Chapter 5 A Final Lullaby
CHAPTER FIVE
A FINAL LULLABY
The crowd parted before me, conversations hushing momentarily as I passed.
I felt Valen’s eyes on my back, tracking my progress across the floor, but I did not turn. Instead, I fixed my gaze on Isolde’s familiar form and moved steadily toward her.
Behind me, I heard Valen being approached by a member of his entourage, their voices too low to make out the words. Good. That would occupy him while I slipped away into the relative safety of the palace corridors.
As I reached Isolde, she turned without a word and led me through the side passage, away from the feast and the music and the man who would soon own me in name if not in spirit.
The heavy oak door closed behind us with a satisfying thud, muffling the sounds of revelry and leaving us in blessed quiet.
Only then did I release a deep breath, my shoulders sagging slightly as the performance of a princess fell away. Isolde’s eyes met mine as if silently asking, Are you ok? I gave her a slight nod. I was well enough, considering.
“You looked like you needed air,” Isolde whispered once we were safely away from the feasting hall, the sounds of merriment fading behind us. “I’ve never seen someone maintain such composure while being devoured alive.”
A humorless laugh escaped me as we moved through the dimly lit corridor, our footsteps echoing against ancient stone. Tapestries depicting Vareth’s bloody history hung on the walls, their embroidered figures seeming to watch our passage with hollow eyes.
“Is that what it looked like? I felt more like a mouse being batted between a cat’s paws before the final bite.”
Isolde’s gray-green eyes flickered with concern in the torchlight. “He barely took his eyes off you all evening.”
“I noticed,” I murmured, suppressing another shudder as I recalled the weight of Valen’s gaze. “Did you see how he touched me during the dance? As though I were already his property.”
“Everyone saw,” Isolde replied, her voice dropping lower as we passed a pair of guards. We both nodded politely, waiting until they were well beyond earshot before continuing. “The court will speak of little else for days. Some already whisper that he’s enchanted you.”
“Enchanted?” I scoffed, though the memory of his touch, warm and possessive, lingered uncomfortably on my skin. “Abject terror can be easily mistaken as enchantment, I suppose.”
We paused beside a high window that overlooked the palace gardens.
Moonlight spilled across the perfectly manicured hedges and silver-leafed trees, casting long shadows that seemed to reach toward the palace walls like grasping fingers.
In the distance, the lights of Anorath twinkled, oblivious to the political machinations that would soon bind their princess to a monster.
“I need to clear my mind,” I said, pressing my fingers against my temples. The wine’s pleasant numbness was fading, leaving behind a dull ache. “I think I’ll visit Lysa tonight.”
Isolde gave me a sidelong glance, concern etched in the furrow of her brow. “It’s quite late. Are you certain that’s wise, with everything tomorrow brings?”
I smiled thinly. “I’m not sure how many more nights I will have with her.”
Isolde’s silence acknowledged the truth of my words. After a moment, she sighed, reaching for my hand and squeezing it gently. “Do you want me to come with you?” Isolde asked, though I could see the reluctance in her eyes.
“No,” I said, offering her a small, genuine smile. “I’m thinking you might have other plans…” My voice trailed off deliberately, my fingers reaching out to pinch her arm teasingly.
A flush of color rose to Isolde’s cheeks, and she glanced furtively down the corridor before swatting my hand away.
“Must you be so transparent?” she whispered, though I could see the smile she fought to suppress as she tugged me further away from the main corridor into a shadowed alcove where ancient stone saints watched with blind eyes.
“Oh, you know you cannot hide something like this from me,” I replied, my lips fully curving into a genuine smile for the first time that evening.
“Your hair is too perfectly arranged, and you’ve been fidgeting with your sleeves all night.
The last I saw you this nervous was when you were caught stealing tarts from the royal kitchen. ”
Isolde smoothed her hair self-consciously, though not a strand was out of place. “Tomas and I... we’re just meeting to talk,” she insisted, though the heightened color in her cheeks suggested otherwise.
“Talk?” I arched an eyebrow, momentarily distracted from my own troubles by her obvious discomfort. “Is that what they’re calling it these days? I suppose his hands will be doing quite a bit of... talking?”
