Chapter 11
Where does one run? And why for? Even the Gods have ran for something.
Demis lies before me, its decadent glow from its lanterns serving as a beacon of something magical, something of a different world.
The door spelled open under my touch and no guards appeared again. They truly believe me complacent, like a sitting duck, waiting for their call or order.
Going back to the castle is a risk; in fact, it is ironic that I am heading back to the grey prison ahead rather than fleeing immediately. With this supposed freedom, I could have been halfway to nowhere by now.
Yet…
There is a pull that I cannot break. Perhaps if closure with Sawyer and that part of my life was achieved, I could leave everything behind and live the life I always imagined in the village. The place that does not exist. A curse meant to incapacitate me.
I release those thoughts and slowly walk to Demis.
The cottage is shielded from the front of it entirely so I trust I won’t be noticed.
Cedric appears to be a proud, strong king yet his fortress is otherwise unguarded.
The sack in my hand with a bottle of blood, bread, elys leaves and clothing weighs heavy in my hand.
Though a chill has covered Lux, I find my hands clammy.
The great room is already filled, teeming with court guests and various other people sporting different insignias, most likely from other lands.
From behind the same veiled statue, I observe the bowing crowd as Cedric enters.
The image nearly mirrors last night and I swallow thickly at the flash of violent images.
The court looks to him, bowing with reverence.
Their dark and beady eyes trained like animals on a hunt.
A dark shadow slides out from Cedric’s feet before recoiling and I stifle a gasp.
Seconds pass, his way of exerting power.
Finally, he takes a goblet from a servant, raising it as he says, “Carry on.”
Chatter resumes and dignitaries and nobles begin to mingle. His dark head disappears into the crowd. Is Sawyer already inside? I slide out and move to a bench, trying to view him as the doors open and close for those just arriving. No one is leaving quite yet.
The night drags on and I have to shake my feet to stave off any numbness.
Some of Cedric’s court begin to stumble out of the doors, snorting and tripping as they carry on down the hall.
How much alcohol does it take to inebriate a vampyr?
They – we – obviously feel pain and fatigue, amongst other things, but this is curious to me.
“In and out,” I whisper to myself as I pick up the skirts of my dress and begin my calculated walk to the open doors.
The armoire in the cottage has no lack of style so I chose the most modest, practical option should I choose to keep this with me on my travels.
The fabric truly is fine and the bodice fits well enough, though I could fill it out better. Perhaps with time.
The twin guards at the door are idly chatting with each other until I cross the threshold without their permission. They stiffen and bow immediately, shocked at my presence.
The thing about my current situation is that nearly everyone confirms the story Cedric and the cess tell me.
Elivienne, me, Liv, has been gone for years.
I can practically smell the shock of the crowd as I try to slip in between them unnoticed. They don’t make it easy, no, everyone stops speaking and dancing. I curse under my breath and duck my head, aiming for a wall to wither against.
Where is Sawyer? Turning, I try to find his golden hair, but I can’t see much of anything.
“She’s here,” someone gasps. A glass drops and another person says, “When was he going to announce her health?” I shake off the flurry of commentary and try to snake between bodies.
At the back of the room someone steps from behind a large table and everyone shifts their attention. I pause and look up.
Him.
I hear a muffled beat, likely from my heart’s race, loud inside my head. The crowd can’t help but look back and forth between us before bowing simultaneously as if I was royalty. Cedric remains frozen on the small dais, unmoving.
“My lady…” An elaborately dressed woman with two bows upon her bosom curtsies low.
“We are so delighted to see you.” The air is tight and silent; my words escape me.
Someone cues the musicians to begin again and slowly eyes peel from me and back to each other, idle gossip flowing.
My feet catch on my dress, causing me to bump into a male dressed in blue finery.
He bows heavily in apology and steps back to give ample room as if he was the one who slighted me.
Cedric appears before me suddenly, as if his shadows floated him over.
“Liv,” he murmurs low, a space opening up for us. “Come. My court has not yet been told of your recovery.” He wants to keep me hidden.
“But I’m not yet recovered. So, go ahead and tell them Elivienne is gone, tell them that she does not remember the monster of a king she now knows,” I fire back. “But I’ll take my leave anyway.” I’m fishing for a fight – I know I am – but I can’t stop.
