Chapter 1
One
How the fuck did I get talked into this?
I smooth the skirts of my elaborate dress and try to get comfortable.
I should be comfortable. I’m on a velvet seat cushion in the most elegant, expensive carriage I’ve ever seen.
But the corset is poking into my ribs, and the piles of fabric are making me sweat.
Pulling back the curtains, I peer out the window and my breath hitches.
We’re nearing the massive black hedges that surround the castle grounds.
The stories say they’re full of thorns, that the leaves themselves are poisonous.
My heart hammers against my ribs as the carriage rumbles over the cobblestones. This was a terrible idea.
The hedges are getting closer. The leaves are so black they nearly blend together into one dangerous mass.
In front of them are several corpses in various stages of decay tied to posts.
Rebels and traitors. A warning to anyone considering opposing the empire.
Ravens peck at the bodies, their cries sounding excited as they devour the dead.
I slam the curtain closed and lean back against the cushions. My breath is coming too quickly, and I replay everything I learned in my mind, trying to calm myself.
I can do this. I have to do this.
I move the curtain just enough to peek out. We’ve reached the hedges, and the carriage halts. There are night legionnaires outside the carriage, but none of them turn my direction. They’re expecting me, but they’re not allowed to look at me.
As we start moving again, I marvel at how thick the hedges are. We’re on a smoother road now. No more bumping and rattling. The carriage glides as if we’re floating. After so much time spent in the vibrating seat, it’s a bit unsettling.
When we’ve finally passed between the hedges, a lawn appears, dotted with stone sculptures and topiaries made of the same dark leaves.
I close the curtain again and prepare as best I can. I blot my damp face with a handkerchief and smooth my ruffled skirts. I spray myself with the perfume they stowed in the carriage with me.
The carriage comes to a stop, and somehow, I’m going through the motions. It’s like I’m watching myself, completely detached from what I’m doing and what comes next.
I drape the black shawl over my head and face the door.
The door opens to a tunnel of shadows. I’m vaguely aware of the fact that dozens of night legionnaires have lined up to create that tunnel, their dark magic forming the shadows that conceal me from them and everyone else.
It’s so thick and murky that I can’t even see the castle.
The only thing guiding me is the flickering lamplight at the open door they’re leading me toward.
I don’t feel my legs move, or the ground under my feet. All I know is that I’m walking through those shadows like I’m supposed to and that I make it to the end.
Lanterns guide my way through the halls. There’s no welcoming greeting for me. No grand parade, no one.
As the prince’s betrothed, I cannot be seen by anybody until he sets eyes on me. It’s one of the many rules that the Pendralian courtiers live by. They die by them, too.
The sitting room is beautiful, but modest compared to what I expected of the castle.
The floors are gray stone, and tapestries line the walls.
A large fire is crackling and burning in the fireplace, filling the room with heat.
The only furniture is a red velvet couch.
It’s a room made for very short-term use.
Anxiety twists in my gut. This isn’t exactly the welcome I expected as the princess of Iskvaland.
Footsteps sound. Lots of them. I drape the black scarf over my face, nearly obstructing my view. It’s meant to prevent anyone other than my betrothed from seeing me, but it’s a welcome barrier that keeps my emotions hidden. At least for now.
“Princess Sabina Volkov, welcome to Aurorium. I am Darius, head priest for the emperor. I’m here to witness your unveiling to your betrothed, Prince Caiden Pendral, crown prince of the Pendralian Empire and heir to the throne.”
I incline my head to indicate that I’m listening, but my heart is pounding so hard now that I fear he might hear it in the silence that follows.
The priest steps back, pressing himself against the wall. Details are impossible to make out, but I can tell he’s lowered his head so as to not see me. “She is ready, Your Highness.”
A million thoughts race through my mind. All the protocols, the suggestions, the rules. So much to learn and never enough time.
His footsteps are quiet, and when he enters, I can only make out his outline. He’s tall and broad-shouldered.
“Princess Sabina. I know you have had a long journey, and as soon as we are through with this archaic nonsense, you may retreat to your rooms.” His tone is cold, devoid of emotion. Detached.
Fine with me.
He stops in front of me, then reaches for the fabric. Instead of gently folding it, he lifts the whole thing quickly, sending my blonde hair flying in front of my face. I smooth it away from my eyes, then look up at the man I’m to marry.
He’s got brown hair that touches his shoulders. His jaw is strong and his lips full. He’s got thick brows and brown eyes that almost look amber in this light. He’s more handsome than I expected.
“Well, it seems you really do resemble your likeness. That’s a pleasant surprise.” He takes hold of one of my blonde curls. “It’s a pity we could end up with children who have your fair hair. But I suppose that’s the price we pay for treaties and the sacrifices we make as royals, isn’t it?”
“We could always abstain and produce no children,” I offer, mock sweetness in my tone. “Then, you wouldn’t have to be disappointed by their hair color.”
He releases the strand of my hair. “Women in Pendralia are to be silent and do as they’re told. Are we going to have a problem?”
“Of course not, my prince.” I tighten one of my hands into a fist to keep myself from saying what I really want to say.
“Good.” He glances over at the priest. “Darius. It is done. I accept the betrothal. She is as expected.”
The priest lifts his head, and his eyes find mine. He’s just as cold and detached as his prince. I don’t know why I expected anything else. It’s what I’ve always been taught about the royals.
“I will make an offering in honor of your betrothal.” Darius inclines his head, then leaves the room.
