Chapter 15
Fifteen
- MARCELLA -
After we’ve returned to the castle and those injured have been led to the infirmary, we rest, bathe, and change into gowns for the evening.
I brush out the tangles in my damp hair aggressively, glaring at my reflection in the bathroom mirrors like it’ll disperse the anger in my veins.
Devin’s warning to crawl last night was enough for us to get through the first part of the trial.
But I’m furious he couldn’t have warned me about the rest. Had it not been for Lyra Goldbrook, not only would I have been one of the few taken to the infirmary—it’s quite possible I would have been dead.
Her trembling, burnt hands are a haunting memory replaying over and over in my mind. The limp weight of her in my and Aelia’s arms as we slowly hauled her up the staircase to the finishing platform.
And the look of Lady Bethany. Smug, and somehow still cheery. Even if she hadn’t witnessed the other deaths in the trials, surely seeing the state of Lyra and Moe would have been enough to wipe it off her face.
But no.
I place the brush on the counter and rest my palms on the cool marble, leaning into it as I look at myself in the mirror.
A three-inch slice is crusted over beneath my left eye from an arrow in the first part of the arena.
Despite Devin’s persistence in wanting me escorted to the infirmary, I waved it off.
Still too pissed to take any of his advice.
Half an hour ago I dismissed—or rather snapped at—my lady’s maids from bathing and readying me. Relishing in the silence left behind, the solitude instead of having them buzz about me.
A knock sounds at my bedroom door, and I straighten with a breath, lifting my chin. It can’t be the maids again, right? I still have plenty of time before dinner starts.
When no voice calls out to announce who it is, I go to answer it. My ruby-red velvet gown sweeps across the marbled floors behind me. I open the door to find Cyrus on the other side.
“Will you come take a walk with me?” he asks, his shoulders rolled back and hands folded behind him. A dazzling set of white formal wear trimmed in gold dresses his tall frame. Even his hair is brushed back in elegant waves from his sharp features.
I lean against the door slightly. “Do I have a choice?”
He snorts, then looks down at his boots, before looking back up at me. “Always.”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “One moment.” Then close the door to retrieve my shoes in the bathroom. When I slip out of my room, he offers me an elbow.
It would be rude to refuse an employer such an innocent gesture.
Never mind a King.
So I loop my arm through his, and he escorts me down the hallway in the opposite direction of the dining room. We turn a corner, and a group of women gawk as they see him leading me. We dip our heads, their eyes blown wide before they scurry off.
He guides me down the grand staircase and out into the gardens.
Lush and green. Bursting with every color of the rainbow and hazed over by the orange wash of sunset.
Somewhere within the gardens, a fountain gurgles.
Chirping birds flit in and out of cherry blossomed trees.
He leads me down a pathway deeper into the gardens until we are surrounded by trees and bushes, the tops of the castle peeking up behind us.
“Why are you taking me out here?” I demand. “We’re to report to dinner in less than half an hour.”
“Because you’re upset.”
“Oh, more than upset. I’m absolutely pissed.” I take my arm out of his and turn to face him. Both of us stopping in the center of a benched, circular courtyard. “Did you even watch the trials today?”
“I couldn’t.”
“And why not?”
He slips his gloved hands into his pockets. “I wasn’t allowed to.”
My eyebrows arch. “You were not allowed to? Cyrus, you are the King—”
“And even kings have limits.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Devin, is that right?”
“Devin is my most trusted advisor, and he made a good point. Watching all of you participating in the trials will only skew my selection. And it’s bound to make me want to discontinue this effort altogether.”
“Because you know the trials are not necessary!” I explode.
He sighs, shaking his head. “I wish I could fight it, but my hands are tied. As much as I don’t want it to be, they’re critically necessary.”
“And why is that? Do you even realize how many of the women died today? How many were horribly injured?”
He flinches, eyes squeezing shut like he doesn’t want to accept the word.
I step closer, forcing him to listen to me. “Please explain to me how what we just did today is supposed to help you select a woman that will fit into your idea of a wife! Of a Queen! What you put us through today is what you would expect of soldiers!”
His eyes flash open. The light in them capturing me entirely. Despite the anger rocking my voice, his stays steady and gentle. “That’s because she will need to be more than a wife and a Queen.”
I open my mouth, then snap it shut. “What does that even mean, Cyrus? You expect her to be at your front lines when you eventually face off against King Aaric?”
When his eyes search mine, silence stretching between us, I groan and turn away.
Stalking off a few steps to clear my head before I swivel back and point a finger at him.
“Most of these women are aristocrats who haven’t fought a day in their lives.
They know how to properly fold a godsdamned napkin, and that’s it!
If there is some other expectation, why in all the Gods’ worlds would you even consider putting women like this through a competition! ”
“It’s not as simple as you think.”
“Then explain it!” I roar.
A sad smile lifts his lips. “You really don’t remember?”
Gritting my teeth at his attempt to change the subject, I snarl, “No, I don’t remember! And for whatever reason, you have not allowed me to!”
He frowns, then turns away from me, regarding a rose bush. “It is not that I don’t allow you, Marcella Briarstone. It is that I don’t command you.” He plucks a red rose from the bush, and walks to me before offering it. “You were the one who insisted on having your memories wiped.”
I don’t take the rose from him. “Because of something you did, isn’t it? You know me. You’ve known me for at least a while. And whatever happened, I wanted to forget it, is that right?”
He drops his hand, still holding the single rose. “I have known you for a long while, yes.”
“Then tell me. Remind me.”
Shaking his head, he whispers, “I can’t. Because if I tell you as I remember things…as I experienced them, it will warp your own perception. You must remember things on your own.”
Releasing a long breath out my nose, I glance away from him at the flowers. The bees buzz about, lifting from petal to petal. It stirs a distant memory.
As one lifts and floats closer to me, I stumble until I shoulder against Cyrus’ abdomen. When the bee grows nearer, I slip behind him.
He wafts it away. “I see your instincts haven’t forgotten, though.” He turns to look down at me behind him.
“I’m allergic to bees…aren’t I?”
He grins, then nods. “Indeed. Even the fiercest woman I know must have some sort of weakness.”
I snort and straighten, brushing down the velvet gown at my hips. “I wish to request my own daggers. And a thigh sheath or two—”
“I promise you, Marcella, you will not find any bees in the castle.”
“That’s not what I want them for, and you know it.” I look into his eyes seriously. “And I want a sword.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Some things never change, do they? I suppose I can arrange something for you. If you keep it a secret between us.”
“Something tells me it wouldn’t be the first.”
For the first time, he smiles wide, revealing white teeth and canines that elongate. I shudder, taking a few steps back before his face falls.
He whips away from me, shoulders arching as he brushes his hair back from his face. “My apologies.”
“What was that?” I hiss, backing up until I bump up against a tree.
Shaking his head, he remains turned away. A heavy sigh lifting and dropping his broad shoulders.
“What was that, Cyrus?” I demand again, cursing myself for not having a blade but still patting my hips like one might appear.
“You should have killed me a long time ago,” he whispers, sounding strangely defeated before he hurries away between the trees.
“Wait!” I call. When he doesn’t return, I gather my skirts and jog down the path he took.
But he’s nowhere in sight.