Iona
I woke up like I had for twenty-two years, but this would be my last. Tonight I would be sacrificed under the moonlight. My skull would adorn the path to his castle. There were no more tears left. I was simply tired of this life.
There was a strange peace in that. I had spent so many years afraid of small things—a raised hand, a sharp word, the particular silence that came before my husband's temper broke—that fearing the largest thing of all felt almost like relief.
Death could only happen once. My husband had made me die a hundred small deaths before this one ever arrived.
I traced my finger along the jagged scar on my cheek.
I had encountered enough monsters and not all of them left scars.
With a heavy sigh, I sat up and wondered if Borin would bring any special three foods today.
It was a foolish thing to wonder about, on such a morning, but I had learned that the mind reached for small comforts when it could no longer bear the large ones.
Something moved in the corner of my eye. It lurked in the dark shadows on the far side of the room.
The beast rose and the chair creaked. I pulled the covers high and began to tremble as he grew closer.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, raising his hand towards me.
I flinched at the sight of his claws and covered my head with my forearm.
When he did not touch me or strike me, I slowly lowered my arm.
My heart continued to hammer long after the danger had not come.
It had learned, these past few days, that safety was never guaranteed simply because a blow had not yet fallen.
His head had drooped and both of his hands remained by his side. I had never seen him stand so still. Even in stillness, there was usually something coiled in him, some violence waiting for permission. This was different. This looked almost like a man ashamed to be seen.
“Iona,” he said while I gasped.
“You know my name?”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Borin reminded me,” he said, scraping his boot along the wood. “I—”
I waited, but he did not speak again. The silence stretched between us and that did not bode well for me. I gulped before I gathered the courage to speak.
“You will be rid of me tonight,” I whispered, lowering my gaze back to his feet.
I said it plainly, the way one might remark on the weather. There was nothing left in me to dress the words up as anything other than what they were.
He crouched down slowly until our eyes met. Up close, I could see that something in his face had changed since I had last dared to look at it directly. The black of his eyes, which I had only ever known as empty, now held something that looked unbearably like grief.
“I deeply regret my actions towards you. I know that what I did was unforgivable,” he said as I stared into the obsidian pools that shone brighter than I had ever seen.
I did not know what to do with an apology.
No one had ever offered me one before, not even the husband who had carved his mark into my face.
I sat with the strangeness of it, unsure whether I was meant to feel forgiveness, or simply grateful that the cruelty, at least for this moment, appeared to have stopped.
“I grant your freedom. You may return south, back to Dornovia,” he said, but his voice cracked when he named my province.
That was when I saw a teardrop form and watched as it rolled into the thick whiskers on his cheek. I had imagined many things this beast might do to me before the month’s end. I had never once imagined I would watch him weep.
Stunned, I was unable to gather my thoughts until one question lingered.
“How do you know where I come from?”
His eyes closed and the thick eyebrows furrowed together. He cleared his throat.
“My Queen, Morana, came from Dornovia. Her house was Borja.”
The name meant nothing to me, and everything, all at once.
My own house was Borja. My grandfather had told me once, long ago, of a great ancestor who had married a king and met a terrible end, her name lost somewhere between generations who had stopped speaking of her.
I had never thought to ask why. I had never thought there was a why worth asking.
She was remembered for her ties to royalty and her death.
Now I understood that I was looking at the answer, kneeling before me with tears in his beard, three hundred years too late to matter and somehow mattering more than anything ever had.
“Tell me about her.”
He slowly raised his head. His eyes were now open. There was emotion. The first sign of humanity beneath the monster's guise.
Shock. Confusion. Relief?
“You do not wish to leave?”
I sighed, looking away, toying with the covers.
“My home is no longer mine.”
“Oh,” he said and settled on the ground, crossing his legs beneath him.
Silence came again. He looked as if he were calculating a difficult equation.
“I could purchase some land in your name.”
“You do not know the laws of this land. Women cannot own such things,” I scoffed.
He scratched his cheek.
“You can live in the castle. No one will—harm you.”
My heart beat faster. I could feel it beneath my chest. Each beat.
Was it fear or something else?
“And you will never use that balm on me?” I asked before pursing my lips at the memories that wretched concoction brought.
His back straightened and he held his head high, placing his hand over his heart.
“You have my absolute word on the matter.”
I swallowed as I stared at the black claws that had sliced through my skin so easily.
“You do not have to decide now,” he said, trying to smile.
It looked uncomfortable with those razor-sharp teeth.
Something loosened in my chest.
He began to tell me what he remembered about Morana. His voice was low and soft. The more he talked about her, the more expressive he became.
Borin came and left.
I ate and he continued to talk.
He remained seated on the floor. He kept his distance and did not make sudden movements when he shifted on the hard floor.
He had once been a king and now a beast. Yet here he was seated beneath me.
But beneath it all, I was not certain if I could trust him. I was unable to trust anyone after my mother passed.