Chapter 11 Rhea
Chapter Eleven: Rhea
The sound of the waves breaking against the shoreline ahead spikes fear within me as I stand at my window, looking down at the slight drop to the fine sand below.
Whatever this magic is that binds me to the king’s will, it makes me feel like I’m drowning.
Like my head is pushed beneath the surface the moment a command leaves his lips.
I suck in a harsh breath at the thought, gasping for air even though I’m out in the open.
My skin stretches and pulls at the brand with the movement, and just as quickly, that breath is pushed out of me at the fiery pain that erupts at my hip, forcing my hands to brace the windowsill as I lean into the cooler breeze blowing in from the water.
King Dolian hadn’t come back to visit me the rest of the day.
Instead, he sent the assigned handmaiden.
I was still in bed when she came with lunch on a silver tray, her blue eyes rounding when they had met mine.
After setting the tray down on one of the tables by the bed, she pulled a linen pouch from her white apron and told me the king said she was to clean an abrasion.
Panic curdled my stomach at the thought of another’s touch on me again, and I tried to tell her that her assistance wasn’t necessary.
But the handmaiden gave me a small smile and relayed that the king had commanded it of her, and I understood what she couldn’t say then.
She had a blood oath with the king and, much like myself, had little choice in what he demanded she do.
“It is on your hip, correct?” At my reluctant nod, she moved to the side of the bed and slowly lifted my chemise up, the blanket still discarded on the floor where the king had thrown it earlier.
Her shocked inhale echoed out in the room, and the curse she let slip after had our eyes meeting in unspoken horror.
Clearly this wasn’t just an abrasion, and if any part of me thought that perhaps my reaction to the pain—to the idea that I was marked with a branding iron—was overly dramatic, the color that leached from the handmaiden’s face when she looked back down at my hip confirmed that it wasn’t.
She worked in silence, her touch gentle but diligent.
The ointment she slathered over the aching flesh soothed it a little before she covered it with a bandage.
When she was done, she grabbed the blanket and laid over my legs, making sure I could reach it should I want it pulled up again.
Then she hurried out of the room like she might be sick.
I stared out the window across from me until day bled to night, and she returned again, this time with a dinner tray.
Now I look back out to the starry night sky, my dinner still sitting where the handmaiden left it.
Every shift of the small residence and noise outside the hall sends my pulse racing, my eyes darting over my shoulder to watch the door should King Dolian enter my room again.
He hadn’t touched me beyond where the brand was and my thigh, but he had seen my undergarments.
Seen more of me than he ever should have been allowed.
Would he stop next time? Or would he let his fingers explore other parts of me, let them undress me just as eagerly as his gaze did.
I swallow at the thought and reach out to grip either side of the window, its height low enough that I can, with a little maneuvering, step onto the ledge in front of it.
I cry out as I’m forced into a crouch, my heartbeat pulsing over my tender flesh, every nerve ending singing its displeasure at my position.
I blink through the tears that form in my eyes, gritting my teeth as I clench my jaw and focus on the ground below.
I had been in too much pain to care about changing out my chemise, instead grabbing a velvet cloak from the wooden armoire in the room and securing it around my neck.
The king’s command said I couldn’t leave the residence without him being at my side, but surely the magic of it couldn’t know what I was doing at every minute.
My own power works off of intention; is it the same for this ring?
Can I trick it if I tell myself I’m just going for a stroll?
Hissing through my teeth, I lean forward and prepare to jump, only to be met with resistance.
That invisible barrier of magic preventing me from going farther.
“No,” I growl, abandoning my hold on the window to push with both hands. But the unseen obstacle holds firm.
I adjust my stance, a groan of pain rumbling up my throat as I move onto the balls of my feet, only to lose my balance.
My back crashes into the floor behind me, the reverberation of the impact sending a blinding wave of pain through me.
My hands shake as they hover over my hip, but there is nothing I can do.
I can’t call up my magic. I can’t soothe it.
I can only endure, calling out to Selene as I do.
“Please, help me,” I say between broken sobs, my vision blurring and throat growing raw.
When she doesn’t answer, I call out to Nox.
To Bella. To Alexi. But the night continues without so much as a whisper of their presence, only the unfathomable pain of a mark I’ll never be able to get rid of keeping me company.
The handmaiden comes the next morning and helps me shower.
The water hitting my singed skin is no relief, and though I try to keep myself composed in front of her, I completely fall apart at the white-hot stinging that lances through me.
Afterwards, she dresses me in a gown of soft satin, though I still smart when it grazes my hip, fighting back nausea that travels its way up my throat.
She does my hair, braiding it away from my face and down my back, and the moment she ties it off, someone knocks on the door.
I tense at the sound, my eyes clashing with hers in the reflection of the vanity mirror in front of me. I stand as she strides to the door, my heart sinking when she opens it and reveals who is on the other side. Xander.
“The king has called for you to meet with him this morning.” The sound of his voice draws up memories of Alexi’s death, of his harsh tone whenever he spoke to me in the tower. I swallow as I take a step, and my knees falter as my head begins to swim. Perhaps I should have eaten something yesterday.
“Lady Rhea, are you alright?” the handmaiden asks, taking a step towards me. Concern lines her face, but I shake it off as I force my chin to lift, blinking away the haziness from my vision.
“I’m fine.” Xander’s attention stays fixed on me as he steps to the side to let me pass, those dark eyes of his briefly meeting mine.
He’s not dressed in full armor, instead wearing the same chest and back piece over a black tunic and pants that Alexi and Nox wore.
His black hair is tied back, a few shorter strands escaping and framing his face.
At his hip is a golden sword, a small dagger also strapped to his thigh.
He’s larger up close than I remember, though I suppose the interactions I’ve had with him have been ones that I’d like to forget.
Xander walks behind me as we move down the corridor, my memories once more faulty as I can’t recall exactly how long it has been since I tried to escape.
Was it two days ago? Three? How much time had I lost between when I was knocked unconscious at the front door and again after I was branded?
When we reach the split in the hallway, I pause.
“Right,” he practically barks out as he passes me, and I would scowl if it weren’t for the fact that I’m just trying to keep myself upright with every step I take.
The front foyer comes into view, daylight now giving sight to details that were previously hidden in the shadows, and I follow Xander as he turns left, knowing the front door is behind me but avoiding the urge to look over my shoulder.
The sun plays off of the gold that covers his back, the ends of his hair brushing against the top of it.
His skin color is a little darker than Nox’s, more rich in its olive pigment.
I can’t begin to guess his height, but I imagine it is somewhat close to Nox’s as well.
In fact, the more I study the bulkiness of Xander’s frame, the more I find physical similarities between the two.
“The kitchens are right up here. Should you find yourself hungry outside of meal hours, there will always be someone on staff there to help you,” Xander informs me, his voice monotone like he’s given a hundred tours of this place and is now bored of it.
Arched corridors line either side of us, a few of the aforementioned maids and servants popping in and out of them.
Their eyes grow wide as they meet mine, and I can’t tell if it’s shock or something more that lines their faces, but they don’t linger long enough for me to decipher it.
Straight ahead, double doors loom tall, reaching the dark gray stone ceiling above.
The kingdom’s sigil is brandished in gold on the front of both, that horrific roaring lion inescapable.
In my glaring at the doors, I don’t see the small rumple in the rug ahead of me and trip on it.
I recover quickly, but catching my balance sends a sharp bite of pain flaring down my leg.
I stop short, gasping for air as I breathe through it.