Chapter 69 Lilias
Lilias
IN MOURNING
Idon’t understand the bell.
The men around me come to their feet and turn toward the big tent with strange expressions on their faces. Shadows stretch across the grass as the bell tolls through the meadow, its distant echo ringing from the mountains.
Mel’s mouth falls open, and he steps forward, facing the huge encampment. The other men move with him, and I follow as well, staring at the elegant velvet tent that swallowed my father hours ago.
The door flap opens. For a moment, there’s nothing but shadows inside that massive tent.
And then King Malrik steps forward.
He’s wearing so many medals that the late afternoon sunlight winking from his uniform is almost blinding. When I can finally make out his expression, my heart stops. All I can think about is Prince Syvan.
He’s in mourning. He lost his son. Because of me.
I murdered a prince of Vsenrog. And in that heartbeat, as our eyes meet across the trampled grass of this meadow, I am absolutely certain that King Malrik knows it.
“My dear citizens of Marion,” Malrik begins in a booming voice that somehow reminds me of my father. “It is my tragic and grave responsibility to inform you that your dear, beloved king has finally succumbed to his long illness.”
Everything is suddenly very silent.
I think of my father stepping off his throne, of Mel grabbing his arm and saying something about his health. Of Princess Acelina saying my father doesn’t have much time left, and how is he holding up?
“In light of Prince Elrick’s recent abdication,” Malrik continues, “this leaves me with only one option.”
Someone is saying something, shouting words I can’t make out. Malrik raises his hand and scowls in my direction. And then one of his attendants hands something to Malrik, something hard and metallic that glitters in the light.
Malrik raises the circlet in his hands. It’s silver, with red jewels.
“I will assume stewardship over the kingdom that was once known as Marion,” Malrik announces.
He puts my father’s crown on his head. Someone starts screaming.
It takes me a moment to realize it’s me. I’m screaming.
Someone grabs me by the arm and yanks me backward. A hand closes over my mouth and presses against my nose. I flail against my assailant, kicking and twisting.
“Shut up, you whore,” someone growls. “You started this.”
My vision blurs, and my lungs scream for air. The world starts to go black around the edges.
“The Kingdom of Marion is no more,” King Malrik continues. He grins, flashing teeth that wink in the sunlight, glittering like his crown, like the many golden medals on his elegant uniform. “Now, you are all once again, as you once were, part of the great Kingdom of Vsenrog.”
Darkness closes over my vision. I sink to the ground, barely aware of the voices rising all around me. The hand pulls away from my mouth; I gasp, almost disappointed that I’m still conscious.
“Give her here,” a man growls.
I’m handed off like a piece of meat in the marketplace. The world blurs with tears. Malrik says something about the funeral, about viewing the body of the last king of Marion, and this can’t possibly be happening. None of this can be happening.
I remember my father sitting at the window of the royal hunting lodge as the sun set behind him, a mug of ale in his hand, the fire behind him sending long shadows across the floor.
“Your mother loved this place,” he said, almost under his breath.
It was the only time I ever heard him mention his queen, the woman who died bringing me into this world. I set my family of paper dolls down on the thick rug and turned to watch him, wondering if he really was crying or if it was just a trick of the light.
“Lilias!”
My head snaps up, responding to a voice I know from somewhere else, some other life.
“Gods, she’s a mess,” the man mutters. “I thought they’d cleaned her up.”
I frown, trying to focus. I’m sitting on a chair inside one of the tents. Someone brought me here, but who? How long ago?
I shake my head. It doesn’t matter.
Malrik’s voice rings inside my skull. Marion is no more.
“Lilias!”
I turn toward the voice. Blayne stands over me, looking annoyed. He is frequently annoyed, this man who convinced me it was my fault he stole my maidenhead. Disgust curls inside my guts.
“What do you want?” I growl.
Blayne frowns like I’ve disappointed him yet again. And then he gestures to a table beside me. There’s a goblet on that table, and a familiar, bitter scent rises in the air. It smells like the tea he made me drink after every time he fucked me. My stomach turns, and I look away.
“Drink it,” Blayne says. “I’m not raising the snake’s spawn in my household.”
“What?”
Blayne stares at me like I’ve failed to understand a very simple concept. “I don’t know if any of the seeds the snake planted have taken root,” he says. “But I’m not taking any chances.”
“I— I don’t—”
“Oh, for the gods’ sakes,” Blayne mutters. “Just drink it. If you’re pregnant, I want it gone. You’re my wife, you’ll carry my children.”
My mouth falls open.
“I’m not marrying you,” I spit.
Blayne laughs. It’s as hard and sharp as the edge of a blade.
“It’s already done,” he says. He pulls a piece of parchment from a pocket inside his jacket, then unrolls it. “Signed by King Malrik himself,” he continues, “in lieu of any other responsible party. And witnessed by Mortimyr, the king’s personal assistant.”
He smiles at the parchment, then turns it toward me. I have a vague impression of ink and wax seals, but Blayne doesn’t give me time to actually read the thing. Instead, he rolls it back up, tucks it in his jacket, and glares at me.
“Drink that yourself,” he says slowly, waving a hand at the goblet on the table, “or I will call guards in here to hold you while I force it down your throat.”
I swallow hard. My mouth feels dry, and my stomach is already churning. I remember the days of agonizing cramps and heavy bleeding that came every time he made me drink that horrible tea.
I reach for the goblet, then gag as the smell hits my nostrils. I imagine throwing it, or dropping it, or even hitting Blayne in the face with the goblet and running.
But Blayne now has a piece of parchment that says he owns me. And I’m sure he has more of that horrible tea.
So I bring the goblet to my lips.