it weakens all of my defenses. It’s impossible to deny him, so I nod my head. Flynn sees my hesitancy but recovers quickly—giving my hand a small squeeze before letting it go and returning to the other side of the tea table. We play another round of cards before he leaves for the night.
Laying in bed later, I stare out at the night sky and wonder who will hurt more when I leave: me or him?
A warm breeze—the sign of summer evident in the air—rustles my hair the next day as I stand on the balcony, my head heavy. It’s calm—deceptively so. Like the world has paused momentarily, not to let me bask in it, but to give me a warning. I don’t have to wait long to know what is coming— who is coming. My door is thrown open, the silence only interrupted when it bangs against the wall. As I whip my head around towards the invasion, terror heedlessly grips my throat like a noose.
And he walks in. “Rhea,” the king purrs as he enters the tower, dressed in his usual finery.
I watch as his guards carry in a wooden table and chairs. Two more guards follow behind with what appears to be a porcelain tea set. The entire scene is disorienting as I watch them set everything up, first laying a pure white tablecloth down and then a steaming teapot. Small mugs and plates are placed out next, and another guard sets down little jars in the middle.
“Have a seat, my darling,” King Dolian says as he pulls a chair out and gestures for me to come. Stillness holds my body in place as my wide eyes take in the entire setup.
What is happening?
His voice drops an octave lower as he continues, “It is rude to make your king wait, Rhea. I may have told you not to bow before me anymore, but I do expect obedience.” That makes me move faster, my bare feet padding on the wood floor as I step up to the chair. “This dress is a beautiful color on you. It reminds me of dresses one might see on the ladies in court,” he drawls, a finger dragging lazily on my shoulder.
I had chosen one of the pink dresses Tienne and Erica brought me because I liked how I felt in it. Its unique color brings to mind the rose Flynn brought me. The gold of my hair and green of my eyes seem to brighten when I wear it. The cut, like most of the dresses I was given by the maids, has a built-in bodice and a flowing skirt. It’s a beautiful dress that makes me feel like I am absorbing some of its beauty into myself, and a na?ve part of me thought maybe Flynn would like me in it as well. Now, I want to rip it off and place a formless, ugly brown blanket of a dress on myself to hide from the king’s hungry stare. It makes my stomach churn and my magic writhe inside of me, like it’s trying to bury itself under my skin to hide from him. Or maybe break its way out to protect me.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” I force out the words, thick like mortar as they push through my teeth and lips.
My uncle smiles, and instead of the usual brutal twisting of his lips, it’s a subtler one that I’ve never seen from him in the past. He pours what I assume to be steaming hot tea into the small cups in front of us, not asking for my input as he adds things in and stirs with a small spoon before tapping it on the side. When he’s finished, he carefully slides the cup—nestled on a small plate—in front of me.
“This is how she liked it,” he says with a voice that is uncharacteristically soft and gentle. It should put me at ease, as he’s clearly in a good mood today, but all it does is leave me feeling like I’m teetering on an invisible edge. My fingers desperately grip the fabric of the dress in my lap.
“My mother?” I dare to ask. He nods, sipping from his tea without making a single noise. Something I doubt I can also achieve, so I don’t drink any at all. “Did you—” I pinch my lips together, not knowing if I should speak or what exactly he is expecting of me in this conversation. There’s a terrifying feeling in the air, like wading through fluffy clouds only to realize it is actually smoke and you’re surrounded by fire. It’s so jarring, I don’t know how to move or what to think or say.
“Do not be afraid to speak in front of me.” He phrases his words politely, gesturing elegantly for me to continue. I nearly scoff in shock, but manage to reel it in at the last second. “Do you want to know about your mother?” he coaxes, crossing one leg over the other and resting his hands on top of his knee. It’s the type of royal indifference that he’s mastered so well.
“Yes,” I say in earnest because, despite it all—the abuse and the manipulation and the lies—I can’t help but crave knowing more about my parents. When the king speaks next, the compassionate lilt of his voice catches me completely off guard.
