4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
W hen morning comes, I want to believe that the past few days were nothing more than a dream. To hope that maybe, when I open my eyes, I’ll be in my bed at home. That Father and Acantha will be downstairs, waiting for me to join them for breakfast.
I want to believe that. But the truth stops me.
Opening my eyes, I take a deep breath. I don’t move from bed, wishing I could go back to sleep and escape my reality.
Yet, time and time again, the gods show me their cruelty.
There’s a gentle knock at my door, and before I can respond, my ladies’ maids enter my chamber. I notice the cart with my dirty dishes from dinner is gone.
The first one inside pauses when she sees me still in bed, her eyes wide. “Have we woken you, miss?”
Sitting up, I flash her a polite smile. “Not at all.”
“Oh, good.” She relaxes, the tension leaving her face. She looks to be about my age, but her demeanor makes her seem much older. Then she smiles warmly, holding out a hand to help me up. “Good morning. You slept well, I hope?”
“As well as I could have,” I say with a snide tone, taking her hand. Standing, I brush my curls out of my face. “I’m Cryssa,” I tell her.
The servant bows. “Tiffy, my lady.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Tiffy.” And I mean it. I’ll need allies if I want to survive here.
Tiffy smiles again and tilts her head toward the washroom. “Come, let’s get you ready.”
“Ready for what?” I ask, but her hands are already on my arms, maneuvering me there.
“For the day, of course. You can’t very well stay in yesterday’s clothes, can you?”
My cheeks warm. At home, I wore the same two dresses. Sometimes for multiple days in a row. Clothes weren’t the priority. Not with mouths to feed.
I press my lips together.
I’m not at home anymore.
I’m at High Keep and I’m betrothed to the Crown Prince. Maybe now, appearances are a priority .
Not if I have anything to say about it.
I’m not staying here long enough to start caring about my appearance.
I nod to Tiffy, and that seems to satisfy her. The ladies’ maids wash my face, style my hair, and dress me.
“Will you take breakfast in here, miss?” Tiffy asks.
“Yes,” I shoot out. The Crown Prince may think he’s my betrothed, but I have no intention of going through with the marriage. And no desire to spend time with him.
Tiffy bows her head, and then leads my ladies’ maids out of my chamber.
Breakfast arrives not much longer after they leave, brought in on another rolling cart by more servants. Like they did with dinner last night, the servants leave me to my meal once they’ve asked if I need anything else. I decline and have my meal at the vanity table. So far, I’ve used it more for eating than for making myself look more appealing.
The breakfast assortment is just as tantalizing as last night’s dinner. Freshly baked pastries make my mouth water, topped with ripe berries, and chopped chocolate. There’s a fancy looking bowl cradling an egg-dish and a small plate of buttered toast. Instead of wine, there’s a small pitcher of some kind of fruit juice.
I pour some juice into the glass and sip it in between bites of pastries and eggs. Once I’m finished, I leave my empty dishes on the cart. I assume the servants will come for it like they did last night .
Lymseia’s words from yesterday ascend to the forefront of my mind.
“The main areas of the castle are free for you to explore.”
And explore I shall.
If I want to free Loren and make our escape, I’ll need to find him first.
Crossing the room, I rest my hand on the door handle and slowly push it open. I poke my head into the hallway.
The sounds of far-off footsteps and distinct chatter meet my ears, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone around.
I leave my chamber, gently closing the door behind me.
Careful not to make too much noise, I start down the hallway toward the stairs that the guards led me up yesterday. I come into the bright corridor and make it halfway through before I pause.
Voices echo.
I press my body to the cold, stone wall, my palms flat to keep me steady. Cocking my head, I focus. The voices are coming from ahead of me, where I remember there’s an open area at the top of the staircase. I inch closer, stopping until I’m just behind the archway that leads out of this hallway.
“She is your betrothed , Viridian,” a sharp, feminine voice says. It’s Lymseia. “You should go see her.”
I hold my breath.
