Chapter 5
ACKER
The messenger slips the curled parchment paper into my hand and I nod, dismissing him as quickly as he appeared.
I chance a look across the dining hall in my father’s direction.
He’s deep in discussion with Paul in the crowded room.
It seems the noble-born lord has somehow swindled my father into having a drink tonight despite his paranoia of possibly being poisoned once again.
By the ruddy hue of their cheeks, it’s safe to assume they’re both feeling the effects of the wine.
“Poor bastard,” Hallis comments behind his own goblet before taking a sip.
I follow his gaze, landing on my father’s royal taster swaying in the corner. The lowly boy is no match for the potency of the palace wine. At least, not the amount Paul likes to consume.
I turn my back to the room, bracing a hand against the mantle above the hearth so no one can spot the disgust I’m struggling to mask.
Less than an hour ago we walked out of the war room after hearing a staggering report of casualties at the border.
Another ten thousand men are gone, and a key mining town is being occupied by enemy forces.
We’re running low on coal and a third of our grain reserves are spoiled from not being stored properly in the cellar.
Yet here the council is, eating and drinking their fill, unconcerned with the day’s news.
They were oddly chill in the meeting as well.
As if merely being in my father’s presence eases their coddled minds.
He’s been uncharacteristically available the last few weeks and it’s worked to dull the tempers of the council.
Well, all but Tyreek, Johannes, and Daz.
They sit by themselves at the far end of a table, not a crumb of food or drop of drink in front of them.
By the looks on their faces, they’re as off-put by the cheerful atmosphere and drunkenness of their fellow council members as I am.
They aren’t noble born. One could live inside these walls and remain entirely ignorant of the tragedies happening to our own people. But those three? They know the price.
Hallis angles his body closer, creating a barrier from prying eyes as I straighten from the mantle and peel the red wax seal from the scroll. My eyes shift over the words before I crumble the parchment in my fist.
Hallis is silent as he waits for me to reveal the message.
It takes me a moment to gather myself. “The Maile have sunk a third of Strou’s fleet in the gulf in an ambush.”
Shifting in place, Hallis checks our nearby surroundings for potential eavesdroppers before asking, “How?”
I fight to not look away from his gaze as I recite the message word for word, the last spat out like a curse. “Eyun.”
The mystical creature has been extinct for millennia, but there’s one shifter who I know is capable of transforming into the deadly, man-eating bird. Jovie’s pet—Messer.
Slowly, understanding settles into Hallis’s features and I nod, my blood running cold despite the roaring fire feet away.
“Fuck,” he spits, hands braced on his hips. “Your father is going to be insufferable when he finds out.”
While my father’s initial ire following Jovie’s betrayal has abated, the insults he threw at me still burn. Love-sick idiot. Dimwitted boy. Foolish. Over time, he’s given his apologies for being so harsh in the weeks following that day. Even going so far as to express his understanding.
He had clasped me on the shoulder one night after having a nightcap in his sitting room and said, “Why do you think I keep Greta in the library? My Match has tried me a time or two as well.”
But with his current state of inebriation, the last thing I want to experience tonight is to test my father’s patience.
I toss the parchment into the fireplace.
Hallis and I exchange glances before departing in separate directions. I move past the helmeted guards, keeping to the wall of stained glass windows to avoid unwanted attention. I’m within steps of the hall’s exit when I hear the disapproving timbre of my father’s voice behind me.
“Son.” The single word is spoken like a term of endearment, but there’s no denying the underlying authority.
I stop, pivoting in place to face him. “Father.”
“Where are you hurrying off to?” He steps away from his company, eyes suddenly astute in his buzzed state.
“I’m feeling a little unsettled.” I place a hand against my abdomen. “Going to turn in early tonight.”
His jaw works as he considers my words. He orchestrates these dinners as a show of confidence for the wider noble court as well as the council. Nothing is more important than maintaining the appearance of control in front of our people.
The people look to us to gauge the state of our territory. Never let on to the truth of your concerns.
He places his hand on my shoulder. “A prince should never leave his wife unattended with dignitaries at court.”
The crack of my teeth echoes in my ears. “Of course.”
Turning toward the dais, my eyes lock on Irina.
She hasn’t left her place since I pulled her seat out for her at the start of dinner hours ago.
Poised and polished to perfection, I’ve often wondered if her appearance is due to dedicated time and consideration, or whether it is an illusion. Without her collar, either is possible.
Resentment makes the collar around my own throat feel all the more suffocating.
I make my way toward her. She fiddles with a square of cheese between her fingers before popping it in her mouth. Her eyes land on mine as I ascend the dais, and as she realizes I’m here for her, she straightens in her seat, ever the vision of attentive subservience.
We both know better.
“Husband,” she greets me.
I take note of the dignitaries lingering nearby. Gossipers eager for a morsel to spread to the hungry masses. They’ve never fully taken to her and I’m partially to blame for her isolation.
“Wife,” I drawl, pasting on a partial smile for their viewing pleasure. “I hope you don’t mind if we turn in early for the night.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” I say, imploring her not to be difficult. I place a hand on the back of her chair, leaning over her shoulder when I speak, my other hand upturned in front of her. “Right now.”
It takes a beat too long for her to yield, but then she finally slides her hand into my awaiting palm. “As you wish, your highness.”
I know my father wants me to parade my wife out the hall’s grand entrance in order to maintain the illusion of a strong alliance with the Strou, but I lead Irina toward the back stairwell instead.
