Chapter 3
The king’s laughter slammed me back into reality. “My daughter has caught the attention of every male at this feast! Even the queen’s son Sir Gyldford cannot resist!”
That was the queen’s son? The creator of Whiterok? But he was so young. Only a few years older than me. Vega was right, he was most definitely rakish. The way he’d held me was telling. He knew the topography of the female form too well.
“Blackthorns do burn the brightest in a room,” the king cackled for all to hear. “Now, daughter, your governess has informed us you have a gift to share. Is this true?”
Right. My composition. The performance was the key to winning over my father.
“Yes, I’d like to play a musical piece for you and the queen as a Yule gift.
” This was my time to shine. My chance to show the king what a well-rounded and put-together lady I had become.
Talented and brilliant. All the things I knew I was at my very core.
Titles or not, I had my mind and skill. If the king could only see it, then I’d easily win him over.
“Let’s hear it then,” he said, then drank from his tankard.
The crowd parted to reveal an elaborate virginal waiting for me. I sank onto the marble bench, its cold seeping into me. I wanted to gape in awe at the instrument; it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Far more impressive than the simple one I possessed at Granger House.
My fingers savored the ivory keys laid over sumptuous black velvet. The entire body of the instrument was painted with near-perfect images of all four Guardians, which looked real enough to float out of the instrument and perch on my shoulder.
With a steadying breath, I reached into my pocket for the musical piece I had composed. But it only yielded a bit of … lint.
Fuck.
My hands frantically explored every corner, checking the other side, but the music I had written for this exact moment wasn’t there.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. How did it go? My thoughts swam through a current of mead swirled by dancing, anxiety churning it all faster.
All the court’s eyes were on me. Holy Guardians above, the king’s eyes were on me.
I looked to Vega, pleading. But she simply smiled back, unable to read my mind for the first time in my entire life.
“Let us hear you play, daughter,” the king said, annoyed.
My hands floated to the keys and my fingers moved as demanded. But it was not my perfectly crafted composition, the impeccable blend of humility and skill that took me hours to prepare. It was stupid hymns.
Around me the crowd chattered, already bored. My stomach clenched.
No one wanted church music. We were not here to worship the Guardians. We were here to worship the night, the glory, to feast and indulge, and be merry.
The eyes fading from me made my heart surge. This was not going well. I needed them to see me. Hear me. I had to impress my father.
My fingers picked up the tempo, recalling the warm-up I often did. It was fast and fearsome. The playing of a master. My fingers twiddled the keys, teasing them quickly. And to my astonishment, the gaze of the court hastily returned to me. Good. But greedily, I wanted more.
Each note began blurring into the next as the virginal sang beneath my touch. Familiar, sharp notes cut through the air. Faster and faster I played, unleashing a frenzied torrent.
A bird thrashing in its cage, finally freed.
Was it too much? Did I care?
It felt so bloody good being completely and totally within my element. All eyes were on me now and it was intoxicating.
Finally, I yielded. My fingers slowed and the pace dwindled until the last note struck, then tapered off, and I rested my hands upon my lap.
Vega and I locked eyes. She was holding her breath. The entire room was. Only the wind’s cry through the frigid night dared to sound.
My father drank deeply from his tankard, then stood to his feet and looked at me hard.
Then he clapped.
He clapped loud and slow, thundering through the silent feasting hall. His drunk gaze panned around the room, demanding his court do the same. Or else.
Obliging their king, the crowd broke into applause that roiled through the room. With an uneasy smile, I stood up and curtsied to the king and his court.
“My daughter is of great talent. She is beautiful, as all can see, and she is a Blackthorn.” But he held no joy in the words. No pride. Every ounce of my body knew it was a lie. This was all a lie. “So, hear me now,” the king shouted.
The clapping halted in a heartbeat. The room fell silent as the dead, waiting for the words that could take or spare life.
“My daughter is the greatest prize of Oakhaven, a rare red rose among many thorns. That is why I announce that my daughter, the Rose of Oakhaven, is now accepting proposals of marriage.” My stomach sank.
“Only the most noble of men will be worthy of my daughter’s hand in marriage.
All suitors will come forth to me with offers and only the most deserving and fruitful partnerships will earn her hand and dowry.
” The crowd rippled again with applause.
“Now. Let us feast on this Guardian’s blessed Yule.
” The king lumbered back to his throne. Music erupted. Laughter exploded.
Too loud, it was all too loud. I needed air.
“Elowyn, are you alright?” Vega caught me as I lost my footing briefly.
The room was spinning. Hot, I was so bloody hot in this Guardians-damned gown.
And … fuck, I was going to be sick. My feet moved without warning.
I pushed through the crowd of false, smiling fools staring at me, watching me, wanting me but in all the wrong ways.
I needed to get out of here.
I dashed through an open archway, the cold winter hitting me hard, stealing my breath.
Marriage. Marriage? I knew he’d called me here for something.
But this. Was this it? Infernum, I should have fucking known.
Hot nausea waved through me. I knew it could happen one day, Vega had prepared me, but at five and twenty I was past the normal age to wed by years.
