Chapter 6 – Rowan
ROWAN
The soft leather soles of my hunting boots barely make a sound as I creep across the deserted hall floor, careful to keep my steps light and my movements quick.
If I get caught, I’ll have more than a few marks to add to my collection of scars across the backs of my legs, courtesy of my father and Alita—and countless governesses before her.
The marks are well hidden by the long gowns I’m forced to wear.
Oh, she just couldn’t wait to punish me for “that little stunt” I’d pulled in the throne room last night. She waited until after I left dinner—and the protection of my brothers—before she pounced.
In the end, I got that lesson in posture after all.
I can see why my father handpicked her.
Hours upon hours spent standing perfectly still, spine straight as a spear, my skirts lifted above my knees.
If I so much as swayed, Alita’s thin, reedy switch would crack against the backs of my legs without hesitation, leaving angry welts that split open and bleed.
She calls them posture lessons. I call it torture.
The thin silver scars scattered across my skin are proof enough.
My jaw still aches from gritting my teeth.
The night had been nothing short of an endless battle of wills.
I was determined not to break, while Alita refused to release me until I did.
She wanted tears. She wanted me contrite—apologetic.
She wouldn’t be satisfied until she felt the punishment was severe enough to make up for the embarrassment I had caused her.
But I haven’t cried in years, and I’m not about to start now.
There’s no one to go to. My father would have easily doled out the punishment himself, if he were here. A princess has to be in control of herself; she cannot be impulsive, emotional, or reckless.
My brothers would stand up for me—just like they have in the past. But like the cut still marring Riven’s cheek, my father would make them pay. And they would get it far worse. A reminder to everyone of what would happen when someone challenged him.
So I stay silent, bite my tongue, and take the punishments, because what’s a few new marks anyway?
It could be worse.
I clear the hall without incident, hesitating when I reach the concealed entrance to the servants’ passage, listening carefully to ensure the dark and narrow passage within the stone walls is indeed empty.
At this time of night, most of the servants should already be in bed. However, with the lords’ dinner being held in Fel’s honor tonight, many of the servants have been pulled from their regular duties to help in the ballroom and kitchens. Both on the other side of the castle, thankfully.
The passage is quiet; I take a deep breath before following the dark space, mostly from memory, my fingers tracing the rough stone walls.
I forgot to bring a lantern with me into the tight, windowless space, and the darkness has my heart in my throat.
I slow my steps when I reach the west hall and poke my head out, having to take my chances in the main corridor in order to reach the unassuming wooden door at the end.
With no excuse to be in this part of the castle, I skirt across the hall quickly, reaching the door undetected.
I attempt to haul it open, but the door doesn’t budge. I try again—but after a few more minutes of me attempting to tug the heavy thing open, I frown. It must be latched from the inside.
With one nervous glance back down the open hall, I reach for the knife I keep sheathed along my upper thigh, hidden in my skirts, a gift from my brother on my last birthday.
It’s beautiful, more of a work of art than a weapon.
Intricate, rune-like markings are etched into the steel, running hilt to tip.
I don’t know what they mean—if they mean anything at all.
But they catch the light whenever I turn it in my hand.
I’m meant to be in my rooms, reflecting on my actions from last night. And I was reflecting alright, right into the darkest parts of Rosecliff.
Taking my knife, I shimmy it up and through the narrow crack in the door, deftly applying just enough pressure to pop the latch on the other side. The door swings open with a tortuously loud whine.
Grinning in triumph, I quickly steal inside, latching the door again behind me.
Growing up in Rosecliff may have been boring, for how secluded it is, but the castle itself is home to dozens upon dozens of secret passageways and tunnels. My brothers and I know almost all of them by heart.
But not this one. Although it is just another one of the many hidden corridors and staircases the castle possesses, this particular passage has always been off limits. And I find myself alone, with only my thoughts to keep me company as I descend the dark, winding staircase underground.
Marriage.
I knew it was coming.
So why has it caught me so off guard?
After all, what were all those finishing lessons for? It’s my duty.