“You know I didn’t want this,” a deep voice replies. That one, I instantly recognize as the Crown Prince. “My father— even the gods, it would seem—is the one who wants this marriage. Not me.”
Why would the High King force Viridian to marry me?
“It doesn’t matter whether you want it or not,” Lymseia says. “She’s here because of you. For you. It’s time you stopped being so pig-headed and started acting like an engaged male.”
“Pig-headed?” he scoffs.
“Yes. Pig-headed.”
I cover my mouth to stifle my laugh. I barely know Lymseia, but now, I can’t help but respect her.
There’s a tense silence. Then, Viridian lets out a long sigh. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Fine. I’ll court her, if she wishes to be courted. But if she doesn’t,” he says, voice hardening, “I won’t force her.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“Very well.” He doesn’t sound pleased. If anything, it sounds like he despises the thought of courting me. Disappointment sinks in my chest, weighing me down like gohlrunn.
The knowledge that Viridian doesn’t want to court me shouldn’t upset me. It doesn’t change my plan—to find Loren and run away together, somewhere far from here. Far from Viridian.
So why does it bother me?
Footsteps echo on stone, growing louder in volume, until I’m facing Viridian. His dark brows rise in surprise, just for a moment, before they furrow again.
“Good morning,” he says gruffly. Embarrassment heats my cheeks. He must know I overheard him.
Scowling at him, I say nothing. His mouth tightens. Letting out a forceful breath, he brushes past me and storms down the hall.
I step forward, moving out from behind the corner. Lymseia’s expression softens when she sees me, mouth curving downward with something that looks like pity. I don’t like it.
I don’t need her pity.
After all, Viridian and I don’t want to marry each other.
“Don’t mind him,” she tells me. “He’s a pleasure to be around once he gets his head out of his ass.”
“Oh, I bet he’s a delight,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
Lymseia pretends to frown. “You may not believe me now. But just watch, you’ll see.”
Striding past her, I roll my eyes. The day I enjoy Viridian’s company is a day that will surely never come.
“I wouldn’t go that way if I were you,” Lymseia calls after me.
I stop and turn my upper body to look at her. “Why not?”
“That hallway takes you to the East Tower,” she says, gesturing behind me. “The High King’s private quarters.”
I glance back at the hallway in front of me. It’s the one with all the beautiful portraits hanging. The ones that make me wish I could draw. Missing my sketchbook only emphasizes how alone I feel here. How out of place.
“Am I not allowed in there?”
Lymseia shakes her head. Her voice softens. “No one is. Not since the High Queen died.”
“No one?”
“No one but the High King and his private security detail.”
“Not even the Crown Prince?”
She gives me a look. “Not even His Highness.”
Interesting.
I take a step toward her. Curiosity colors my words. “Aren’t you allowed in there?”
“No,” Lymseia says, like a parent trying to dissuade a child from doing something they shouldn’t. “Not even me.”
“But you’re the Captain of the High King’s Guard. Doesn’t the High King’s private security detail report to you?”
“They do,” Lymseia says, leveling her tone. As if she were picking her words very carefully.
But her tone of voice tells me everything her words don’t.
The High King’s hiding something.
My mind itches to know what. To sneak into the East Tower and uncover all of the High King’s secrets.
I open my mouth to ask another question, but I don’t get the opportunity. A young-looking man rises to the top of the stairs. His crimson eyes catch my attention almost instantly, as do his pointed ears. If his eyes weren’t obvious enough, his ears give away his fae heritage immediately. Staring intently, he cranes his neck to look down at the stack of papers in his hands, all while muttering to himself. His rich brown hair is disheveled, as if he couldn’t be bothered to care about how others may see him.
“Ah, Myrdin.” Lymseia plasters on a smile. “Just the male I wanted to see.”
He doesn’t seem to hear her, too focused on whatever it is on the parchment that’s captured his attention. Slowly, he continues ahead. Lymseia holds out her arm, and Myrdin walks right into it, dropping some of his papers.
