Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
This can’t be happening—shouldn’t be happening. I didn’t spend my whole life in this castle to trade it for another cage. I take a hesitant step back. Nearly every pair of eyes in the room turns to me. The weight of their expectations hovers at my throat, sharp and suffocating.
I can bear it no longer.
Turning on my heel, I storm out of the great hall.
I gather the fabric of my skirt in my fists as I flee, unsure of where to go.
My stomach twists into knots at the thought of marrying that old man—one who is three times my age and has a wife.
My father has truly lost his mind this time.
There is no chance that I will agree with such a slight.
Someone calls out my name. “Raelys!”
I ignore them, weaving through servants carrying large trays of food and wine toward the great hall. I duck and twist, doing my best not to collide with any of them as I race for the back of the castle.
“P-Princess—” one stammers. “Are you lost?”
“No,” I bite out, angrier than I would have liked.
I push open the tall iron door to the garden with all my strength, and it slams against the opposite wall with a loud bang.
My slippered foot touches the cold ground of the garden path as I dash away from the castle.
Fury and indignation pulse in my veins like wildfire, burning away every logical thought and equanimity I had left.
“Raelys!” Timothy comes rushing after me. “Come back, please!”
“I will not!” I reply vehemently, surging ahead as the world blurs past me.
“Please reconsider. It’s not safe for you to go out alone at night,” Timothy calls out as he tries to catch up to me.
“When do I get to be alone, Timothy?” I twist around, shouting at him. “When do I ever get a choice?” My long dress swishes around my ankles with every step, the fabric flowing smoothly behind me. “When does anyone ever ask me what I want for my life?”
I continue to run through the gardens, desperate to get away. The sweet fragrance of the flowers overwhelms my frayed nerves. Leaves crunch beneath my slippers as I run past the tall maple trees, heading to the back of the castle.
“I know you’re upset.” Timothy tries to calm me down. “But King Olav can take good care of you.”
King Olav. The mention of his name makes my blood boil.
I would sooner hurl myself over the back wall than let my father reduce me to a prized breeding mare.
My father has continued my lessons with that wretched governess for years, learning useless knowledge and skills while keeping me in the dark about anything that matters.
He only tells me things when it’s convenient, or to persuade me a certain way—his way.
My brother’s duty is to marry for a title and create an heir. He is the eldest, destined to be king. And my duty? Apparently, to become a pawn in a game. I refuse to believe this is my fate. Trapped again in another castle. Safe but always hollow, aimless with no purpose.
I grind my jaw together. “King Olav can shove it up his ass.”
I twist my body to the side, weaving through the tight space between the tall hedges. My skirt snags on the branches, slowing me down. I reach down and gather even more of my dress into my hands, pulling it closer to my body as I pass through the shrubbery.
The cool night air blows the stray hairs away from my face as I reach the clearing on the other side of the hedges, my breath heaving from my sprint.
The full moon shines brightly in the sky, a soft illumination over the dark space.
Vines crawl up the tall stone wall in front of me, signaling that I am at the barrier of my confines.
“Raelys!” Timothy’s shouts.
A palm pushes my shoulder, knocking me aside.
The sound of an arrow whizzes past my head and hits something with a loud thunk behind me.
Turning quickly, I see an arrow sticking directly out of Timothy’s neck.
Before I could even think of what to do next, a second arrow lodges itself into his side, and I scream.
Timothy collapses onto the stone below, eyes glazed over in a blank stare.
“No!” I choke out, falling to my knees. “Timothy!” I cry, but there is no response.
Blood pools out of his wounds, staining the earth with the last remnants of his fading life.
I grab the sword from his belt and whirl around.
Three shadowy figures perch on top of the wall like hawks waiting to descend on their prey.
Their forms silhouette against the moonlight, partially obscuring my view.
Elvarrans.
I take a few steps back to get a better look.
I always imagined them as monsters, but the ones before me look human.