I’d assumed being an illegitimate daughter meant being too worthless to sell off to the highest bidder. That no one would want me.
The world tilted on its axis. What if he forced me to marry an old man? Or a disgusting fool like those cretins who’d grabbed and pulled at me.
Or a man like him.
The ladies in my literature married to bring peace across Oakhaven.
Forced to spend nights in strangers’ beds to prevent wars.
To spread their legs, lie back, and think of country.
Birth an heir or face being beheaded on the Guardians-damned steps of Highthorn Castle like my mother.
Anxiety fully took over as my hands found my neck. I couldn’t breathe.
Falling to my knees, I crumpled, gasping for air as snow pinpricked my face and the cold, bitter wind whistled in my ears.
“Are you okay?” a solemn voice questioned. Shooting to my feet, I dusted off my gown. No one could see me like this.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine—I just was a little hot in there and—” My eyes met the man I had danced with. Sir Cedric Gyldford. “Oh, it’s you.”
He said nothing. Just looked at me with those verdant eyes that I could tell held secrets and sadness.
“I’m quite fine, thank you, Sir Gyldford,” I said with a curtsy meant to dismiss him. Turning to the door, I faced the feast inside that seemed to mock me, jeering uproariously. My legs refused to budge.
“Please, call me Cedric.”
“That would be highly inappropriate.” It was already bad enough that I had shamelessly flirted with him before.
Men were one of the few vices I indulged, in the safety of Granger House’s distance.
Inexperienced cooks’ sons, a tutor or two.
Men who would never dare say they’d bedded the king’s daughter because they would face being hanged.
But here, of all places, I knew the chaste charade was a necessity. No matter how handsome he was.
I turned back to him, unable to rejoin the feast.
“You didn’t know he was to make that announcement, did you?” Cedric asked.
“No, I didn’t.”
I breathed in the cold air to steady my mind. How did I not know? It was the only answer that made any sense. I was such an idiot for being surprised at all. My father would never have called me here to stay.
“Your playing was—”
“Wild and noisy. I know. I’m surprised my governess didn’t faint.”
“Liberating.”
I nodded my thanks, unsure if it was a compliment or not. His expression softened for one moment as his glade-green eyes measured me. The wind cried, and I wished to be back home at Granger House, riding a good horse at the base of my mountains in a place as green as the forests in his eyes.
A crisp chill touched my ankle. “Guardians be damned!” flew from me as I kneeled and fingered my torn skirt hem.
“It must have happened when those imbeciles were fighting over you,” Cedric said, and kneeled with me.
I wanted to scream. Nothing was going to plan.
“My servant could retrieve a needle and thread to mend this,” he said, then looked up at me.
Holy Infernum. He was mesmerizing. Severe, dark-haired, and pale-faced, like he needed sunshine and laughter, but set in such exquisite contrast that it made my heart dance.
I could look at him for eternity.
“After, you could return to the feast.” His long, dark lashes fluttered as his eyes traced my skirt’s hem. Was he inviting me to his private chambers?
A clamor of voices and laughter broke through the night in the distance. It was the stout man who had been whispering at the queen’s side earlier with three ladies dressed in blaring colors.
“Oh, hello Lady Elowyn and … Sir Gyldford. What a surprise to see you out here,” he bubbled, then let out a hiccup. I hopped to my feet, and Cedric slowly rose at my side.
The ladies fell into hushed whispers.
Sir Gyldford bowed, and in two swift steps disappeared into the night, leaving me to the wolves.
“Hello,” I said with a tip of my head, waiting for the trio to curtsy and bow, as per my ranking. But none did.
“What has happened to your skirt, my lady?” the man drawled.
The women beside him chortled.
“I tore it while dancing,” I admitted.
“When you were dancing with Sir Gylford?” the blond woman cackled.
“Were you reliving your salacious steps out here together?” the other woman cawed, sending them all erupting into laughter.
Vega hurried out of the feast.
“There you are, my lady,” she said in a sigh of relief. “Oh my, what has happened to your skirt?”
More laughter ensued as the small party glided past us.
“You should better monitor your ward, Vega.”
How did he know Vega’s name?
“She should not be out here dancing with men unaccompanied; it may look improper,” he said, smiling like a cat with a mouse in its paws. Then he vanished into the feast with the garish ladies.
Vega’s features hardened. “What is he talking about?”
“Sir Gyldford followed me when I left the feast and—”
“He what?” she thundered.
“He followed me out here and we noticed my dress was torn. He was just helping me, but then that repugnant man saw us and—”
“That man is the queen’s advisor. And he is a complete snake.
Sir Gyldford knows not to be alone with a lady unaccompanied, especially the king’s daughter, and especially not when her marriageability was just announced.
” Vega scowled. “Guardians be, Elowyn, you still act like a child. First that ridiculous playing. Now this. I thought you wanted to earn your place at court—gain your father’s favor, secure your standing in society, and prove you’re ready to take your rightful place at Highthorn. What were you thinking?”
“I, I …” But I had nothing to say. No explanation. I had failed. And worse, I never could have succeeded.