Chapter 3
Mirielle stalked like a phantom as she walked through the moonlight-bathed halls of Ambersaith towards Nyteny's room.
Her corset dug painfully into her ribs. Heavy powder had been applied to her neck to hide the bruises left there.
The gown her cousin-king had chosen for her was beautiful and vicious.
Tiny pieces of silver steel attached to ringlets covered the soft midnight blue fabric like chainmail.
Her corset was embroidered with silver thread to resemble plate armor.
Bands of smooth metal covered her neck and arms while a silver diadem threaded through her black hair, pulled into a braid that fell low on her back.
The statement was clear—she was a beautiful, deadly weapon, a princess and a promise of violent victory.
She had dressed early so she could visit Nyteny before she slept as she often did before balls and feasts.
Bael followed Mirielle like a prisoner going to the gallows.
"Mirielle." His voice strained, carrying the timbre of a kicked dog.
The word hid a thousand unspoken things.
How he would steal her, hide her in the very edges and hollows of the world if she merely asked.
How he would kill any suitor that touched her at her command.
Mirielle had told Bael not to interfere with her lessons for his own safety, though she suspected he had lost his patience during the last one.
Mirielle shook her head. She wouldn't hear it. Listening to Bael's promises only brought her selfish hope.
Mirielle climbed a shining marble staircase that led to Nyteny's rooms. Most of the residents had already arrived at her banquet, leaving the halls emptied. A great stillness seemed to settle on the tiles as her footsteps echoed through its lonely halls.
Mirielle pushed open the door carefully.
It opened to a room nooked under a slanted ceiling.
Plush blankets and blue satin curtains embroidered with tiny pictures of silver shining knights and white horses covered the room.
A single candle burned near Nyteny's crib casting just enough light to fend off the spectres of her imagination that might haunt her dreams.
Nyteny slept in her crib. Her light-blonde hair made a halo around her head, its bronze flecks reflecting the gold of the candlelight. Mirielle lifted her into her arms and brought her to a rocking chair while she stirred from her sleep.
If she was sleeping at all...
"Cousin! You're here!"
Nyteny launched herself at Mirielle, throwing her tiny arms around her neck. Mirielle hid a wince as she took the full impact of her little body.
She covered her pain with a forced laugh. "Of course I'm here! I'd never miss story time."
Nyteny snuggled closer. Then she cupped her hand over Mirielle's ear, as if she had a very important secret.
"Are you getting married?" she whispered.
Mirielle smiled at her adorable behavior.
"I am," she whispered back.
Her eyes went wide.
"Who?!" All whispers forgotten, she squealed the question.
Of course Mirielle did not want to tell her that she didn't know, that she would have no choice in the matter or what would likely happen to her after.
"It's a secret," she whispered, hoping Nyteny would keep her voice just as quiet, "but I can tell you he's a very handsome man from a very wonderful kingdom." She made sure to put extra emphasis on 'very' and 'handsome'.
"Is he nice?"
"The very nicest," Mirielle stated with as much surety as she could manage.
"I want to meet him!"
"I think you just might," Mirielle said smiling.
Nyteny gasped so dramatically it seemed to fill her entire little body all at once. Then her mind seemed to switch and settled on a brand-new thought.
"Can you do the bunny song?"
Mirielle smiled and her shoulders relaxed, relieved that the questions were not going to become too specific.
Mirielle began rocking her back and forth and she snuggled into the crook of her neck.
Then she started singing.
Oh, dark wolf hunting
With your pack of toothed beasts
Through the wicked forests running
Over rocks and frozen creeks
There he found a white rabbit sleeping
Moonlight on her silver fur
The wolf was not prepared
For the care he felt for her
So many dangers hidden
In the snowy forest bright
The dark wolf could not keep her
So he sent her to the night.
Nyteny began to doze in her arms. She continued more quietly.
The rabbit joined the heavens
Her light hung in the sky
By that light the dark wolf hunted
And howled his lonely cries
But when the moon would hide
The white rabbit would return
And on those nights the wolf was whole
And her light within him burned
Nyteny's eyelashes dusted her warm cheeks and Mirielle rocked her for just a little longer.
*
Mirielle took Orbin's arm as they climbed the dais of the throne room. White alabaster steps rose toward a single grand throne carved from dark wood and cushioned in gold velvet.
