Chapter 3 #2
His gaze sharpened to a point. "How fortunate. And." His voice became quieter. "If a powerful man wished to claim such a prize?"
Mirielle's pulse quickened. "A prize?" she echoed.
"Forgive me."
His smile suggested he was not sorry at all.
"A poor choice of words."
It was a lie.
"What I mean to ask is this—" He leaned slightly closer. "When the time comes, will you choose your future willingly?"
Mirielle was so stunned by his directness she forgot to move her feet. She met his gaze, then her eyes flared in challenge on reflex.
The prince smiled at that. A slow, cruel curl of his mouth that made something cold creep down her spine.
He leaned closer, close enough that she could smell the wine on his breath and feel the warmth of it against her ear.
“Careful, princess,” he murmured softly.
She could hear the smile permeating his voice, "defiance is an expensive luxury. "
Just then, the room seemed to shudder like a cold wind had settled over it.
Conversations died in the throats that carried them and the music collapsed into silence.
Every eye in the room turned to the man who parted the crowd like a wolf among sheep.
Every footfall fell with a quiet promise echoing through the marble halls.
One look at him and she knew, with terrible certainty, she was lost.
He was built like a man who expected violence and made himself for it—tall and broad. There was no wasted motion. He seemed perpetually balanced, as though battle was only ever a heartbeat away.
His midnight-black hair fell carelessly across the top of his forehead, the sides shorn short while the rest was brushed back in a manner that looked more disheveled than styled.
The wild roughness only made him more striking.
He was not wearing typical regal garb but an armor of blackened steel, dirtied as if he had arrived only recently after a long journey.
His face was composed the way stone is composed, carved by necessity rather than emotion.
He had no guards. His only protection was a simple sleek sword sheathed along his spine.
Everyone in the room knew exactly who he was even though none of them had ever laid eyes on him before.
King Reis, the Blood King.
People thought of him less like a king and more like a myth or a legend. From him were born the kinds of stories that mothers tell their children to keep them out of trouble. Stories and fables of villages drenched in blood and submitted with iron.
His kingdom rose from nothing and came from nowhere. A collection of villages and hamlets scattered across freezing mountains, forced together with blood and conquest. No one thought it was worth anything yet King Reis seemed to acquire wealth and power with frightening speed.
But he had always stayed deep in the North along with the legends that followed him. Never had he or his armies been seen this far south.
His gaze searched the room thoroughly before landing on Mirielle. It fixed on her with a terrifying intensity and for a moment she felt as though she were drowning beneath it.
His jaw twitched.
The pain in her side throbbed, causing her vision to spot, only for it to ebb and soothe a moment later.
Usiline's hand clenched possessively around her waist.
As if he could keep her with force.
Mirielle almost laughed. If this was a game of winning, Mirielle knew that Usiline would lose to this monster. That only served to terrify her more.
King Reis was a king of war and conquest and she knew exactly why he had come this far south.
"King Reis, how good of you to come." King Orbin's voice boomed across the room, breaking Mirielle from her trance.
Orbin's eyes glinted with greed. If there was one thing that all kings knew, it was that military power and wealth often went hand in hand.
Legends of treasure hordes of silver and ancient sapphires looted from temples and troll caves deep in the mountains by the northern army were told in bard songs.
Reis pulled his gaze away from Mirielle and she swore she heard something like a growl rise from his throat.
He stalked closer to the throne. "I do not plan on staying." His voice was low, wicked velvet stretched over steel.
He met Orbin at the bottom of the dais. Their eyes locked and they sized each other like two great beasts. "If we could speak somewhere more private..." he said evenly.
Orbin gave a lazy signal to the musicians and the music surged back to life, swelling loudly enough to drown out the two kings' voices.
"How rude I have been," Usiline exclaimed. Mirielle had nearly forgotten his presence. He grabbed Mirielle's hand and pulled her to his section closer to the dais. Mirielle winced as pain shot up her side again.
"Come sit, my dear, and I'll have one of my servants get you refreshments." It was obvious he was trying to overhear the kings' conversation, yet as soon as they reached their chairs, Orbin rose and King Reis stalked up the stairs with him to a private chamber behind the throne.
Mirielle took a seat close to the dais. A mouthwatering array of appetizers had been set on all the tables, bleeding game patties wrapped in flaky pastry and smothered with egg, speared fruits and cheese croquettes piled high on silver platters.
One of Usiline's servants brought them cups of spiced lemonade from the refreshments table.
"Eat, princess. You will need your energy." Usiline gestured to the food spread out on the table in front of them. "Don't be shy. In my kingdom we take what the world offers and more if we are clever."
Mirielle obeyed and that contented Usiline for a time. He lounged into his chair and began popping appetizers into his over-large mouth.
Mirielle picked absently at her meal as she watched the dance floor.
Nobles whispered at its fringes about her prospects.
But her attention was locked on the empty blackness behind the dais, her ears straining as if she could hear their conversation through layers of plastered walls.
A conversation that would seal her fate.
She was barely aware of Usiline's gaze boring into the side of her head.
A pit began to form in Mirielle's stomach.
Feeling queasy, she politely excused herself.
Mirielle made her way past glittering gentry and stone-faced sentries into one of the adjoining halls down a passage that led to her private parlor.
Her footsteps echoed against the walls and polished floors.
Candlelight flickered against the marble floors and crawled across the carved walls in wavering gold.
Her corset clawed painfully against her side. A sharp cramp twisted through her stomach. Mirielle faltered. Suddenly, her breathing became heavy and labored.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind her. Mirielle's stomach dropped as she realized her mistake.
The lemonade had tasted strange, sharp beneath the sweetness. She had dismissed it as some foreign spice brought for the festivities.
Her pulse thundered violently in her chest and ears as realization settled like ice in her veins.
Her bride price was enormous. What easier way to lessen it than to ruin the bride herself?
Dark specks crowded the edges of her vision. The corridor blurred and swayed around her.
Not here, she thought, though the thought felt distant, like it belonged to someone standing slightly behind her.
She looked behind her and saw the silhouette of a man blurred by the lights trailing across her vision. She blinked hard, trying to sharpen the world back into place. The hallway refused to oblige.
She needed to get out. She needed to get to Bael. His name framed on her lips, but only a small, pained whisper escaped her.
The candlelit walls swayed around her, molten gold bleeding across marble as nausea twisted violently through her stomach.
The footsteps grew louder, their pace steadily growing. Her knees trembled and the world tilted sideways as she slumped into the wall. She scratched at the jutting plaster with her fingers, desperately searching for any handhold.
The footsteps were nearly upon her, each one reverberating through the narrow corridor like a dark promise.
"No." The whisper fractured beneath the weight of her fear.
Strong hands gripped her shoulders.
Her knees buckled. She fell into darkness before she hit the floor.