Chapter 6
Six
- MARCELLA -
“I hope this calling is of utmost importance. Hadn’t even gotten a chance to eat my dinner yet,” I state as I allow my maroon skirts to fall to the marbled floor once I’ve ascended the steps in the dining room.
The gold-armored soldier—Devin, as that Lyra woman had called him—closes the door once we’re in the hallway. He turns to me, his expression serious. “Need I remind you, you’ve agreed to immediately follow all orders given, without defiance, during your stay at the castle?”
I snort. “Remind me? I’m sorry, soldier—”
“General,” he corrects with a flex in his jaw.
“Right. General.” I wave it off and continue, “I hardly know my own name and cannot seem to remember where I’m from. And now you expect me to blindly follow your orders without a single hesitation?”
He drops his voice into a whisper. “Your aggression with the other women has not gone unnoticed. I and Lady Bethany will not be tolerant of your attitude or your stubbornness. Is that clear?”
The adamant authority in his voice rubs me the wrong way. Piques my instincts to defy him for the sake of it. But being so fresh in this environment and new to the dynamics, I can’t tell if I should be mindful around him or not. I keep my mouth closed and nod. For now.
He motions for me to walk down the hallway. “Now move. I told him to wait until tomorrow. Unfortunately for both of us, he didn’t want to listen to me.”
I take a few steps, then pause. “He…as in…?”
“King Cyrus.” Devin’s hand floats two inches out from my lower back, attempting to guide me forward while not touching me. “Go on, let’s not keep him waiting.”
He leads me down hallways, eventually dropping his hand.
The corridors are lit by flickering golden sconces.
Each wall is exquisitely painted. Curling floral patterns with majestic dragons peeking out from leaves.
Gold-framed mirrors line every wall—in case you forget what you look like after twenty paces.
We eventually stop at a large wooden door with light peeking out from underneath, and Devin motions to it. I lift a hand to knock, and immediately, a deep voice calls from the other side. “Come in, Marcella.”
My heart leaps at the timbre. At the simple mention of my name. I drop my hand to the doorknob and twist it open before slipping inside.
It’s an office. Grand bookshelves teeming with rows of books against one wall, a lush bear rug pinned down by a massive, ornate wooden desk.
Behind it are three-story-high windows framing the stunning snow-tipped Serahaven mountains.
And opposite from the windows, to my right, is a large hearth roaring quietly with a fire.
Crouching there, back to me and prodding the logs within the flames with a poker, is a man. He turns his head. Eyes gleaming with flame as he peers over his shoulder at me.
“Shut the door,” he says. Calm, yet lethal. A voice that sends a chill trickling down my spine.
Shutting the door should be simple. As someone competing for his hand against twenty-nine other women, I should be jumping for the opportunity to be alone with him.
But the thought of cutting myself off from everyone but him is instead unsettling.
Yet once those eyes pierce into mine, I find myself more afraid of his wrath than closing a simple door.
So I close it.
He rises off the ground. Just when I think he can’t get any taller, he straightens. My right hand fidgets near my hip, and I clench it to still the nervous shake. We stand across the room from each other, waiting for the other to move in the silence.
Slowly, as if he’s trying not to scare off a fawn, he motions to two tufted armchairs with ottomans. “Would you care to take a seat? Or…you’re more than welcome to stay where you are. If you prefer it.”
I clear my throat, forcing my intimidation back from where he might see it. Dipping my head, I gather my skirts and sweep over to the chair farthest away from him.
He stays at the hearth. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he lifts his chin to regard me. “Do you know why you are here, Marcella?”
I cross my leg over the other and lean back to relax my muscles. “Why you’ve called me to your office? Truthfully? No.”
He nods slowly. “What has Devin said to you?”
I eye him suspiciously, but answer honestly. “That he and Lady Bethany will not tolerate my attitude, aggression, or defiance. Is that why you’ve called upon me?”