“She arrived at the castle when she was just a few years younger than you are now. The head housekeeper—a burly woman named Imelda—took her in from the streets when she saw her wandering in the capital square, barefoot and disheveled.” He chuckles at the memory. His laugh is so real, so mortal, and for a second, I let my own smile break through in response. His eyes zero in on my lips, a million different emotions flashing in them before he continues. “She worked her way up in the staff and had been employed in the castle for nearly a year before she was assigned to my wing. I’ll never forget the first time I saw her,” he confesses quietly, seeming ambivalent before he clears his throat. “She was walking down the hallway that led to my room, a bundle of fresh linens in her arms. The sun was shining in just the right way through the windows, making the crown of her head”—he gestures with his hands, placing it on the top of his head—“glow golden. She looked like a queen, even then in just a maid uniform.” He lifts his tea cup to drink, the movement fluid and practiced. I still leave mine untouched.
“Did you become friends?” I ask carefully. I know from his previous words that, at the very least, he cared for my mother in some capacity—that he may have even loved her. He keeps his eyes down on his cup, a sort of reverence that is so completely out of place that I’m afraid to breathe and disrupt it.
“We did. Over the course of a few years, we talked nearly every day. Everyone in the palace loved her, even my father. He saw her beauty, grace, and kindness, and it actually subdued something in his otherwise-cold heart.” His brows draw down as he speaks of my late grandfather. The hand he has resting on the table clenches into a fist, his knuckles turning white. “I was going to marry her,” he nearly whispers, bringing his eyes up to meet mine. For the first time in all the years that I have known my uncle, I see true and utter sadness looking back at me.
“But she married your brother,” I state. Like flipping the pages of a book, I watch as the sadness quickly changes into fury.
Burning, unrelenting anger lights his hazel eyes and warps the features of his face. “She chose wrong, and as she died, she realized that truth.”
I’m rendered speechless by his words, by the meaning behind them and the rage pouring off of him in waves. My body stills, like a deer caught in a hunter’s gaze.
“That is why you are so important to me, Rhea,” he says, dropping his chin slightly as he glares at me. I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing each breath I take in even though my chest feels too tight to take it at all. “Everything I have done has been to protect you. To help you not make the same mistakes as the woman who bore you.”
“Protect me?” I whisper, unable to stop myself. The warm feeling of my magic stirs inside of me, but that other feeling—frozen and dark—mixes with it as anger and confusion thrash in my blood. In my soul.
“Do you not see the benefits to living this life? I have given you everything you could need, kept you safe, and all I’ve requested in return was that you stay here until it was time,” he quips, and for a moment I wonder if he’s trying to convince me or himself.
Like I had a choice in being a prisoner. Like he hasn’t ruined my being so completely that I will never know what it is to feel normal . He takes in my slack jaw, the widening of my eyes, and his own eyes narrow in return. It enrages him. It enrages him to know that I don’t view the last twenty-one years of my life as a blessing bestowed by his hand. It’s quite the opposite.
“I see I still have work to do then,” he sighs, standing up abruptly and moving to my side of the table.
My throat constricts as his hand slides into my hair and grips it so tightly that a pained noise is forced from me. His other hand races forward with a slap so loud that it causes my ears to ring, the stinging on the side of my face so strong that I feel it from my temple to my chin. He yanks my head back as he leans over me, a towering darkness snuffing out any remaining light within.
“In time, my darling Rhea, you will see just how much you mean to me.” His lips trail over my forehead as a tear slips free and runs down my cheek. With a deep breath, he lets go and walks to the door. His guards filter in, cleaning up the furniture and tea like it was never there. If it weren’t for the sensitive skin on my face, I might have thought I was hallucinating.
When the guard that held Alexi’s hair comes over to get the chair I’m sitting in, his dark eyes meet mine in a piercing stare as he gestures with his chin to get me to move. My steps off the chair are wobbly, and I nearly fall before he shoots out his hand to grip my arm. His long black hair slides over his shoulder with the movement. Quickly jerking his hand away, he lifts the chair and walks towards the door, closing it behind him.
Bella walks out of the library, her steps sure and quiet as she comes to stand right next to me—nuzzling her head into my stomach. The hand not cradling the throbbing side of my face absentmindedly scratches behind her ears. We stand there, frozen in time for a moment. All of the king’s words replay and swirl in my mind like a tornado, none of them stilling long enough for me to grasp onto and understand what they mean.