“Myrdin!” Lymseia demands.
“Huh?” Myrdin’s eyes widen when he sees her. “What?”
“Myrdin,” Lymseia says, using her hand on his arm to turn his body toward me. “This is Miss Cryssa Thurdred.”
Recognition flashes in his eyes, and his mouth spreads into a genuine smile. “Miss Thurdred, it’s wonderful to meet you.”
I smile politely while arching a brow. “And you are?”
“This is Lord Myrdin Tarrantree,” Lymseia cuts in, patting him on the shoulder. “Son of Head of House, Lord Tanyl and Lady Phaendarra Tarrantree—the Crown Prince’s cousin.”
He’s from the Copper Court. That explains the color of his eyes.
I bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Tarrantree.”
“Lord Tarrantree is my father,” he says, waving me off. “Please, call me Myrdin.”
Lymseia looks at him expectantly. “Miss Thurdred is interested in exploring High Keep. Why don’t you give her a tour?”
My brows stitch together. If I didn’t know better, I would think Lymseia was trying to distract me. To pull me away from the East Tower.
And that only makes me more curious about what secrets lie there.
“A tour,” Myrdin repeats, looking between Lymseia and me. “Of course, a tour.”
Warily, I eye Lymseia. She’s smiling, clearly satisfied with herself. If she thinks I’ll give up this easily, then she’s in for quite the rude awakening.
“Just a moment, then.” Myrdin crouches to pick up his papers, organizing them on his knee. “Excellent.” Then he stands, facing me. “What would you like to see first?”
“Whatever you think is best,” I tell him. “I’m in your capable hands.”
Myrdin blushes, running a hand through his hair. “Very well, then. Come with me, Miss Thurdred.”
“Cryssa.”
“Cryssa,” he echoes, as if he were trying not to forget.
He holds out a hand, gesturing to the staircase. “This way.”
Meeting my pace, Myrdin falls in line beside me as we descend the staircase .
“What are those?” I ask, my eyes falling to his stack of papers.
“Oh, just some council documents. Nothing exciting, I assure you.”
“Council?”
“The High King’s Council. My father and I serve as members, alongside the other Heads of Houses and heir-apparents.”
That gets my attention. “The Crown Prince sits on this council, too, then?”
“Yes,” Myrdin says.
“Interesting,” I muse. This gives me an opportunity. Perhaps, Loren and I can make our escape while a council meeting is in session. If we play our cards right, we just might be able to slip out while all the important people are preoccupied.
I clench my teeth. Still, none of this will be of any use until I know where to find him.
We step off the last stair and enter the main hallway—the one with all the arches. I can’t help but crane my neck to look at them as we pass through.
The suits of armor visible through the archways catch my eye. I point. “Let’s go in there.”
“Of course,” Myrdin says. He leads me through the nearest doorway and into the room.
Aside from the suits of armor, there are sizable, long banners—each bearing one of the five Noble House’s emblems and colors—with lists of names at the bottom. The closest banner to me is that of House Pelleveron, from the Gold Court.
I step closer to it, mouth parted in awe at the craftsmanship. Like many of the woven pieces here, the banner has gold metal intertwined. Gently, I run my hand underneath the names. I don’t recognize the given names, but they all have the same family name—Pelleveron.
The question already on my tongue, I glance over my shoulder to ask Myrdin.
“This is the hall of kings,” Myrdin answers before I can form the words. “Each banner bears the names of the High Kings and Queens who reigned while each of the Noble Houses was in power.”
Scanning the room, I realize the list of names underneath the Gold Court’s banner is the longest.
“How long has House Avanos been on the throne?”
“Not long.” Myrdin motions to the Bronze Court’s banner. “High King Vorr is the first of his line. In fact,” Myrdin says, excitement rising in his voice, “Head of House, Lady Maelyrra Pelleveron’s aunt was the last in her line, before Vorr ascended to the throne.”
