Prize for the King (Cruelly Arranged #1)

Chapter I Tyrant

I Tyrant

Bells ring all around the castle, their frenzied alarms carrying above the high-pitched screams of panic and the sounds of slaughter in the courtyard. I sit in my embroidery chair by the window, numb and rigid. I don’t look out. I don’t want to see the blood.

Maybe if I don’t look, it will turn out to be a bad dream. I’ll wake up among my pink, swan-down pillows, stretch and yawn, and the next bell I hear will be the gentle tinkle announcing the serving of morning tea in my parlor.

But the parlor is where I am right now, and there’s no tea in sight. I stare at the wall ahead, the rich blue and silver of the wallpaper swimming before my eyes as I will this day to be a dream. But how—how can it be a dream—when I didn’t go to bed last night?

No one slept. How could we, when the siege ram struck our gates again and again like a torturous death knell?

Even the dogs stayed up, howling at the moons during the brief moments of silence.

I didn’t undress for bed or try to lie down.

So no, it cannot be a dream, no matter how hard I wish for it.

The door bursts open and my governess storms in, wildly waving the tiny silver bell she normally uses to correct my behavior.

Sit up straight, Princess Caliane. Keep your legs more tightly together. Smile. Be quiet until asked. Stir your tea more gently.

I’ve learned so many meanings of this little bell’s ringing over the years, but not once did it convey the end of the world.

Until today.

“What are you doing?” Mistress Avinia shouts in alarm, her pale eyes bulging in her sweaty face. “Don’t you hear the bells? We lost! They got through the gate!”

My lips feel numb and foreign as I reply, shocking myself with how calm I sound. It must be my education finally catching on.

A princess should speak gently even in times of great agitation.

“What would you have me do, Mistress? Should I hide in the wardrobe or jump out the window?”

These are my only options. Our secret escape passageways were collapsed by the enemy as soon as the siege began a week ago, turning out not to be so secret, alas.

If even one was still functional, I would flee with my father and a small contingent of his most trustworthy knights—most likely to be skewered by a sword in the wilderness instead of the comfort of our castle.

I never understood the logic behind those escape tunnels. Any invader worth his mettle would sniff them out first thing to make sure his enemies wouldn’t flee, I thought.

And that’s exactly what happened. At least we weren’t defeated by an imbecile.

A chiding singsong voice trills in the back of my mind. Be more hopeful, Princess Caliane. There is always a provident solution if you pray well enough.

“Oh, maybe I should pray,” I remember, sliding down to my knees. The carpet is soft and plushy, likely very absorptive. An excellent place to die, stuck through with a sword. I give myself a grim little nod.

Maybe I can’t muster any hope, but I can deliver one silver lining.

“Have you gone mad?” Avinia stares down at me with visceral terror, her moist face turning so pale, it’s almost green in the light of the dawn rising splendidly outside the window.

I risk a glance, knowing I won’t see the gore from where I kneel on the floor.

The sun is so very gold and orange, a divine backdrop for the tall spire of the tower on the other side of the courtyard.

I don’t think I’ve seen a dawn quite this splendid before, but then, I almost never rose early if I could help it.

Somewhere in the distance, birds take flight, dozens of tiny black shapes slicing through the gold.

The glorious sight makes my breath catch in my throat.

To think it’s the last dawn I’ll see… No.

That way lie tears and grief, and very possibly, an ugly, horrible hope that would turn me into a sniveling mess.

Princesses don’t beg. They die proud.

I swallow my unshed tears and smile at the dawn. I have to give us that—at least we’ll die on a lovely morning.

I turn back to Avinia.

“Is it mad to pray? You know, I always thought that. Not once did the gods grant me a wish I made. It was suspicious,” I say, making my eyes wide and innocent as I get up to my feet.

By goddess Lirande’s veil, I’ll enjoy my last minutes in this world, and riling up my governess is prime entertainment.

She gapes at me in stupefied silence, her slack mouth open. I watch with a strange sort of giddiness as a drop of perspiration slides down her neck and sinks into the collar of her unflattering brown dress. Her tightly bound breasts heave with every inhale.

“Oh gods!”

The horrid thud of the battering ram explodes right in the courtyard, so much closer than before.

I flinch once, but when the next crash shakes the castle with its hellish force, I’m prepared.

I’ve had time to get used to the violent, regular pounding that’s like the heartbeat of a giant demon.

We’ve heard it all through the night, just not as near.

