Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
T alan prowls closer, his movements graceful and controlled. He pulls on a shirt, and I find myself slightly better able to focus.
“Not when the prince what ?” Each word is like a jab of ice.
“Not when the prince isn’t actually in love with me.”
His gaze flickers into a dark expression I can’t quite read. Then the composed mask slides back into place. “Love? Nia, I don’t need love to claim something as mine.”
A knock sounds at the door, interrupting us.
“Come in,” Talan calls.
Jasper sweeps into the torchlit room. His two assistants, Ranae and Tilly, trail in behind him, moving together with a sort of nervous excitement, their eyes on Talan. Given the way the women treat me with utter contempt, I’m fairly certain Talan had them both at some point, perhaps at the same time. They glare at me, their lips pressed into fine lines, until Jasper snaps his fingers at them. “Come on, come on ladies. Let’s focus.” With a grin, he flutters his hand at Talan and bows. “We are here for you, Your Highness.”
Talan gives them a short nod.
Jasper turns to me, his jaw dropping in horror at my disheveled state. “Oh, dear.” He frowns at me. “Apologies, Your Highness. I was not expecting guests. Are you…what are you wearing?”
Ranae mutters, “Plucked from the onion farm like a rotten vegetable from the earth.”
I fold my arms. “I was traveling.”
Jasper frowns. “Through a war zone? You look like a mud-spattered fugitive.” He shudders visibly. “It’s a trend now in the Gilded House, this rough sort of look. They’ll let anyone in there these days. It’s not the same anymore. It used to be exclusive.”
“Well, I do like to follow the trends.”
“I’m a classics man.” He snaps his fingers. “Ranae, burn those rags. Take them somewhere far away from the prince and light them on fire. They could be flea-infested, and we must not let the prince catch it. Our crown prince is marrying soon, and we don’t need him passing them to the countess on their wedding day.”
Talan pulls on a moonlight-blue jacket. “Jasper, I need you to focus. We need a wedding dress.”
“Of course. I made it the moment your father asked. Countess Arwenna will be dressed in the finest dewdrop gossamer. She looks stunning in my creation, naturally. An absolute dream.”
Talan picks up a wine glass, his silver rings flaring with gold in the candlelight, and looks vaguely bored at having to explain himself. “You misunderstand. I don’t want a wedding gown for Arwenna. I want one for Nia. I’m going to marry her. Further, you will stop calling her a farm girl and insulting her. Only I have that privilege. From now on, I will tolerate nothing but respect from those who address her. She will be a princess.”
Jasper blanches. “That…that cannot…”
The expression on the prince’s beautiful face is one of utter disdain. “You will design a dress for Nia, and then my guards will escort you to your quarters, where you will remain with your assistants.” He quirked a brow. “I’m afraid you’ve taken ill with the mongrel flu, and you could be infectious. You won’t be able to even talk, I’m afraid. If you were able to talk, Jasper, it would be very bad for your health. Speaking might result in your head tumbling away from your body, a dreadful symptom of the mongrel flu. Do you understand?”
Jasper’s eyes widen. “How long am I to be…quarantined?”
“Two days,” Talan says. “And then you will be able to step out with the most exciting tale.”
Jasper’s throat bobs. “And what might King Auberon do to me if I tell that tale? The one where I defied his orders?”
Talan takes a step closer, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Tell me, Jasper, who do you fear more? The king or me?”
Jasper’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly.
Talan frowns and scrubs a hand over his mouth, his rings gleaming in the candlelight. “Let’s ask a simpler question. Have you heard what I do to people who displease me?”
Jasper nods, his face pale. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“List them for me.”
“You…uh…peel their skin off. You carve poetry in their flesh.” Jasper swallows. “After the civil war, you unleashed your dragons on the traitors. You pulled their organs from their bodies while they were still alive. You ripped them apart with horses and?—”
Talan holds up a hand. “Good, I see you get the point. Now, you simply need to tell the truth. The drunken and sadistic prince forced you to make a dress against your will. The Dream Stalker threatened not only your life, but those of Ranae and Tilly, the innocent maidens you courageously wanted to protect. Let Father’s rage fall on me. I’m used to it. Embellish the story all you like. I tortured you. I ripped out your fingernails and broke your bones on the rack, and all the while, I was drinking champagne and laughing. Everyone knows that’s how I like to spend my evenings. Isn’t that right, Nia?”
“So I’ve heard,” I say dryly.
