Chapter Eight #2
Mabel had been eager to find a husband, anyone to get her out of that house, to offer her some sort of life.
But no man wished to touch her, not after the accident.
Ragnall was foolishly ambitious to think the Prince of Otacia, of all people, would be the one to pick her.
So was I, especially now that I saw how handsome he was.
The elite class still didn’t hold a candle to actual royalty, and after seeing how many gorgeous women were moving on the dance floor, I knew my chance was essentially zero.
“What is your name?” Silas inquired.
“Erabella Drea—” I began, then cleared my throat. “I mean, Erabella Maulore.”
“Ah.” He angled his head upward as he stared at the ceiling, and my eyes fell to his inked throat, his sharp jawline. “The Maulores. Not royalty, but wealthy elite in Kalrael.”
I nodded.
“Why the hesitation?” he asked, inquisitively, not in an accusatory way. This Prince was so unlike what I had expected. I was anticipating a pretentious asshole I’d have to giggle and twirl my hair for. But Silas—he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me.
“My real father’s name was Aiden Dreason,” I supplied, “but my mother had me and my sisters take Ragnall’s last name when they married.”
He frowned as he turned his gaze back to me. “You don’t like him?”
Well, I was going to be beaten black and blue once it was discovered I snuck here. What did it matter, telling the Prince of Otacia the truth? “He’s wicked. An abusive bastard. I hate him with my whole being.”
Something flashed in his eyes. Understanding, it felt like, though his lowering brows, the expanding of his pupils, told me it was anger, too.
“Why live with him then, Erabella?” His gaze raked down my body—observing, not indulging, which was unusual with men.
It made me feel safe. “You appear to be in your early twenties. Far old enough to leave home, no?”
I swallowed, my eyes dropping to my lap. I couldn’t tell him the real reason I was indebted to Ragnall. The reason I’d been too fearful to leave home.
“I have no skills,” I said. Not a lie. “No money to my name. I’ve only held out this long in the hopes he’ll perish one day, and his fortune will make up for the years of torment I suffered at his hand.”
My eyes bulged, realizing just how awful that sounded. But Silas held no judgment in his stare. “That seems like a sensible reason. Though a miserable one.”
I took a few minutes to process this entire conversation. “Aren’t you going to ask what I’m doing back here?” I slid my stare down to the shattered ceramic. “Aren’t you mad I broke your vase?”
There was a slight twitch of his lips. “Well, it appears you are avoiding your family, yes?” He gave a pointed look at the broken material.
“And I truthfully don’t give a shit about that vase.
It was more entertaining watching you panic from shattering it than it ever was standing idly in this hallway. ”
I gaped at him for a moment, and I couldn’t help but snort. “Happy I could amuse you.”
The corners of his lips gradually rose. “What is it you want, Erabella?” he questioned, his voice masculine and smooth. “Why did you come here?”
My eyes dropped to the floor, searching for answers.
“To be free,” I answered finally. Silas waited for me to add more, but I knew it would be easier to show him.
I separated the fabric of my skirt, and his brows drew together when he saw on the yellowish-brown bruises along my hip.
It had been two weeks since Ragnall had thrown me to the ground, since he discovered I’d stolen from him, and the marks were still there.
Nothing new for me, however. He had no issue laying a hand on me.
Not sexually, though. Thank the Gods for that. That was only ever Vera…
“I’ve debated running away from home plenty of times,” I admitted quietly. “Giving up any hope of a comfortable life. Serving drinks, hell, even becoming a common whore. Surely those options would be better than living with a predator.”
Silas’s furious stare tore from my bruises to scan my face.
“It’s been a daily battle, contemplating what I should do.
Deciding if his hand is better or worse than what awaits me on the other side.
” I sighed, pulling the skirt in place and resting my head against the glass.
“I don’t know why I came here, truly. For a taste of hope, I suppose.
” Pain crawled up my throat as I whispered, “A taste of a fairytale.”
“Fairytales, that’s what they are, Era. You’ll never break free from here.”
My eyes squeezed shut, awful memories invading my mind.
Don’t go there. Not right now.
Silas was quiet for many moments. “You want freedom. I can give you that.”
My eyes flew open. “How?”
“Marry me,” he offered, and my breath caught. “Marry me, and you can still find love elsewhere—if that is what you wish. I will not force anything upon you, just as I would hope you’d not force anything upon me.”
I couldn’t breathe. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged casually. “You aren’t expected to lie in my bed. You’re free to see whomever you wish. Same goes for me.”
I wasn’t sure why, but those words didn’t provide the comfort I wished for. Perhaps it was the younger version of me, the one who believed in true love and fantasy.
Silas seemed to have picked up on my darkening mood.
“Or we can truly be husband and wife. We can be faithful, fuck if you prefer.” My face heated at how easily he uttered that, and then his lips curved into an attractive smirk.
“I figured I’d be generous and offer both options, as you may find I’m an asshole and want nothing to do with me. ”
My chuckle was delayed, surprised. I was enjoying this man’s personality the more he spoke. “What do you have to gain from that?” I pushed, shaking my head. “My stepfather won’t agree with me being the choice.”
