23. Evanee
Evanee
I hid in the stairwell as my mother waited in her sitting room for the Queen’s emissary.
The golden banister that I'd slid down as a child numerous times was cool against my head as I sat in the empty space. Often, I imagined my father waiting with open arms below, always smiling. But he wasn’t there.
He’d died before my mother knew she was pregnant with me.
His face was something I had to make up in my mind—we had no paintings of him anywhere.
Only the description my mother had given me.
I was told I looked just like him. Mother often said my hair was unnaturally black, even darker than his, as if the shadows themselves lived within the thickened strands.
I also had his eyes. A green so pale, with just a hint of gray.
Unlike any other green anyone had seen. Completely at odds with my hair.
I wished I’d known him. I wished he were here now.
The sound of horses and a carriage sounded outside our manor.
I ducked lower as one of our servants answered the door.
Greetings from Mother flowed through the grand entrance, her lilting voice reaching to the vaulted ceilings above.
Then the door to her sitting room slammed shut.
Unfortunately, she'd sealed the room years ago to prevent me from eavesdropping.
So I slumped back on the stairs, my gaze glued to our ceiling.
Such a boring ceiling. Typical paintings of our distant mountains, with the moonflower fields blooming beneath them. It didn’t do the real image justice. The moon cycle had been meticulously stenciled above the peaks as well.
It looked ridiculous.
I wouldn’t have something like that painted in my home. I didn’t even want a grand home. I wanted to be a warrior. To train with the King’s guard. To fight and protect those I loved. More and more female Gargoyles were being allowed to join, and I planned to be one of them.
When I wasn’t being forced into dresses and lessons on being a lady, and what my duties would entail as a matched female, I was training.
Sure, I didn’t have a clue how to wield a sword correctly, and the arrows I did manage to shoot off generally hit the target sideways, but I’d gotten pretty damn good with daggers.
That’s probably because I constantly practiced against my bedroom door.
Mother’s laugh—such a dainty, feminine sound—flitted up as the door opened, followed by the clank of the teacups and kettle as our servant wheeled them back to the kitchen.
“We are so honored.” I heard her say. My skin prickled as I bolted upright. Honored about what?
“The Queen will be very pleased you have accepted.” The emissary’s nasally voice snaked through the door before it clicked shut again.
I paced the servants’ halls, flipping a dagger mindlessly in my hand, as I waited. And waited. And waited. Until finally, the emissary left, and I dashed out of the hall, right to Mother’s side.
After talking to her, I shuffled through the house like a ghost. I might as well have been one after she shared the news—I was to marry and be matched to the prince.
All of my dreams of being a warrior shriveled to nothing.
As I sat there, the weight of Mother's decision crushed me. I knew they would never let a royal princess, a future Queen, serve in the guard. It was unheard of. Anger surged through me, hot and bitter, as visions of my lost future played through my mind. I begged her not to trade me into that life, to have faith in my abilities to take care of us. But she admitted my father had left debts she’d been paying for twenty-four years, and our money had run out.
In exchange for my hand, the court would forgive the debt.
The betrayal struck deeper than the daggers I threw at hay targets that day—but it was done. And there was no going back.
The night I was presented before the Queen, Mother fussed over me. She had a new dress made in the palest pink she could find and grumbled that my hair and eyes never worked cohesively with the colors she chose.
The sleeves covered my arms and cut low above my breasts, yet it stayed tasteful since I wasn’t large to begin with.
I stared at my solemn reflection. I’d always been sun-kissed—staying up past sunrise to practice in the daylight while most Gargoyles slept.
Only the humans milled about, and they kept my secrets.
But I’d already become so pale from Mother giving strict instructions to the staff, not to let me out anymore during the day.
My eyes were not the usual bright, pale green.
They'd somehow dimmed to a muted grayish-green, and my hair, currently woven behind my head, interlaced with delicate purple flowers, was lackluster.
As if the shadows that my mother claimed had taken solace there had evaporated.
Abandoned me. I looked every bit the future princess as my beaming mother placed a thin, diamond-encrusted diadem atop my head.
The court was full.
All of the courtiers, Lords, Ladies, and even humans of high standing were in attendance.
Foods of every variety were being prepared in the kitchens.
The smells snaked through the stone corridors of the white-marbled palace.
I didn’t care about the attendees or the food.
I didn’t care for the large, five-tiered cake on display just outside the grand hall.
I didn’t even respond to the emissary, his greasy hair sticking in patches on his balding head as he offered congratulations.
My gaze had locked on the dais ahead, where the King sat tall and proud, an iron crown adorning his dark, full head of hair.
His piercing blue eyes locked on me, and a hush settled over the gathered crowd as they turned their attention my way.
Acid burned in my stomach.
Mother placed her hand on my back, shoving my frozen feet forward. I reluctantly moved, my strides heavy. Every step closer to that dais buried my freedom deeper in its grave.
The Queen’s gray eyes assessed me, the corner of her mouth slightly hitching, as if she approved of the mare she'd purchased, for that’s all I was at this point.
Her golden hair fell in ringlets around her, beneath a flashy golden crown studded with diamonds and sapphires.
She stood, her violet skirts flaring as she clasped her hands in front of her, letting a little giggle escape.
“My, my. You are as striking as I’ve heard. You wonder, when you hear a young female is the most beautiful in the realm, but you, my dear, are absolutely exquisite. Isn’t she darling?” She turned toward the male on her other side, who'd been standing further back in the shadows.
As he moved forward, his uniform was unlike that of the warriors lining the walls in their black fighting leathers; his clothing was pristine, unmarred.
White pants with a white tunic and a royal blue button-down coat.
He held his head proudly; a smirk etched on his face.
Deep blue eyes picked me apart as they scoured every inch of my body.
My gaze hardened as I, too, held my head high, despite the deep urge to run—not just from this maddening arrangement, but from the scrutiny of the court, as they too assessed and judged.
My gaze locked on him as the Queen looped her arm through his.
“Evanee, I’d like you to meet my son, your betrothed—Prince Aiden Nightbane.”