5. So, a king and a mage walk into a cell #3
“Well, as it stands, Miss Wynn, you have three choices. Personally, I think the first one is pretty shite, but…” Maksym shrugged.
“You can take the quick road out of this predicament you’ve landed in, and we will take you straight to Embervale’s square to be executed for trespassing and forgery of the highest degree, or—”
“E-executed?” I choked out, but he ignored my interruption, just like he ignored his mage’s quiet mention of his title.
“Or, we can cut you loose back into the Wastes, and you can take your chances on the journey back to Odessa—with no supplies or weapons.”
Marginally better than the first option, but what the actual fuck?
“And…my third option?”
“Possibly the most…unique.” Maksym leaned against the wall opposite me.
“We have some rather ancient laws here in Grimmoria, you see. Millenia old. Some are a little barbaric. Some are a little useless now. But precious few have remarkable value once in a white sun or two—like when a princess of a neighboring kingdom ends up a criminal in our lands.”
For every moment I thought this imposing dark fae man was the furthest thing from a king, he came swinging back with the most bureaucratic shit I’d ever heard in my life.
Sure, his garb spoke of common comfort and practicality—a simple tunic and vest, well-fitted pants, and leather boots—but he wore it while he talked about trespassing, forgery, and ancient laws.
He sure seemed to like the sound of his own damned voice too.
The worst kingly traits, only compounded by how cramped my cell felt as every minute stretched on.
“Are you going to tell me what this law is, or are we going to make a game out of me guessing until I get it right and firecrackers come shooting out of shadow man’s hood over there?”
The mage made a choked noise as Maksym’s dark brows lifted.
“Not this time, I’m afraid,” he chuckled.
“The old law stems from a period of immense conflict with our high fae neighbors to the north and outlines that prisoners of political standing in Grimmoria can have a bid for their life made if a reputable and pureblooded citizen stakes their claim on the prisoner and sees that claim approved by the highest royal council.”
I swallowed. “And by stake their claim, you mean…?”
“A contract for a life of indebted servitude, or sometimes…marriage.” Maksym gave me a smile that was rueful at best. “And seeing as my understanding is that you were already coming to Grimmoria ready to be married…”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” A pained huff clawed out of me, and I shook my head. “I ended up here through no fault of my own, but now, my options are hanging, starving to death, or marriage to, what, some dark fae noble?”
“The marriage would be to me, actually. But yes, that is all correct.”
“My liege…” came the mage’s warning, but I was too busy nearly choking.
“You?” I blurted. “Are you mad?”
“Yes, me.” Maksym’s lip curled in the most obvious display of displeasure I’d seen from him. “And I can assure you, I’ll make a far more agreeable husband than the tyrant king you were ready to hand yourself over to.”
I closed my eyes and blew out a slow breath that emptied the air from the deepest crevice of my lungs, all in a bid not to scream. My palms stung as I balled my fists, digging my nails in, and I took another slow breath. A third, for safety, before I opened my eyes.
Both men had their attention turned to me—at least, I thought the shadow-dripped mage did—and Maksym seemed inclined to wait out this goddess-awful silence. So, with as much calmness as I could grab, I asked, “How long do I have to decide?”
“Three days,” Maksym replied without missing a beat.
“And if I don’t decide by then?”
“You will.”
I scoffed.
How generous to grant me three days to mull over whether I wanted to die quickly at the hands of an executioner, die slowly from the elements or stray fiends in the Wastes, or see my soul die long before my flesh, being forced to heel at his feet.
Yes, I’d originally been coming to Grimmoria for marriage, but not an ounce of that had been willing, and the tables had turned in every imaginable way.
“Well, now that we’ve gotten that all out of the way,” Maksym sighed. “Can you walk?”
I shot him a narrowed look, and I could’ve sworn he winced.
The condition of my legs wasn’t something I was confident in, with how achy and stiff they—and every other inch of my body—felt. But both were firmly attached to my body, and that was plenty enough for me to feel offended by his question.
“Right then.” Maksym pushed off the wall and towards my cell door. “Get up. I’ve something important to show you.”
He and his mage traded some harshly whispered words while I fought layers of blankets and swung my legs over the cot. Not giving myself any time to question the reliability of my body or where we were going, I planted my feet on the cold, gritty stone floor and pushed myself upright.
A couple of hoarse curses tumbled out of me that I tried to mask with a cough.
“Uh, my liege?” the mage said from where he stood just outside my cell. “She doesn’t have shoes.”
Maksym didn’t even turn around. “Shame. Take up the rear, Jasper.”