Chapter 7
Those fingers on my waist lightly squeezed as panic threatened to overwhelm me. There was so much—too much—too many people all around, and I couldn’t see or do anything about it. If they turned on us, if they rushed forward, we would all be crushed.
My chest heaved with stunted breaths as I battled my body and mind. I needed to appear as uninteresting as possible, and struggling would do nothing to help that.
“Princeps Harthon! Welcome!”
“Our savior, our lord, we owe you everything!”
Each yell was replaced by a new one as we continued forward, the words screamed with zealous passion from old and young voices.
“Princeps! Take our daughter as a gift! ” someone yelled, and several others quickly followed suit.
If Harthon reacted to the disturbing offers, it wasn’t vocal.
I latched onto the sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear. It was slow and steady, a grounding anchor amidst the uproar that made me want to bolt. As if sensing my barely contained alarm, his thumb, hidden beneath my cloak, began to move in slow strokes.
It was intimate, but I didn’t care. I was just surviving, and anything that soothed the bubbling energy beneath my skin was welcome.
I could reclaim my distance from him later.
Closing my eyes beneath the mask, I breathed deeply as I focused on that heartbeat and that gentle sweep at my waist. Time passed in a blur of rattled inhales and exhales as the chaos continued, and then the noise of another gate opening cut through the voices.
I sensed the moment we left the city crowd and entered the Citadel.
The voices muted into a dull roar, and my skin no longer tingled with the invasive stares of a thousand eyes.
Heavy chains and a creak signaled the closing of the gate.
Some of the tension began to leave, but Harthon continued stroking my waist, almost absentmindedly.
Except Harthon was far too aware to ever be absentminded.
“Welcome, Princeps Harthon,” a strong female voice called out.
“Thank you, Ana. We’ve missed you,” Harthon answered warmly, as if greeting a friend.
Or a lover.
I realized I had no idea whether Harthon had a Lady. He could very well be married or courting someone. It was actually more likely than not, given his status and age. He also wasn’t physically unattractive, as much as I wished for the opposite to be true.
If this woman was special to him, it seemed wildly wrong for me to be snuggling against him with his hand on my hip. But I didn’t know who watched and whether I was to continue acting as an unconscious prisoner, so I didn’t move.
“I see you were successful,” the woman said, this time closer. The lower volume revealed a huskiness to her voice. “I can take her so you can rest.”
Just like that, my muscles tensed again.
“I’ll take care of it,” Harthon replied. “There won’t be rest. Call a meeting. I’ll be there soon.”
Then we were moving again. No one yelled to us here, the clinks and thuds of work and daily chores echoing around us instead. The smell of dried grass and animal waste soon invaded the air. The stables, most likely. We came to a halt.
Finally, Harthon’s hand slid from my waist, and he disappeared from the saddle. “Lean forward.”
I did as told, assuming his arms were raised to catch me. If they weren’t, I’d faceplant, but some part of me innately trusted him.
For this, anyway.
Sure enough, hands caught my ribs and lowered me to the ground.
Then, just as he did in Carmen, Harthon swept me into his arms and began to walk.
It was rather annoying, being carted around in that way.
All it did was remind me of his obvious strength and the fact that I no longer had my independence.
Trying to sense our route, I felt as he turned left, then right, warm air blocking out the cold.
Then there were stairs. A right, a slight shift in the opposite direction, and then a long straight walk.
He paused as a door opened, and then we were inside a room that smelled of lavender and burning wood.
This time, when Harthon set me on my feet, I poured my entire focus into maintaining my balance. His hands steadied my shoulders, but I didn’t fall into him.
A moment later, the blindfold was off.
Harthon appeared somewhat surprised. “Good balance this time.”
“As I told you, I’m graceful.”
“Right,” he said, sounding completely unconvinced as he undid the bindings.
I shook out my arms, reveling in their freedom as I spun to take in the room. “Oh my…” the words trailed off as my jaw hinged open.
This place was…beyond words. It sprawled.
More than half the size of my cottage in Second Territory, it was almost a small home within itself.
Plush red lounge chairs were stationed by a roaring fireplace, and a bathtub with the most intricately carved legs marked a washing station in the corner.
There was a mirror above a massive dresser, and the bed was large enough for four people, at least. Gauzy white curtains hung from the bed posts and fell to the thick white and gold carpet that engulfed the floor.