“Mireille!” she hissed, scandalized yet unable to hide her smile. “It’s not like that. We’re just...”
“Just what? Discussing the proper way to groom horses at midnight? Comparing notes on the quality of Varethian hay?” I teased, enjoying the distraction her embarrassment provided. “You know I would never judge you, Isolde. I’m quite pleased you’ve found someone who makes you smile like that.”
Her expression softened, fingers absently tracing the embroidered pattern on her sleeve. “He does make me smile,” she admitted quietly. “And he listens, truly listens when I speak. Do you know how rare that is?”
I squeezed her hand once more before releasing it. “Go to him. I’m capable of finding my way to the nursery on my own.”
Isolde hesitated, torn between desire and duty. “Are you certain? I don’t want to leave you alone tonight of all nights.”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Lysa. And I promise I’ll be in my chambers before you return. Go.”
After another moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning. Bright and early.”
“Enjoy your stablehand,” I called softly after her as she turned to leave.
She glanced back over her shoulder, a mixture of affection and exasperation in her expression. “Goodnight, Mireille,” she replied, and then she was gone, disappearing down a side corridor that would lead her eventually to the stables and her waiting lover.
With a sigh, I turned and continued toward the nursery wing.
The palace grew quieter as I moved away from the public areas, the sounds of the feast fading until I could hear only my own footsteps and the occasional creak of ancient stones settling.
My thoughts circled relentlessly around what awaited me tomorrow.
Not just the ceremony that would bind me to Valen, but the journey afterward to a kingdom I had never seen, ruled by a man whose cruelty was legendary.
The nursery was silent when I reached it, the corridors dimly lit by a single lamp that cast long shadows along the stone floors.
I moved quietly, knowing that Lysa’s nurse was likely asleep in her own adjacent chamber.
The woman was notorious for her deep slumber, a fact I had exploited many times when visiting my half-sister after hours.
Still, caution was warranted. I paused outside Lysa’s door, listening intently for any sound that would indicate the nurse was within.
Hearing nothing but silence, I carefully turned the handle and slipped inside, closing the door silently behind me.
Lysa’s room was painted in soft blues and silvers, a night sky recreated on the walls and ceiling.
A small lamp burned low on a table near her bed, casting just enough light for me to see her tiny form curled beneath the covers.
Her bed still had side railings, though she had recently begun insisting she was “too big” for such protections.
The sight of her there, so small and vulnerable, made my chest ache with a fierce, protective love.
I moved to her bedside, studying her sleeping face.
She looked so much like our father in repose.
The same straight nose, the same determined chin.
But her sweetness, her uncomplicated joy, those were entirely her own.
Unlike me, Lysa had been born into love and security.
Queen Ira might be cold to me, the unwanted remnant of her husband’s previous attachment, but she adored her children.
Carefully, I lifted Lysa from her bed, blankets and all, cradling her against my chest as I carried her to the cushioned chair in the corner.
She stirred slightly, her small body warm and trusting against mine.
I settled into the chair, arranging her in my lap so that her head rested against my shoulder, and breathed in the sweet scent of her hair.
Soap and honey and something indefinably Lysa.
Gradually, her eyes fluttered open, confusion giving way to recognition and delight. “Miri?” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. “You came!”
“Of course I did,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Did you think I would forget?”
She shook her head, small hands coming up to wrap around my neck in a fierce embrace.
“Never-ever,” she declared with a child’s absolute certainty.
Then, pulling back to look at me, she asked, “Is it true?” Her small forehead creased with worry.
“Nurse was whispering about you going away. They stopped when they saw I heard.”
I felt my heart constrict at her innocent question. How to explain the diplomatic manipulations that would tear me from her? How to tell a child that her sister was being sacrificed for the good of a kingdom?
“I will be going on a journey,” I said carefully, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “To a place called Nocthar.”
“But you’ll come back?” Her eyes, so like her mother’s, searched mine with desperate hope.
The lie stuck in my throat. I wanted to promise her the stars and moon, to swear I would return before she could miss me. Instead, I pulled her closer, breathing in the scent of her hair one more time.
“I will always be your sister,” I whispered, the closest thing to truth I could offer. “No matter how far away I go.”