He leans into my ear. “Believe me when I say you don’t want this attention right now.”
I motion with wide arms to the scenario playing out. He straightens and cracks his neck to the side before smoothing his fitted jacket.
“Everyone,” his voice commands the audience, “Lady Elivienne.” He sweeps an arm informally before me and I back up half a step into him. “Please welcome her good health back to court.”
Goblets rise, as does the volume of the chatter, and a servant passes us two cups of our own filled with blood. My stomach demands it upon scent, but I play the part and raise my hand. Everyone cheers and imbibes as we do.
Cedric’s hand moves to the small of my back, urging me to a door in the shadows and I firm my feet. A few people whisper as I step out of his hold smoothly. “Get your hands off of me,” I bite, voice low. Cedric simply smiles wider.
An image to protect, I see.
“Okay, then let’s take a seat.” He tenses.
“Not a prisoner. Not taking orders.”
“Now,” he demands again, moving forward an inch. Everyone is judging this little slice of royal drama. I can only imagine what they are thinking of this exchange.
My hands clench at my sides and I turn on my heel to leave, sparing him my anger for whatever godsdamned reason. His hand grabs my forearm and I whirl to him, letting him see my rage. “Go to hell, Cedric.”
One second we are standing in the crowd, the next we are behind the large banquet table on the dais. My world tilts on its axis and I grip the wooden seat.
“How dare you?”
Cups of blood and wine are spread across the table, but I ignore my growing needs and shove against his hold.
“Let me go, Cedric,” I demand, but his grip stays firm.
“You and your questions. My turn. What are you doing here?” He nods at the musicians, who pick up their melody in an attempt to turn the crowd back to themselves.
So slowly, with the movement of an asp, I look up to him and shift out of his grip but he holds firm.
“Release me, final warning.” The song picks up louder and the court slowly tears their gazes away.
“Is this not the life of a prisoner, your highness? Am I not to eat?”
“You did not come here to eat.” He licks his lips. “There is food and blood at the cottage. Eat there.”
I don’t think about my next words. “Sawyer said he would see me at dinner.”
His grip loosens then, my words hitting their mark. “Sawyer? You listen to Sawyer now?”
“Yes, I do. Because I know Sawyer.”
“Knew, rather, is that not right? If I knew your presence would have been this challenging, I would have stationed a guard outside your door,” he snaps. “Perhaps I should have stationed Sawyer himself.”
“Again, go to hell.” I yank myself away and finally manage to stand. “If you ever touch me again without my consent I will find a way to leave a scar on your body.”
My heart pounds as I walk briskly out of the Chalice Room. Thoughts fail to land in my mind and my blood boils, begging for more bite. I’m seeing red.
He publicly forced me to sit. To stay seated. Held me. Put his hands on me.
Everywhere he touched me, my skin is on fire. I try to tamper down my panic and rage but nothing soothes me. No rationalization. I turn down a random hallway, trying to find the way I came in. The palace is huge. There is barely enough light to illuminate the tapestries and paintings.
The arrogance of a man who believes he has power over a woman. The arrogance of a man to call himself a king. I’m not a prisoner but I am to be controlled, living at the whim of him and his cess.
“Lady Elivienne!”
I stop dead in my tracks, turning to see Sawyer at the end of the hallway, the light from the large room illuminating his form. Part of me wants to keep walking. Two guards emerge from the doors and Sawyer stops them. They exchange a few words before the pair walk back into the crowd.
Suddenly, a pit forms in my stomach and I begin to walk back down the hallway away from him, from everyone.
I don’t need this.
Sawyer appears in front of me in the blink of an eye and I trip backwards on my dress. I still have no concept of this travel, this magic they can conjure. He grasps my arm before I hit the ground and spins me into a hidden alcove away from the revelry and sight of the guards.
“Why is everyone grabbing me tonight,” I seethe.
“You’re welcome,” he bites. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“That is none of your business.” I glare. A couple walks past us, paying no mind as they sway from drink.
Sawyer quirks an eyebrow. “Do you think disrespecting my brother in public is the best way to get out of here undetected?”
My mouth gapes. “You must be mistaken into thinking I care about my social standing. I told you that I have no desire to be here.”