The king has three children: an heir, a spare, and a daughter to sell. Now that I am of age, my value has never been higher.
But Kane Belmore? I guess I just never expected it would be him. Like Fel, he is the heir to his own throne and has prepared diligently for the crown he will soon inherit, if the rumors circulating the court are true.
From what I remember of the days he came to court, he was handsome and polite.
Everything a fae prince should be. Fel and Riven know him better than I do, of course, having spent more time together.
They were permitted to accompany Father on the rare royal visit outside of Sitara, while I was left at home.
And while they said they found him to be rather arrogant at times, neither could come up with anything especially heinous that might outright disqualify him from marrying their sister.
Though, neither of them are happy about it; the alliance with Skye is still too new.
But they did say Kane has a rather well-known reputation as a playboy.
Reportedly showing up to events and engagements with a different female on his arm each time.
He certainly didn’t strike me as the type who wanted to settle down.
But then again, neither am I. Perhaps the two of us could find common ground there.
Plus, gossip and rumors are just that. And gods, the rumors my father spun about me and my brothers… they are far from the truth. I can only hope that holds true for my soon-to-be playboy husband as well.
He will be the next king of Skye. A mountainous kingdom to our southeast, well known for its stone and ironwork, as well as its formidable and rather ruthless army.
A kingdom I’ll one day be queen of. The thought makes my stomach drop, and for a moment, I feel dizzy, stopping to balance myself on a step before proceeding further.
By the light… Queen of Skye… My jaw aches as I grind my teeth once more, thinking about the crown and all the scrutiny and expectations that come with it.
My boot catches on a loose nail, but I’m able to catch both myself and my scream by grabbing hold of a metal sconce nailed into the wall next to me. My feet only slide down a few steps, just barely avoiding disaster. Breathing hard, I let myself recover for a moment before pressing on.
None of it appeals to me. I can’t quite shake the feeling that this is the end. My ladies-in-waiting and other noblewomen can't stop congratulating me. They found me first thing this morning, gushing and carrying on about my “happily ever after.”
But to me… it doesn’t feel that way. Happily ever after? Happy? Maybe—hopefully, but it most certainly is an ending.
That’s all I’ll ever be. Once I marry Kane, it’s all over—not that it ever started. It’s not like I’ve seen much more of the world from behind the walls of Rosecliff, but… from that day on, that’s all I’ll ever be. His wife.
I already know how every moment of my life will play out. The story—my story— Someone else already has it written.
And if I'm being honest, it’s not one I want to read.
My thoughts quicken my pace, as if I can run from destiny. For Sitara, I remind myself, forcing the rising rebellious thoughts from my mind.
If not Kane, it would just be someone else. This is my destiny. I was born to be sold. My entire existence hinges upon a pretty smile and a hand worth its weight in gold. That’s who I am and—looking forward—who I’ll ever be.
I sigh, drawing myself up and dusting off my skirts when I finally reach the end of the spiral staircase. It takes a minute to catch my breath. I swear Alita tied my corset extra tight this morning on purpose. My lungs are screaming.
Looking up, I find myself faced with yet another heavy wooden door, nestled deep below the stone castle above. This one, however, is unlocked and swings open easily, revealing the subject of the one quiet rebellion I’ve allowed myself this morning.
A few feet away, behind thick iron bars, Theo lounges against the filthy stone wall as though he occupies a throne rather than a prison cell.
One knee is drawn up to his chest, an arm draped lazily across it, while his other leg stretches through the moldy hay littering the dirt floor.
As I emerge from the unassuming door at the far end of the dungeons, he lets out a low whistle, his gaze dragging over me in a slow, deliberate appraisal.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Princess of the Rose Court herself.” His grin widens. “To what do I owe the honor of being graced with your royal presence in this charming corner of the kingdom?”
He sweeps his arms wide, presenting the filthy, cramped cell as though it were a lavish suite rather than a dungeon. The thick iron bars between us do little to diminish the mischief dancing in his eyes.
“Come to play?”