She doesn’t protest as we descend the narrow stairs that lead to the kitchen.
The sound of pots clanging and chatter comes to a stop as we emerge from the darkened recess.
I nod my apologies and urge Irina forward with a hand on her back.
She jerks from my touch as soon as we’re alone. “You don’t have to push me.”
I’m glad her mask didn’t slip in front of witnesses, but she knows as well as I do that servants make a habit of snooping around corners. She’s grown increasingly hostile in the last year or so, and the last thing I need tonight is for word to spread of another spat between the prince and his wife.
As if coming to her senses, she softens a smidge. “Being in court all day has put me on edge,” she mutters, even grinning a little.
Her swift change in demeanor is alarming, almost as if she wants to commiserate with me.
I can’t recall the last time I’ve witnessed her genuinely smile, let alone been on the receiving end of it.
But the longer I stare at her, the more she reminds me of the girl I courted in Strou.
It feels like it was another lifetime ago.
When I wanted this marriage to work—not just for our two territories, but between the two of us. For her.
Irina has always been soft. Too soft for nobility.
Her parents did her a disservice by sheltering her.
I visited her territory as often as I could in a bid to court her, to nurture a rapport between us.
And at the time, I looked forward to those visits.
It afforded me reprieve from the army without having to return to the capital.
Weeks where I didn’t have anyone looking to me for the answers, without the watchful eyes of my father.
But the girl I went on long walks with, who I shared lingering sidelong glances with in her parents’ presence, is gone.
The same girl who lit up at the simplest of gestures, like receiving wrapped chocolates or a kiss to the softest part of her hand, broke the day I declared my intention to marry Jovie in her place.
I did it before all of the congregation at the dinner meant to celebrate Jovie’s return, and Irina was never quite the same after.
Whatever affections Irina held for me were demolished, as was the kindness in her heart.
A flicker of guilt ignites in the back of my mind. But as quick as the feeling occurs, it leaves, and I turn to continue toward my bedroom.
Her huff of annoyance echoes against the walls. “Oh, we’re reverting back to the silent treatment?”
I don’t take the bait.
“You’re a right bastard, you know that?”
Like my father, she, too, needs to find new material.
“… sleep in her room once again and pretend I don’t exist…”
Here we go.
“… good for nothing, arrogant prick…”
Debatable.
“… father you’ve been following him.”
The door to the bedchamber is within sight when her last words catch up to me. Stopping, I slowly turn in place. “Say again?”
Her chest expands with each breath. “I said,” she spits out as she stomps toward me. “I’ll tell your father you’ve been having him followed every time he leaves the palace.”
I have my hand around her throat, back pinned to the wall before she can blink. Pupils dilated, nails uselessly scraping at my wrist, her haughty bravado evaporates. The real Irina is frightened. And desperate, I realize, as she fights tears.
“What are you doing, Irina?”
“I want out,” she hurls forth. “Out of this marriage and this palace with all of its godsdamn self-righteous fools under your father’s thumb—”
I slap a hand over her mouth. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” I hiss.
But she continues to shout muffled words behind my hand and I’m forced to pick her up, arm around her waist, and carry her the last few feet to our bedroom.
She fights me the entire way and after I kick the door closed, I let her go with a growl of frustration.
“You should be more careful about using the gods’ names in vain, because they may have just spared you from execution. ”
Her face contorts, anger giving way to despair. “Please,” she begs. “Let me go home.”
“Where’s Wesley?”
At the mention of her consort, the moisture building in her eyes finally spills over. “I don’t want him.” She grabs my shirt in both hands, my mangi stones tangling in her fists as she speaks in a rush. “I’ll tell my parents to nullify the marriage if you don’t let me go.”
“Under what pretense?”
“That my husband refuses to make an Heir.”
I can’t stop the laugh from escaping. “You think I care what those pious bastards think?” I grab her by the wrists, squeezing until she’s forced to release her hold on me. “They’re about as worthless as your dowry.”
My words only serve to further fuel her manic desperation. “I—I don’t fault you for being Matched, Acker. All I want is to go home. Please let me go home.”
Her voice breaks on the last word and I close my eyes. This whole arrangement is a sham and the last thing I feel like doing is consoling the woman who’s made my life all the more difficult these past few years.
But I pull her into my arms anyway.
Her tears soak through my shirt and I cringe.
“Let’s go to bed,” I tell her, stroking her hair. “You’ll feel better after a night’s rest.”
It takes her a moment, but she finally relents, nodding into my chest. I direct her to the neatly made bed. The room that was once solely my own before my father forced me to share with my bride.
Some battles are won by surrender.
And it seems Irina has grasped that concept, at least for tonight, as she silently discards her finery and slides under the covers in her undergarments.
Tears continue to flow down her face and as black lacquer coats her wet cheeks, I realize it may not be her power of influence affecting her beauty after all.
She’s cautious, eyes half-lidded as she looks up at me, sobs quieting.
“The only way I could undermine my father’s order to marry you was if I publicly denounced your hand in exchange for Jovinnia’s,” I tell her.
It’s an apology … of sorts.
It was a choice made in desperation, like most of my decisions were when it came to Jovie, as shameful it is for me to admit.
Leaning over her, I wipe the streaks of make-up away with my thumbs. “But don’t ever threaten me again.”
Tears continue to drip down her temples as she rolls away from me. “You can be so cruel,” she whispers.
I know.
I just can’t find it in me to care.