At least it won’t be long. The inner courtyard doors aren’t half as sturdy as the high castle’s gate. They’ll break through within minutes.

When I look back at Avinia, a puddle spreads around her black, high heeled shoes. It grows larger, claiming more and more of the wooden floor until it reaches the carpet and sinks in, staining the silvery gray two shades darker. I was right. It is absorptive.

“They are inside, they are here, they are inside…”

Avinia seems to have forgotten me. Her eyes are empty and stupid, her lips chanting a panicked plea that is not a prayer or even a wish.

So much for teaching me all those worship chants, I think. Gods are useless, after all.

Just let me die swiftly, I send out a quiet prayer. That’s all I ask for.

It’s shockingly easy to avoid panic when one simply accepts one’s fate. It is inevitable to perish, ergo, I can do nothing to change it.

There’s freedom in utter, inexorable helplessness.

A commotion breaks out in the corridor outside my rooms, sounds of quarrel drifting in through the door Avinia left ajar.

“You cannot… The throne room… Protocol!”

“I need to see my daughter!”

Unlike the first minister’s feeble objections that I only hear fragments of, my father’s voice rings loud and authoritative. I brace for his entrance, doing my best to ignore the familiar, squirming feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Caliane!”

My father stands in the doorway, filling it with his bulk.

He’s a tall man, with a body muscular and robust, though the gray hairs at his temples betray his age.

His eyes are sharp, nose hawkish. His chin and cheeks, swarthy from daily rides out in the sun, are clean shaven. He’s wearing his best ermine cloak.

I want to quip that he chose a nice shroud for himself, but I bite my lips shut and take a deep breath to calm down.

“Yes, Father?”

“Undress. Now.”

My lips slacken, and the bottom of my stomach falls away, exposing me to a sickly vastness of terror. I am frozen, dumbfounded. Avinia, who’s stepped away from her waste, sobs quietly in the corner.

When the moment stretches past natural, my father huffs impatiently and steps over the puddle. I flinch, my hands curling into fists in my lap. I want to raise them up to my chest, but it will only make it worse.

“What are you waiting for?” he asks, voice thunderous. “There’s no time! Undress and put this on.”

A swathe of coarse, brownish-gray fabric lands in my lap.

I catch it before it slides off, slowly unrolling a dress that’s nothing like my usual garments.

It’s shapeless and badly made, the stitching uneven.

As the hem unrolls to the floor, a brown bonnet falls on the carpet.

I look up at my father, uncomprehending.

“They don’t slaughter servants,” he explains in clipped words. “Change right now. And remember I love you, my beautiful daughter. You’ve always been my most beloved prize.”

He bends low to give me a kiss, and I readily offer him my face, choked up by guilt. He’s always looked out for me, and I suspected him of…

Not now.

A firm, warm kiss presses to my forehead, then he’s gone, the bumbling minister following miserably at a trot to keep up with my father’s long strides. I glance at Avinia, who hiccups into a handkerchief. I suppose she is a kind of servant. She’ll probably live.

As I undo the fastenings of my gown, I share that thought with my governess.

“So you see? You won’t die, after all,” I trill in my best trained Cheerful Princess voice.

I can do Sulky Princess, Bratty Princess, and Curious Princess even better, since they come naturally to me, but they are forbidden. Avinia had me train the Cheerful one the longest.

My words don’t comfort her at all. If anything, she shakes even harder.

“They rape all women,” she whispers, her bloodless lips barely moving. “That’s how they conquer everything. They rape and impregnate us with their bastards, so their race replaces ours with time. Their members are so big, they maim women. They tear them open.”

I freeze. Is that what’s going to happen to me? Will I be raped by a nameless soldier and forced to carry his child? Gods. I thought I had a handle on my panic, but the accelerating pounding of my heart proves me wrong. Terror roils in my gut, slimy like tentacles of some underwater monster.

Isn’t it strange? I wasn’t afraid of death, but this I can’t handle.

I slowly lower the chemise I was about to take off. Avinia sobs, her eyes closed. The room reeks of her waste and fear, and when another vibrating thud shakes the castle, a frightened whine tears out of my throat.

I’ve never been with a man before, not like this.

And to think that I will be forced to the floor, my legs violently pried apart by an enormous Agnidari, and then, my insides plowed open by an unnaturally large appendage…

I force back a sob as sweat breaks out all over my body, a cold, sticky layer of terror.

No. Anything but this.