“What happened?” I lean forward. “Why didn’t the Pelleverons stay in power?”
“The last High Queen died without an heir,” Myrdin explains. “When that happens, the Heads of Houses or heir- apparents who seek to be the next High King or Queen challenge each other for the throne in a rite called the Fyrelith.”
My eyes widen. “They fight?”
Myrdin nods. “To the death.”
I wince.
“It’s a grisly scene, no doubt. Luckily for us,” Myrdin continues, “the centuries-long life spans of noble fae make it rare for a monarch to die without a legitimate heir.” He tilts his head to the door. “Shall we continue?”
Tearing my gaze from the Gold Court’s banner, I nod and follow him out.
We continue down the hall, passing the staircase this time.
“So, the Crown Prince is your cousin?” I ask, glancing at him.
“Yes,” Myrdin replies. His expression dims. “His mother was my father’s sister.”
My chest tightens. Having lost my own mother at a young age, I know the feeling of grief all too well. Perhaps that is one thing the Crown Prince and I have in common.
Finally, I say, “It seems the High King truly loved her.”
Myrdin’s expression brightens slightly. “He did.” Then he scrunches his brows. “But what makes you say that?”
“Lymseia told me that no one’s been allowed in the East Tower since she died.”
Myrdin only meets me with a blank stare.
“He must still be in mourning,” I say quickly, so he doesn’t suspect anything.
“Ah, yes, mourning.” Myrdin nods, turning his face from mine. “Of course.”
I look away from him and face ahead. There is something very strange going on at High Keep.
Something the High King wants to keep hidden.
But it seems the High King doesn’t trust anyone but his personal guard with his secret. Does Viridian know what his father hides in the shadows? Or has he been shut out, too?
Myrdin shows me everything. The great hall, the courtyard—which, to my pleasant surprise, is much greener than the front gates—the armory, and the kitchens, if I ever find myself in need of something to eat late at night.
“The servants don’t like it,” Myrdin tells me. “But they won’t stop you.”
“What of the dungeons?” I know it’s a slim chance that he’ll answer, but I ask anyway. “Where are they?”
“I—” Myrdin swallows. “I’m not at liberty to tell you that.”
I ball my hands into fists, digging my fingernails into my palms. Of course he’s not.
I’ll have to find Loren on my own.
I’m not leaving here without him. No matter how long it takes. It’s my fault he’s here.
At the end of the tour, Myrdin walks me back to my chambers. “I hope I didn’t bore you too much.”
“No,” I assure him, over emphasizing my enthusiasm to hide my disappointment. “Not at all. ”
Myrdin flashes me a warm smile. Out of everyone here, I think I like him the most. He has this boyish charm about him that makes him seem like the younger brother I never had.
“I’ll take my leave.” He bows his head, clutching his stack of papers to his chest. “I bid you good evening.”
Myrdin departs, busying himself with his council documents. Closing the door behind me, I cross the threshold into my chamber and rest my body against it, leaning my head back.
I’ve been here for a day, and I’ve made no progress in formulating an escape plan.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I fight the burning lump growing in the back of my throat. My chest constricts, stomach swimming with anguish.
Tears sting my eyes. This will be the second time I’ve cried in the span of a few days.
I swallow to keep them at bay.
This isn’t me. I’m not the girl who cries at the hint of distress. No, I’m the girl who acts. The girl who fights back. The girl who does something to change her situation. That’s the girl my father raised me to be.
If only Father was here. He’d know what to do.
Still, tears fall and run down my cheeks.
And I let them.
Staggering away from the door, I sink to my knees.
Even if I do manage to find Loren, I don’t know what’s become of him. He could be hurt. Bound and gagged. Maybe they’ve tortured him.
Or worse, he could be dead.
I banish the horde of unkind thoughts. I can’t let myself drown in them. If I do, there’ll be no hope for either of us.
I sit in silence for a while, making no move to wipe away the tears or clean myself up.
