Chapter 5 #2
Father picks up the bucket at his feet. It’s overflowing with more limp hares. I follow him out of the room. He slams the iron door closed with a resounding clang that reverberates through my bones. The lock clicks into place as he turns a heavy key.
At the next door, he slides open a small hole.
The metal scrapes against its frame with a screech that sets my teeth on edge.
He stuffs a dead hare through the gap, its fur matted with congealed blood.
On the other side of the door, nails scratch the stone ground as the foxhound grasps its meal.
The frenzied sounds of tearing flesh and crunching bone fill the air, along with low, feral growls.
“I’ve been wanting to speak with you,” I say, willing my voice to sound calm. Pleasant. Like my father prefers his women. It’s difficult to keep a feminine, delicate air amid the oppressive stench and darkness, but I do my best.
“I gathered as much since you’re standing here, watching me like a gaping piglet.” He grabs another hare from the bucket.
My face flares and I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. “Now that I’ve agreed to a hasty wedding for the sake of your subjects—”
“Which is your duty as heir,” he interjects.
I grit my teeth. “Now that I’m doing my duty, I’d hoped we could discuss Grandmother.”
He stills, hare carcass in hand. “What about her?”
My heart is beating rabbit-fast in my chest. “What happened to her.”
He slams the pail down and whirls back around to glare at me. A dead hare trembles in his hand as he speaks. “I thought we’d finished discussing áine when you left.”
The hare’s black, shining eyes stare at me from my father’s fist. A smear of dark blood drips from its nose.
I stand my ground. “As I recall, it was never finished.”
There’s a long pause as my father studies me. “I didn’t call you back here from the edge of the kingdom to have you disobey me again. áine is not open for discussion.”
“But I deserve to know—”
“You deserve nothing!” He yells, his voice echoing off the stone walls. Foxhounds scream and howl in response. The noise bounces off the inside of my skull, where a monstrous headache is brewing.
I realize I’m not breathing, so I force a steady breath, sucking in the putrid air.
“Your grandmother died in the borderlands,” he says, his words tight and threatening as a bowstring. “If you must have someone to blame, blame the Dead Queen.” He takes a few even steps toward me.
I hold my ground, refusing to move backward out of intimidation.
“But let me make one thing clear.” His cool composure has returned. “We are finished chasing tails around the base of that tree. Do you understand me, Little Fox?”
Angry tears prick at my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Reluctantly, I nod.
“Good.” He stuffs the hare between the bars of a nearby door. The animal inside lets out a yelp. We listen to it tear the carcass to shreds.
“If I hear that you’ve been asking around about your grandmother again, you will regret it.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, hard. It’s a good thing that my engagement gown has sleeves. His grip will leave a mark.
He leans in toward my ear. The smell of his meaty lunch makes me turn my face away.
“Now, be a good heir. Smile at your party. Make your husband-to-be happy. And give the kingdom something to look forward to.” He removes his hand and turns from me.
It takes everything I have not to scratch his face with my perfectly buffered nails.
The darkness in his eyes tells me he won’t budge.
My hands clench at my sides as I turn from him, leaving without further argument.
He’ll never tell me what happened to Grandmother in the borderlands.
I’ll have to find my answers somewhere else.
I walk back up the damp stairwell and out into the sunlight. The sudden brightness is almost painful after the gloom of the underground, and I squint against the glare.
When I’m far enough away from the kennels, I lean against the wall of an outbuilding. It’s a potter’s shed, by the look of it. A greenish film of grime covers the windows, but the wooden shelves are still visible within. They’re filled with different sized pottery and sacks of soil.
The rough stone of the wall scrapes against my palms as I push against it, willing the rising fury to ease.
There was a time when my father’s cruelty made me crumble.
When it made me sob into my grandmother’s arms and complain about the injustice of having a king as a father. But now … I get angry. Very angry.
All the awful memories from my youth pool back into the forefront of my mind, as vivid and terrifying as if no time had passed.
The helplessness, the fear, the anger—they wash over me in waves, threatening to drag me under.
I close my eyes and push the intruding thoughts aside, mustering my strength.
I should’ve known better than to come back here.
Beyond the potter’s shed, nobles speckle the palace gardens. They’re walking and gossiping without a care in the world, like they’ve never spent even a moment contemplating the war at the border. Or the villagers whom King Corsac sends there to die horrible deaths for our benefit.
There’s a small group of women laughing, their voices light and carefree as they bend to sniff the late-autumn rose bushes.
Their dresses are pastels in tones of lavender, pink, and blue.
All except for one, a woman with silver-blond hair, who stands out in the traditional hues of the royal family—cream with copper accents.
I watch her from a distance, wondering how that woman has the gall to wear the royal colors without being related to the royal family. It’s a fashion choice punishable by death.
She steps around the bushes and two things become immediately apparent.
First, I know her. She’s Hunter’s cousin, Elena. A once-shy girl a little older than I am.
And, second, she is pregnant. Very pregnant. A copper bow rests upon her distended stomach.
I’m not related to her, but I’d be willing to bet that I am related to the baby in her belly.