CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE ISI
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ISI
The castle gardens had been transformed into something that most would consider lovely. My father had probably harangued the servants from the time he’d made his pronouncement until now.
Pink flowers lined the long aisle. Lavender ribbons fluttered from decorative posts that were also festooned with pink flowers. Musicians played a processional that sounded like a dirge in my ears.
Lords and ladies filled the seats on either side, dressed in their finest, their faces lit with curiosity and barely concealed disdain. My father must’ve commanded they be here to witness the disgraced princess marry the man who would supposedly tame her wildness.
Father’s grip on my arm felt like an iron shackle.
Each step along that aisle took effort, my body fighting while my mind raced for the best way out.
Three steps from the altar, I stopped walking entirely. The crowd’s murmur shifted to confused whispers. Father’s grip on my arm tightened to the point of real pain.
“Move,” he hissed by my ear, low enough that the guests couldn’t hear.
I stared at Lord Alfred’s smug face and felt something snap inside me.
“No.” The word carried across the suddenly silent garden. Guests leaned forward in their seats, sensing drama. “Fuck this,” I snarled. “I won’t do it.” I gathered power, though I wasn’t sure what I’d do with it yet. My training didn’t extend to ways to blast a way out of a forced wedding.
“Amarissa,” Father said, his voice a warning wrapped in silk for the benefit of our audience. “You’re overcome with emotion, which is understandable, given recent events.”
I looked out at the sea of faces, nobles who’d watched me grow up, courtiers who’d benefited from my family’s power, and people who would do nothing to help me even as they witnessed my destruction.
“I said no.”
“Did you forget the man locked in my dungeon? I’d hate to have something…horrible happen to Blain.”
Fury slammed through me, followed by the sting of tears in the backs of my eyes. My shoulders slumped, and my mind flashed through ways I could escape.
“I knew you’d see things my way.” My father tightened his grip on my arm and essentially dragged me toward the altar.
The sight of Lord Alfred waiting there made my stomach turn.
He looked smug, even pleased. His eyes tracked my approach with an expression that showed hunger, possessiveness, and knowing. He was confident he’d won. I was the prize he’d claim.
I studied the set up in a strategic way.
The lord wore a ceremonial sword strapped to his side, and I’d bet it was sharp. Flower pots lining the aisle could serve as weapons or obstacles. The eastern hedge had a gap wide enough to slip through. Then I could escape into the woods beyond.
Mae’s blade waited in my left pocket, a secret promise. The tiny one I’d retrieved from beneath my floor sat heavy in the right.
I wasn’t helpless. I’d never been. Father had just convinced me I couldn’t fight back. He’d done it so well, keeping me in line all my life, that it was hard to break free of the box he’d stuffed me into.
It was time to rip my way out.
I flexed my fingers at my sides and kept my muscles poised to act. I’d trained for this. Not a wedding, but a fight. And if this wedding became a battle, I’d bring it to them.
The music swelled, announcing my arrival at the altar.
Before releasing me, Father squeezed my arm one final time, a warning and a promise wrapped in a single gesture.
“Fuck you,” I hissed, bringing out his snarl and Lord Alfred’s momentarily shocked expression that he smoothed it back into gloating.
When the lord latched onto my arm, my father eased back to join those witnessing this farce.
The elder stood between the flower arrangements in front of me and Lord Alfred, his weathered face solemn as he prepared to bind me to a man I despised.
“Beloved friends and neighbors,” he said, his voice carrying across the garden. “We gather here on this blessed morning to witness the union of Princess Amarissa and Lord Alfred, a joining of two great houses—”
Alfred tightened his grip on my arm, and my skin crawled at the contact. His grip was a claiming; he was already treating me like property.
His palm was damp with sweat, and I could smell the wine he’d consumed, perhaps to steady his nerves. When he stroked my skin in what he must think was a reassuring gesture, my stomach lurched.
“You’re trembling,” he said, loud enough for nearby guests to hear. “How sweet.”
But it wasn’t fear making me shake. It was rage. Pure, crystalline fury at being handled like a prize horse being transferred to a new stable. I met his eyes and let him see exactly what I thought of him. His confident smile wavered as he read the promise of violence in my gaze.
“Is there something wrong, my dear?” he asked, still performing for the crowd.
“Not yet,” I said quietly. “But there will be.”