Talan takes a step closer, towering over Jasper. “So, you can tell Auberon I tormented you, body and mind, forcing you into a nightmare so horrific that you no longer knew what was real, only that you wanted the pain to stop. Then I twisted your thoughts and made you believe that Nia was Arwenna. I can actually do those things, if it helps.” He shrugs, and a dark smile ghosts over his lips. “Or you could simply do as I’m commanding and save yourself the agony. I know which option I’d choose if I were in your position.”
Jasper nods. “Right. And you think Auberon might let me live…”
“Of course he will. No one else has your skills, Jasper. And everyone knows how absolutely wicked I am. A master of manipulation and cruelty.” Talan reaches out, adjusting the collar on Jasper’s jacket. “How could anyone blame simple old helpless Jasper when he came up against the will of the Dream Stalker?”
Jasper clears his throat and forces a smile on his face. “And what, exactly, do you have in mind for the farm g—for the future princess?”
Talan shrugs. “I want Nia to have a dress finer than whatever you made for Arwenna.”
Jasper clutches his stomach and looks ill.
“Is there a problem?” Talan asks.
“No problem at all,” Jasper says. “Nia’s gown will make Arwenna’s look like peasant clothes. Peasant clothes .” His face has gone red, and he says the last two words so vigorously that they come out sounding choked.
Tilly glares at him, her expression agonized. “You said Arwenna’s dress is your best work ever, that it would be unmatched through the ages.”
Jasper waves his hand. “Nonsense. I was mistaken. Marrying a countess is boring, predictable. But this…” He clears his throat again. “This woman is covered in dirt, but what’s so bad about dirt, really? The sacred, life-giving soil of our land, blessed by the goddess, a union of the royal court and the countryside, of gold and loam. Our prince always makes the most interesting decisions. You never know what he’s going to do, do you? Always one step ahead. Our prince, choose a mere countess like any other prince? That would be fucking boring. But he’s not boring, is he? Prince Talan is a god among Fey, and he has chosen someone mysterious, someone unexpected. He’s done something no other prince would do. It’s visionary, that’s what. You are a legend, Your Highness, and if I may be so bold, there are two legends involved in this wedding.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “I’m a legend now, am I?”
Jasper rubs his hands together, still staring at Talan. “I was talking about me, but sure, let’s say three legends. The stories will last centuries—the brilliant tailor who created a visionary work of art after enduring hours of agonizing bone-breaking torture in the dungeons. This is a challenge unlike any I’ve faced before.” His eyes dart to me. “Now, take your clothes off, and let’s get you in the bath.”
I try to mask my discomfort at this request. Despite my training, I still haven’t mastered the Fey level of comfort with nudity around others.
Time to act imperious and take control of the situation.
I flick my hair behind my shoulders. “I assure you, I am fully capable of bathing by myself. Tilly, Ranae, fetch me some of my finest white underwear, will you?”
“You can’t wear something that’s already made,” Tilly says, her words laced with coldness. “Not for a royal wedding. Did you not realize?”
My jaw tightens. “Fine. So, I don’t come from Corbinelle or the high society of the court of Auberon, but where I come from, we have our own tradition. In the farms of Lauron, a groom is never allowed to see a bride’s naked body on her wedding day. In fact, no man is. Once I’m done with my bath, Tilly can stitch my new underwear for me before I step back out into the room. Anything else would be bad luck. Terribly bad luck. These are my traditions, and this is, after all, a sacred union of gold and loam.”
Tilly rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue.
I cross into the bathroom. I need a few minutes alone to think. Moonlight spills into the chamber, casting rosy beams across the stone floor. I turn the hot water tap, and steam rises from the tub, tinged with moonlight.
I pull off my mud-spattered cloak and boots and peel away my dirt-encrusted clothes, revealing the bruised body beneath the grime. I leave my discarded garments on the floor and step into the bath. The hot water reddens my skin, soothing my exhausted muscles.
After the battle and the long journey, every part of my body aches. A hot bath is exactly what I need.
I sink into the water for a few moments, then run the soap over my skin. My exhaustion melts away, but not the hollow loss deep inside my chest. After everything I’ve been through, death still clings to me. Visions flit through my skull—Viviane’s beautiful blue eyes, staring and vacant. The soldiers weeping over the dead. The traumatized corporal who couldn’t stop shaking by the side of the road.
My eyes sting. So many dead left behind, and here I am, talking about wedding dresses with the man who composed that blood-soaked masterpiece.
But there’s no saying “no” to him. It’s obvious how determined he is. There’s no getting out of this unless I abandon my mission and run back to Avalon Tower.
No…but what am I supposed to do next?