Gray and tan stone walls led to a high, domed ceiling that was painted with muted swirls of orange and red, and a massive window welcomed light into the space.
In somewhat of a daze, I walked to the window to find a view of the Citadel’s interconnecting walls and—
A vibrant food garden, dotted with tall, magnificently leafy trees, just below me.
Skies, it was so alive. Never had I witnessed so much vitality.
Only some of those trees’ branches were bare, and beneath their canopies, long rows of dirt framed strips of plants.
While the crops were too far away to discern their types, their color was apparent.
To have so much green, to be thriving, was something that could only be accomplished with the utmost care and all but unlimited resources.
“Do you find it comfortable?” Harthon’s voice cut through my awe, and I twisted around.
I struggled to piece together an answer. “The garden…this is the nicest…is every room like this?”
He smiled a little, and I watched in fascination as his face lost its brutal edges for a moment. “Not every room. This is one of the nicest.”
“If this is one of the nicest, I can’t imagine what yours looks like.”
“It’s actually a mirror image, which makes sense, given that it’s right next to yours.”
The moment his words registered, the airy amazement vanished. “You’ve given me a lovely cage, then.” A lovely cage with a view.
The room and the garden below were beautiful, a magnificent display of wealth and luxury, but I was a prisoner here. I couldn’t leave to return home. And Harthon had positioned me right next to him to ensure I stayed put. Escape would be far more difficult with him monitoring me.
“So you do find it comfortable.”
I wasn’t going to justify that with an answer.
He took a step forward. “One day soon, I hope you’ll see this as your guest quarters rather than a prison.”
“That’ll be the same day you allow me to return home and roam freely.”
“You will return home, but not until you’ve fulfilled your purpose here.” He didn’t even attempt to sound apologetic.
Something within me snapped. Acidic words poured out, and I wouldn’t stop them.
“In the meantime, let me guess. I cannot leave this room. I cannot roam the streets. I cannot go out and speak to people with my eyes showing. And, that’s right, I need to do everything you tell me to do because I don’t have any say.
I’m a captive because of eyes that aren’t even my own, and you’re the overbearing captor who feigns kindness by giving me beautiful rooms and nice conversation as if it makes any of this okay.
You’ve stolen me from my life. You claim to have a good reason.
But no reason can justify what you’ve done. ”
A cool mask of indifference fell over Harthon’s chiseled features. He didn’t advance, didn’t even twitch, but I had the vague sense of being crowded. Cornered.
In a carefully controlled voice, he said, “I understand that you’re used to being a speck.
Living only to survive, never leaving home, and contributing nothing to the world but the air you exhale.
But this is bigger than you, and I hope you’ll see that soon.
Until then, I’m glad to know you already understand how things work here.
” He gave me his annoyingly broad back and pulled the door open.
“Stefano is outside your door. Tell him if you need anything.”
The door closed behind him with a heavy thud, and I lunged for a comb on the dresser and threw it at the door with all my strength. It cracked in two and fell unceremoniously to the floor.
So I did it again with a second comb.
Then a third.
And then there were no more combs, so I grabbed a hand mirror and watched it shatter into a thousand little pieces as it hit the wood.
It did nothing to quell the anger boiling inside of me.
* * *
The anger turned out to be rather beneficial. It fueled some much-needed focus.
Harthon didn’t appear again for the rest of the day.
A few hours after he departed, Stefano, my gangly guard who was hardly old enough to be a man, had opened my door to allow two chambermaids into the room.
The older one, with graying hair and wrinkled lips from a perpetual frown, introduced herself as Felda.
The younger one, who appeared to be fifteen or so, said her name was Frannie in a sheepish voice.
She avoided my gaze at all costs as they delivered a meal, drew a bath, and promptly left.
“If you need anything, Lady Etarla, don’t hesitate to tell me,” Stefano said as the women departed. With his rounded red cheeks, blue eyes, and shaggy brown hair, he was practically a boy.
Harthon had left a boy to guard me.
I wasn’t complaining.
I cocked a brow. “Lady Etarla? My name is Etarla. That’s all,” I said, my annoyance clear.
His cheeks flushed. “Yes, La—Etarla.”
“Are you going to be out there all night?”