The elder continued, droning through the traditional words. “This union represents not only the joining of two souls, but the strengthening of our kingdom, the continuation of noble bloodlines—”
I tensed, my muscles coiling like a hunting cat’s. This was it. I needed to act before words were spoken that would legally bind me to this monster.
The elder’s voice seemed to slow, each word stretching like honey. “If there be any person who objects to this blessed union, let them speak now or—”
My fingers closed around the knife’s handle in my right pocket. I would paint this altar with blood and consequences be damned.
A roar split the air, a sound that belonged in both nightmares and ancient legends.
Every head turned toward the edge of the garden, and gasps rang out.
The perfectly orchestrated wedding dissolved into pandemonium in seconds. In the chaos, I pulled the blade from my pocket and swiped it toward Lord Alfred’s throat, but he reeled away, croaking.
“Beasts,” someone shrieked. “They’re enormous!”
“Where are the guards?” Lord Alfred cried out.
I leaped at him, snatching the ceremonial sword from its sheath at his waist and brandished it in his face. The balance was decent, better than the practice swords from my childhood lessons. Not as good as the blades Naveah had given me, but it would do in a pinch.
With a grunt, the lord flung himself away from me.
Pivoting, I started to run, but tripped over the skirt of the heavy gown. Pausing, I hacked off my dress at the knees with swift cuts. The fabric fell away like shed skin.
My magic churned, aching to be set free.
Growls and shrieks rang out, and I looked up, finding two firecats making their way toward me.
Pherin’s gaze met mine. Bite now?
Yes, please. Feel welcome to give our guests a taste of what a companion can do.
Her feral snarl rang out, followed by a blast of flames that scorched its way across the ground and created a quick path through lords and ladies who leaped and scrambled to avoid being burned.
Screams echoed around me.
She and Gavelle burst through the ornamental hedges, scattering brush and guards like leaves in a storm. They reached the head of the aisle and stalked toward me.
A figure swaggered down the aisle behind the firecats. Familiar face. Familiar dark clothing. The man my father had employed, trusted, and placed at my side.
Father recognized him at the same moment I did.
“Blain!” Relief cracked through my father’s voice, the relief of a man who thought he’d found his weapon. “Blain, seize her. Bring her to me now.”
The figure kept walking.
“Blain.” Father’s voice sharpened. “I gave you an order.”
The magic dropped, falling away like a held breath releasing, taking the altered jaw, the face wound, and the careful stillness of a man who’d been pretending to be less than he was.
What remained was something altogether different.
Taller somehow, though that hadn’t changed.
Broader in the shoulders. The leashed quality gone, replaced by something that had never needed a leash at all.
My heart stopped, then kicked into a fierce, wild rhythm.
Yes.
Father went absolutely still.
I watched it cross his face, that specific, terrible comprehension of a paranoid man realizing the full scope of what had been done to him. Blain had stood in his dining room. Walked his halls. He’d had access to Father’s court, access no foreign ear should ever have.
And he’d deliberately placed this man at his daughter’s side.
He hadn’t hired a bodyguard.
He’d invited the enemy in and given him a key.
A strangled sound burst from my father, the sound of a man whose worst fear about magic and those who wielded it being confirmed in front of his entire court.
I wasn’t being saved. I was being joined by someone who’d fight beside me instead of for me.
The remaining guests who hadn’t fled pressed back against the garden walls. A few of the older nobles had been at court long enough to remember diplomatic visits from Syllavar. Recognition moved through them like a wave.
“Impossible,” someone breathed.
“The rebel king,” another voice said, the words carrying in the sudden hush. “That’s the rebel king.”
“A barbarian,” someone else hissed.
There was nothing barbaric about the man approaching me. Dangerous, yes. Lethal, absolutely. He moved with the confidence of someone who belonged exactly where he was, claiming what was his.
Alfred stumbled backward, finally understanding this wasn’t random chaos. It was an extraction.
And I was the target.
Trew wore the same tunic and pants from yesterday, though they were decidedly dirtier. But his chin remained high, he’d thrust his shoulders back, and he moved with the confidence of a king walking into his own throne room.
Golden eyes locked on mine, and the world narrowed to just us.
“Guards!” Father’s voice cracked like a whip. “Kill them. Stop this madness.”
But the guards couldn’t move. Terrified nobles blocked their path, and they gaped at the firecats. A few attempted to rally the others, shouting orders, but Pherin blasted fire toward them, and they pivoted, racing beyond her reach.
Never breaking eye contact, Trew kept walking straight toward me.