I swear the slightest twitch of a grin is on his lips before he’s moving for a cabinet. He pulls out a bottle of liquid before pouring it into two glasses. Then, he carries them over to me and stops a few feet away. Lifting one glass, he says, “Would you care for a drink?”
Shifting my gaze from the glass in his hands to his face, then back again, I shake my head. Not wanting to compromise my mental strength after having already drunk two glasses of wine.
He dips his head, then pours one glass into the other, doubling the liquid before setting the empty one on the desk and leaning back against it. Taking a sip and watching me over the rim of the glass, he says, “I’ve been told not everyone here is…honest in their intentions.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” I turn a little in my chair to face him.
He tosses his head to the side, like he’s weighing what to say. “It means that the reason everyone’s memories have been wiped is in part to protect me.”
My eyebrows quirk up. So, not entirely true that they’ve been wiped for the trials? “And…you’ve brought me here because I’ve already made you suspicious in the fleeting two seconds I had bowing before your feet?”
Borderline impudent saying that to the King, Marcella. What are you thinking? But it’s too late. I’ve already said it, and instead of backtracking, I only cross my arms over my chest. Ready for whatever consequences come next.
Rather, a deeper grin hints at the corners of his lips at my nerve. He takes another drink, then sets the glass down next to the first one. Crossing his arms over his chest, too, he says, “Quite the contrary. What do you know of Aelia?”
“What? Aelia? I don’t really know her.” Did their dinner turn sour? Why did it end so quickly, and why is he here with me now?
“Devin mentioned you and Lyra spoke to her before our introduction. I was wondering if you’d be inclined to share what your conversations were about.”
I blink, recalling what she said at the table. “She said you were…” I shake my head to disperse the tension as his gaze lingers on me. “That you were absolutely stunning. And…truly handsome.”
His lips pull up into a crooked grin, and a flash of light shines through his eyes. “Oh, really? And what do you perceive of that statement?”
“Pardon me?”
Still grinning, he leans harder back into the desk. Is he toying with me?
He asks simply, “Did you think she was lying?”
My eyes widen, a tightness gripping my throat as heat surfaces to my cheeks. “I mean…No? Yes? I—”
Oh, Gods above. Is he asking if I think he’s attractive? I mean…in this light…yes? Most would. Probably. It likely also doesn’t help that I’ve had two glasses of wine. And we are in a room lit only by starlight and the fire in the hearth.
Sure. He’s got that sharp angle to his jawline, smoothly shaven and sleek. His nose is long and pointed, with white hair that cascades down to beneath his collarbones in soft waves. But the most damning of it all?
His eyes.
The way they watch and calculate. The irises completely void of color. A most bizarre shade of white that seems to have a molten inner core glowing even in the dim light.
And that’s not to say anything about his tailored coat and pants to fit his tall, lean frame, down to his polished boots like he’s never stepped outside before. He’s carved elegance, and yet his posture flirts with the idea of something dangerous.
Stunning isn’t quite the right word. And neither is handsome. He’s something else entirely…beautiful? Bewitching?
“Are you warm?” he asks with a tilt of his head, and pushes off the desk to tend to the fire. “I can tamp it down.”
I brush my hair back from my face, cursing myself for being so caught off guard by a straightforward question that it shows on my cheeks. And now I’m not sure if he’s being merciful in providing me a way out, or if he has sincerely mistaken my blush for an intolerance to warmth.
I stand up from my chair, brushing out any wrinkles at my hips. “Is that all that is needed from me? I’m quite tired.”
He stops at the hearth and slides his attention back to me but never looks higher than the ground. “Thank you for your time, Marcella. You may go, and I’ll call upon you tomorrow so we can try again.”
“Try…again?”
He nods at the door. “Devin will be waiting for you outside and will escort you back to dinner or your quarters. Whichever you prefer.”
Taking a few steps, I pause when I open the door a few inches and awkwardly curtsy before him before leaving. “Good night, my king.”
“Good night, Marcella.”
I close the door.