They have long, pointed ears as tall as mountain peaks and faces so sharply angled that they look almost statue-like.
Each time they move, they effortlessly glide across the castle wall.
“W-what do you want?” I ask, my voice trembling.
“The Princess,” the petite Elvarran hisses as she crouches on the wall. She tilts her head to one side, her brunette hair brushing the tops of her shoulders. “Aren’t we lucky?”
Her dark eyes narrow on me like prey as her stance shifts.
It’s as if she is ready to strike at a moment’s notice.
Two twin daggers glint in each of her hands.
She wears fitted leather armor, with intricately layered shoulders and bracers that cover her forearms, signaling that she is a fierce and striking warrior.
“Should we call the king?” the Elvarran beside her sneers, knocking another arrow into his bow. The archer is tall and lean, with short, pale blonde hair a similar shade to mine. His sapphire eyes glint with menacing disgust as he aims his bow at the target—unmistakably me.
Adrenaline runs like wildfire through my veins. This could be my end. I take a hesitant step back, but it only makes the archer pull the string back further as a warning. I freeze. My grip tightens around the hilt of the sword I don’t know how to wield.
“We should kill her,” the third Elvarran interjects.
He is the only one who is unarmed, his posture relaxed as he crouches on the wall.
He is a broad-shouldered and muscular. Short braids weave through his midnight-black hair, allowing me to see his face clearly.
A thick beard frames his strong jaw, accentuated by a long, jagged scar that cuts across his cheek.
His deep umber skin contrasts with his striking amber eyes like swirling honey.
I have to act quickly and find a way to spare myself.
If I can convince them to throw me into a dungeon, I’d have a chance to escape later.
Perhaps if there is a distraction, I can dash for the castle.
One thing is certain. I will not meet my end at the hands of the Elvarrans.
They are clever, but I can outsmart them.
“Call your king!” I make a split-second decision.
“What?” The female Elvarran raises a brow. “Do you have a death wish?”
“Wrath’s Blade, the destroyer of peace, I wish to speak to him,” I tell them, forcing my voice to sound confident.
If they see fear, they will kill me.
There’s a slight pause before the three of them start laughing incredulously. I falter, confusion washing over me as they exchange glances. They laugh for several breaths, wiping tears from the corners of their eyes as if I’ve told them the funniest joke they’ve ever heard.
Bloody gods.
“If you say so.” The muscled Elvarran hops down from the wall. His boots thump against the stone as he lands gracefully.
He smacks the sword out of my grip with ease, and it clatters to the floor.
Hands close roughly around my hips as he hoists me into the air.
I shriek as he tosses me to the archer. A fist closes around the back of my dress, and I scramble to steady myself while in mid-air.
The archer flips me over the wall. I fall to the ground, hitting the cool dirt with a heavy thud, the air whooshing from my lungs.
Before I can orient myself, I fall helplessly down the steep hill.
Sharp rocks and tangled roots scrape my skin and catch on my dress.
My diadem rips from my hair as I roll to a stop at the bottom.
The wine in my belly threatens to spill, but I force the nausea away as I press my palms into the dirt and push myself up.
Once standing, I see the three Elvarrans snickering at me as they move effortlessly through the gauntlet of rocks and trees.
“Sorry, Princess.” The archer mocks, shoving my shoulder from behind to get me to walk. “Hand must’ve slipped.”
As I walk away from the castle, something stirs in my gut.
There is a world outside the walls, stretching into the unknown.
I keep my expression stoic, masking both curiosity and a thin veil of fear as I press onward, eyes sweeping the shadows around me.
I cannot run. This damned dress will slow me down.
Even if I try, an arrow will pierce my back within seconds.
In my quest to think of a way out of marrying Olav, I’ve tangled myself into an even tighter knot.
Wrath’s Blade is the most ruthless, cunning, and wicked king in Dratheria. I will need to provide or exchange something of great value for him to keep me alive.
And then it comes to me.