“Do you honestly think I give a fuck what your stepfather thinks?”
My eyes widened, and I bit back my smile as Silas’s eyes softened.
“I’ve already met most of the women out there. But you…” He nodded to himself. “I think we could make it work. If you’d like.”
I opened my mouth to repeat my question, but Silas continued, “I must marry someone. I don’t have a choice, and you’ve been the most pleasant woman I’ve met.
” A faint smile curved his lips, sending a flutter through my stomach as he reached forward, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Quite…unconventionally.”
“Are you sure?” I asked quietly. “You really want to pick the girl who smells of hay?”
He bit back a smile, but then something like hurt flashed in his eyes, his lips turning downward. Like a bad memory had resurfaced. He stood, reaching for my hand.
I accepted.
My pulse quickened with every step closer Silas and I took toward the ballroom as I followed him through various corridors, my clammy hand laced with his.
As a young girl, I’d dreamt of a moment like this, a prince saving me from my fate.
I’d hoped the man would be in love with me…
but an acquaintance was certainly better than an enemy.
My nervous gaze shifted, studying his sculpted jaw, his symmetrical features. He was handsome, there was no doubt. Perhaps he’d grow to love me one day, but if not, I wasn’t complaining about this being the person I woke up to in the morning.
But then those words filled my head, taunting me like a disease.
“Fairytales, that’s what they are, Era. You’ll never break free from here.”
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard that I tasted iron. Anything to keep that memory far, far away.
Silas and I halted before ornate, double doors, and the two guards protecting the entrance bowed respectfully. Silas shot me a glance. “You ready?”
I braced myself as best I could. “Yes.”
Silas offered the guards a curt nod, and they hauled the heavy doors open for us.
I did my best to school my expression, but my lips parted on an exhale, taking in the scenery before me.
Those golden lights gleamed from the many sconces in the ballroom, illuminating the dozens of beautiful women’s faces as they mingled.
As their smiles shifted to glares, the Otacian Prince took my hand in his once more.
I gulped, grateful for the violins playing in the far corner, as all voices quieted once we stepped into the room.
I noticed King Ulric first, the silver crown gleaming on his head, his black locks curving beside his jawline, down his neck.
His dark gaze narrowed, piercing through his eye mask as he rested back in his throne.
Gods, the man was intimidating. Handsome, just like his son, but his malevolent demeanor sent a shiver down my spine.
I hadn’t noticed him earlier.
“My Prince!” another herald, perhaps a high steward, exclaimed as he approached us. “We’ve been expecting you for the last two hours!” The herald’s nervous focus darted between the King and Silas. “The King is not pleased.”
Silas glowered. “Is he ever?” he muttered, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.
The herald cleared his throat, stepping beside the tattooed prince, raising his arm. “Introducing Prince Silas La’Rune—”
“And Erabella Dreason,” Silas interrupted, his voice resonant and commanding, bringing the back of my hand to his lips before giving it a small peck. “My fiancée.”
The room broke out in disbelieving chatter, some women starting to cry, their father’s enraged. Few seemed pleased.
And then there was my sister, whose eyes I found next.
Mabel’s dark gaze showed an emotion I couldn’t name, too devastating to give a proper description. Sadness, anger, resentment…
and relief, all blended into one.
Ragnall barked, “How is it the Prince has a wife, when the ball hadn’t even formally started?!”
Silas was receptive, noticing how my body flinched at his rising words, how my hand clutched his tighter. The Otacian Prince tilted his head, studying my wretched stepfather, then my pitiful sister.
Ragnall pointed an accusatory finger my way. “You don’t know a thing about this wretched woman! What evils she is capable of! She—”
“Who, pray tell, are you to raise your voice in my castle?!” Ulric’s deep voice boomed through the room, eliciting soft gasps from around us, as the music came to a halt.
Ragnall’s eyes went wide, nervously bowing in the King’s direction. “M-my apologies, Your Majesty,” he sputtered.
King Ulric’s lip curled. “Please. You really think your deformed excuse for a daughter stood a chance with royalty? Stood a chance as Otacia’s future Queen?”
My face crumpled at his cruel words, and while Silas didn’t look at me, he squeezed my hand. Attempting to comfort me.
Ragnall’s jaw clenched, his angered gaze locked on the ground. It wasn’t anger for the disrespect toward Mabel. No, it was rage that he’d be missing out on coin.
I dragged my broken stare back to my sister, my heart clenching—shattering—as her tears spilled from underneath her mask, her expression otherwise blank.
“Let the celebration commence!” King Ulric proclaimed. “My son has finally found his wife!”
People cheered as the musicians resumed their tunes. When I lifted my gaze to Silas, his eyes were distant only for a second before he offered me a tight-lipped smile.
I couldn’t enjoy the evening, even as I danced with the prince of the most feared kingdom in Tovagoth. Even as I was fed the finest of foods, even as I gulped down the rarest of wines.
Because even as my head rested on my down pillow that night, my body nestled under velvet blankets with my future husband slumbering beside me, the image of Mabel crying plagued my mind.
Her way out. Her escape. And I had taken it from her, even though we both knew she never stood a chance.
Not after what I did all those years ago.