A shimmering cape of transparent fabric adorned with flecks of silver trailed behind her in a short train, reflecting off the candlelight like fallen stars. Her corset dug into her ribs with every step. She knew there would be dancing tonight and already dreaded it.
As they climbed, Mirielle could feel the weight of the gentry’s attention pressing against her shoulders, heavy enough to slow her feet. It felt as though the room itself wished to keep her below it.
Orbin lowered himself onto the throne while Mirielle remained standing at his side, chin lifted toward the congregation. Her posture was flawless, like a woman caged in standing armor.
The throne room was large. The shining dais loomed over the crystal-lit hall. Large arched plastered columns adorned with gold ribbons cocooned and met at elegant points. Golden curtains hung over the alcoves on either side hiding the antechambers beyond.
The gentry clustered around the dance floor in glittering knots of silk and jewels. Their eyes followed Mirielle relentlessly, assessing her worth, prizing her beauty.
To her relief, the silence ended when Orbin bade the musicians to start. Music swelled once more through the hall as he settled into his throne with feline ease, affecting the appearance of complete boredom.
But Mirielle knew the game he played. Orbin never relaxed. He was strategizing, looking for weaknesses among the gentry. He was always planning his next move, forever shifting people around in his mind like pieces on a board.
She watched as the nobility thrust into a minuet, an elegant dance for courting pairs.
Most of the night's dances would be meant for courtship.
After all, the purpose of the ball was not merely to parade Mirielle before potential suitors.
It also provided unique and rare opportunities for the daughters of lesser houses as well, girls and families eager to secure husbands among the powerful lords and princes who would inevitably fail in their pursuit of her hand.
Young girls in chiffon skirts twirled over the patterned floor in dizzying circles, obediently following the lead of men in pressed velvet and satin jackets, every one locked in a dance like puppets caught in strings.
Mirielle couldn't ignore the rotund man dressed in brocaded gold silk sitting near the bottom of the dais. His red face popped out of his collar like an overstuffed sausage. It was hard to ignore his unrelenting stare raking up and down her body.
Mirielle forced herself to appear unbothered, instead watching the dancing pairs floating over the gleaming marble but it was hard to focus with the pain radiating from her side.
The ache throbbed beneath her corset every time she breathed, threatening to break her composure no matter how rigidly she stood.
He was Prince Usiline Corvaine and Mirielle reminded herself she should be glad for his attention.
Of all the men gathered in the throne room, he was considered one of the safer prospects.
His interests lay in excess and indulgence rather than war or conquest. Silk, wine and lavish feasts occupied far more of his mind than battlefields ever would.
In his kingdom, her powers would likely remain hidden, forgotten beneath layers of luxury and courtly distractions.
At least that was what she told herself.
Mirielle searched the room for suitors she knew. There were several young lords from her own region. None of them mattered. She knew that her cousin would not settle for less than the wealth of a prince.
After downing a large goblet of wine that seemed to go straight to his face, Prince Usiline heaved himself from his chair and lumbered towards the dais.
"Your Highnesses," he said with a smile that lingered too long, "I have waited all evening for the honor. I must insist on the first dance with young Mirielle."
Orbin flicked his hand in agreement, apparently trying to look as apathetic as possible.
Mirielle braced herself, then assumed her most courtly voice. "The honor is shared."
Mirielle took his hand and allowed herself to be guided to the dance floor. He rested his hand on her waist and Mirielle tried not to flinch.
"Your cousin did not exaggerate. They really are silver." He glared at her eyes, somehow without looking at her. "I always thought it was embellishment in bard songs."
Mirielle clenched her teeth and forced herself not to shudder. "You are very kind."
He laughed softly. "No. Merely observant." He guided her through another turn of the dance.
"You know, Mirielle, there are many beautiful women in the six kingdoms." His thumb brushed lightly against her hand, sending hair standing across her arm. "But beauty grows common among the nobility. Wealth as well." His eyes settled on her. "You possess something far rarer."
Mirielle felt her stomach tighten.
"And what is that?"
"Possibility." His smile widened into something almost cruel. "Tell me, are the stories about your ancestors true?"
Mirielle tried to hide her tension.
"I can assure you," she said carefully, "the stories are quite true."