There’s a hard knock at my door. I wait a moment, and the knock sounds again, harder still, as if the person outside is rapidly growing impatient.
I have half a mind to ignore it, but the third knock has me up and on my feet. The idea of shouting profanities at whoever is so intent to disrupt my solitude becomes more appealing by the second.
Can’t a girl cry in peace?
When I open it, the Crown Prince stands in the hall, chin raised. The profanities I’d been looking forward to spewing vanish, and my mouth feels like it’s been latched shut. I swear I see the hard lines of his face soften ever so slightly, but it must be a trick of the light.
“Good evening.” His voice is cordial but lacks true sincerity. Or at least, to me, it does. “Dine with me tonight.”
I can tell that’s not a request. The annoyance it stirs within me is enough to free my tongue from whatever stupor has frozen it. He brought me to High Keep against my will. He’s the reason Loren has been arrested. And now he’s here, asking—no, commanding —me to dine with him, as if none of that happened .
“Or what?” I say, my voice carrying the weight of my challenge. “I don’t eat at all?”
“Yes.” Viridian’s icy tone is much lower than I’d like. His quiet temper is unsettling, but I would die before I let him see that.
“I’d rather starve than share your company.” Does he honestly expect me to play nice with him, while Loren rots in a prison cell somewhere? “And if you think otherwise, then you’re delusional.”
“If that’s how it’s going to be, then fine.” Viridian’s eyes narrow, amber storms raging within them. “You can starve, for all I care.”
My brows furrow, chest rising and falling with my angry breaths.
He spins on his heels, his back facing me now. With his hands behind him, one clasped firmly around his wrist, he looks at the guards.
“Stand guard. I want to know the moment she changes her mind.”
“Trust me,” I declare to his back, “I won’t.”
Viridian says nothing, but I see his shoulders tense. He storms down the hall, bronze robes swishing when he turns the corner.
I slam my chamber door shut.
A few hours later, there’s a voice calling my name from the hall.
“Cryssa!” Lymseia raises her voice so I can hear her through the door. “Cryssa, I’ve brought you something to eat.”
Wiping my face to make myself look at least a little more presentable, I move from the bed and answer the door.
Lymseia waits outside, holding a plate of food under a silver cover. Steam escapes from under it, telling me the food’s hot. My stomach grumbles, and the smell already has my mouth watering.
“But my Lady…” The guard outside my room stumbles over his words, stepping forward. “The Crown Prince said—”
“I know what he said,” Lymseia interjects, an air of authority rolling off her. “And I don’t care. I’m giving the poor girl dinner, and if the Crown Prince has a problem with that, then he knows where to find me. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, my Lady,” the guard says with a nod, moving back to his post.
“Very good.” Seeming satisfied with herself, Lymseia turns to me with a smile, extending her arms toward me.
Warily, my eyes fall to the food. “Why are you helping me?”
It’s not like I’ve done anything to earn her allegiance. Plus, she’s fae. Noble fae, at that. What does she stand to gain?
Lymseia shifts her weight, as if to make herself appear more casual. “I don’t know you, but I can already tell you’re stubborn. You won’t eat with him. Not tonight, at least.”
“Why do you care about whether or not I eat tonight?”
I try to make it seem like it doesn’t matter, but even as I say the words, the growling noises coming from my abdomen betray me.
“You’re my future High Queen,” she says, as if that’s enough explanation. “Now take the gods-damned food. My arm’s getting tired.”
I take the plate, stomach rumbling again. “Thank you.”
“It’s no problem.” Lymseia winks at me and hands over a set of silverware. “If these two give you any trouble,” she says, jabbing her thumb at the guards behind her, “I’ll set them straight for you.”
I muster a laugh. “Noted.”
“Very good.” She glances down at the plate in my hands. “Enjoy.”
“I will,” I tell her, hoping my eyes convey my gratitude. And I mean it.
With that, she turns sharply, and leaves me to eat my dinner.
Maybe I do have a friend in this place, after all.