“Brevan,” the prince calls.
A night legionnaire steps into the room, eyes downcast. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“No need to avert your eyes, Brevan. It’s done.”
The guard looks up, but he keeps his attention on the prince.
“Escort the princess to her chambers. Her lady’s maids should be waiting and will take over from there. But I want you outside her room for now. The last thing I need is a dead Iskvalandian princess on my hands. Nobody in or out of that room without my permission, understand?”
The legionnaire, Brevan, nods. “Yes, Your Highness.”
The prince turns and leaves without even a backward glance at me.
“Is he always like that?” I ask Brevan.
“He is a prince. Now, come. I’ll show you to your rooms.” He steps toward the door, then waits for me to join him.
The halls are dark and full of shadows. Lamplight flickers from sparse lanterns attached to the walls. I’m not sure if it’s magic keeping the flames alight or if they use oil to keep them running.
This hall has no other decoration, though we do pass the occasional night legionnaire standing guard.
Their eyes follow us, but they retain their stiff postures.
The men stationed along our walk wear the typical armor of the Night Legion.
The emperor’s crest is embossed in the center of the black leather.
The armor is stiff and ornamental. Like it would be challenging to move in.
I wonder if the night legionnaires who are sent in to raze whole villages wear the same.
“You don’t look like a legionnaire,” I say to my guide.
“That’s because I’m not,” he replies.
“So what are you?”
He continues alongside me, not even glancing my way. He leads us up two flights of stairs, then down a long hall.
“You’re special, I suppose. Different from the faceless, nameless legionnaires.” I tap my finger on my chin, making a show of thinking. “Are you the emperor’s assassin?”
No reply.
“No, you can’t be. Because you’d be too valuable to be sent to simply babysit me. Are you his cousin? A royal relative too far from the throne to be a threat but too close to be enlisted?”
Nothing. We’re still walking. Up more stairs, down another hall.
“A mercenary? Maybe he pays you for your loyalty. Or you’re on the run from across the sea. A fugitive from the mines of the Shatterlands.”
He continues without any acknowledgement that I’m following alongside him.
“Oh, I know what it is,” I say. “You’re his lover. Perhaps I won’t have to worry about bearing him any children.”
He finally glances over at me. “Do you ever shut up?”
“No.”
“The prince isn’t going to like that.”
“Have you ever noticed how nobody ever asks the princess what she likes?” There’s something about Brevan that makes me keep talking even when I know I shouldn’t.
He stops in front of a large wood door. The hall we’re in is well lit, and gorgeous tapestries cover most of the bare stone.
“Does anyone ever ask you what you want?” I chance.
For a second, I think I see the faintest upturn of his lips. “I serve the empire. That’s what I want.”
“I’m sure your parents are very proud of you,” I say in my most princess-like tone.
“They’re dead.”
“I’m sorry.” The concern in my voice is genuine, but I quickly regain control of myself. “I suppose this is the place?” I incline my head toward the door.
“Yes. Your ladies will assist you from here. I will stand guard for now.”
“Am I supposed to feel comforted by that?”
“Feel however you like, Your Highness.” He leans past me and turns the handle, then pushes the door open.
Before I can come up with a snarky reply, I’m swept into the room in a whirlwind of black silk and dark curls.
The ladies chitter like a group of excited squirrels while they pass me around like their new plaything. They speak in rapid-fire, high-pitched tones that are impossible to keep up with.
“Alright, enough!” someone yells.
They all grow silent, and an older woman pushes through the group. “Give her room. She’s had a long journey, and I’m sure she wants to clean up and rest.” She drops into a curtsy. “Welcome, Your Highness.”
The other ladies are quick to drop into curtsies of their own before backing away. They line up and hastily smooth their skirts and fix smiles on their faces while their keen eyes watch my every move.
“I am Marian, the head lady,” the woman says. “I know you weren’t allowed ladies from your home, but we will do our best to serve you with loyalty and honor.”
The others continue to smile at me, and I remind myself that there is no way any of them would be loyal to me. They are Pendralian. They are loyal to their emperor above all. To them, I’m a lamb sent to the wolves.
“It’s lovely to meet you all,” I say.
“The bathing chamber is through here.” Marian gestures to an arched doorway. “Would you like assistance?”
“No, thank you. I am quite used to bathing alone,” I reply.
Marian’s smile doesn’t falter, but some of the others don’t mask their confusion. Perhaps royals in Pendralia don’t know how to bathe themselves.
I lift my heavy skirts and walk into the large bathing chamber. The floors are shimmering black tile, the counters black marble streaked with gray. Even the faucets are black. The only splash of color comes from the copper tub set near the back of the room.
“We will prepare your dinner attire, Your Highness. Enjoy your bath.” Marian closes the door, and I’m alone again.
I sink to the floor and take a few deep breaths. My hands shake and my head spins. Everything that I’d held in threatens to come out.
I breathe through the anxiety and regret and fear until all that’s left is anger. My hands steady, my pulse evens. I lift my head and hold my chin high.
I know why I’m here. I know I made the right choice. And while I almost let fear get to me, it won’t win. I knew what coming here meant, and I did it, anyway.
Everyone expects Princess Sabina Volkov to marry the prince. To finalize the treaty and create an alliance between the Pendralian Empire and Iskvaland. An unstoppable force that will dominate the entire world.
The only thing is that I don’t plan to follow through with the marriage because I’m not Sabina Volkov.
The princess is dead.
And I am the angel of death who took her place.