Chapter 4
Mirielle woke to stillness.
It wasn't an oppressive, stifling sort of stillness that typically comes after danger. It was peaceful. Ordered. Firewood stacked neatly in the hearth spilling warmth into the room. Curtains drawn just enough to soften the morning's light.
Mirielle blinked while she tried to make sense of the golden starburst of fabric that made up the canopy of the bed.
Not my bed.
She shifted. Loose fabric clung to her sides. She was dressed in a simple shift, soft and clean.
Not my shift.
She pinched her thumb and her forefinger to the inner corners of her eyes and groaned. A foggy haze dulled her senses, settling over her body like a heavy weight. She rubbed her eyes with her wrist, trying to scrub the unpleasant sensation away.
Then she saw him and her heart skipped.
A man sat nearby in a wooden chair, still as carved stone. He wore black trousers and a simple white tunic with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. The garment should have made him look less imposing. It failed spectacularly.
A simple straight-sheathed sword leaned against the side of his chair.
The morning light struck him at an angle, illuminating the sharp line of his jaw and leaving the rest of him shadowed as if the room itself could not decide whether to display him or keep him hidden.
He sat perfectly still, his eyes fixed on her, watching and waiting in cautioned quiet.
Mirielle's muddled mind finally grasped her situation.
She really did make a valiant effort to escape the bed but her feet became tangled in the sheets, her ankles twisted and the room tilted sideways.
A sound passed through her mouth that only mice should make.
Somehow, despite every obstacle, she managed to land on her feet anyway.
She quickly grabbed a large gold pillow edged with copper fringe and held it over her midsection like a very fluffy, very useless shield.
Her heart pounded in her ears. Her ribs protested violently only for the pain to ease a moment later.
The edge of his mouth twitched.
“You’re awake,” King Reis said, his voice low and spent like the last heat fading from dying coals.
Her hand gripped the edges of the pillow. She tried to make sense of her surroundings but she didn't dare speak, afraid her voice would solidify her reality.
Her eyes darted around the room. Golden adornments still littered the walls, but the room was unfamiliar. It was large and cloaked in green velvets and satins. She realized she was in Ambersaith, likely in one of its many guest rooms.
Memories began to flood back. The ball. The lemonade. A lead weight seemed to drop into her stomach. She glared at the king. The look she gave him could have cut stone.
Reis read the accusation written plainly across her face. “You have not been harmed, at least not by me.” His voice was laced with bitterness.
"Does my cousin know I'm here?" The fear in her voice shone despite her best efforts.
"I thought it would be better if he didn't," he said quietly. "He knows that you are safe and that you are in my care."
"What did you do to me?" Defensiveness and pain invaded her tone. Mirielle's entire body seemed to brace for his answer, her bare toes digging into the carpet below her.
The king's expression darkened rapidly. "Nothing." The word was spoken with absolute finality. His jaw flexed as his gaze dropped to the floor. "But someone tried."
Mirielle stared at him. She was unsure whether she should believe him. She didn't fully understand why being alone with a man could ruin a woman's reputation but she knew it was dangerous.
"My clothes..." She squeaked the words as her entire body turned an incredible shade of pink.
"I had to cut you out of that thing," he spat. His voice tightened around the words. "You could barely breathe."
Red heat flooded Mirielle's cheeks. Her eyes dropped to the pillow clutched against her body. Her fingers tightened around its frayed edge. Only then did Reis seem to understand how this must look through her eyes. His voice softened. "I found a maid to bathe you and dress you."
“I should leave,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt, "I shouldn't—"
“We will leave just as soon as you are dressed,” he interrupted, though not unkindly. There was a long pause as he watched something heavy flicker across her face. “You and I will be wed,” he added quietly, “I have already paid your bride price."
His words weighed on Mirielle's chest like a heavy stone. She felt her own breathing falter.
"How much?" Her voice trembled beneath the words.
"Enough."
"How much?" She pushed her voice, but it still broke at the end from fear. Her fists gripped tightly against the pillow.
Mirielle had no love for her cousin, but she had love for her people. She loved Nyteny, the kitchen servants who had slipped her sweet rolls when she was little, the gardeners who had taught her the names of flowers, the stable hands who had always smiled when she wandered too close to the horses.
If being sold meant keeping them safe, then perhaps her life could be worth something.
But being alone with a man could ruin a bride. People would claim she had lost her purity and demand a lower bride price. Some brides had seen their value fractioned by such scandals.
For a moment he simply stared at her. Then something dark flashed behind his eyes. Not anger at her but at the meaning behind her words. At the fact that she believed such a thing might matter.
"Fifty thousand liers. All paid."
Silence hung in the room, heavy with the implications. Mirielle just gaped. Fifty thousand liers was more than her kingdom made in three years of tax revenues and several times more than any other bride Mirielle had heard of.
Mirielle's voice slowly lost its fight. "And we leave today," she repeated quietly. "We won't be marrying here?"
Reis shifted in his seat.
"No."
Her brow pinched in confusion.
"The customs of my kingdom require a sacred altar. They're all in Kaldyr."
"We'll marry once we cross the border?"
"Yes."
The room felt suddenly smaller, heavier. Mirielle tried to breathe beneath the weight of it.
"There are people I'd like to say goodbye to..."
"No," he interrupted.
"Why?" Her voice was barely more than a cracked whisper. The fight had left her completely. Her shoulders caved inwards as she hugged the pillow in front of her like a barrier, as useless as it was.
Something in his face softened slightly.
"Because you are not safe here." His voice seemed to wrap around her like a warm hearth on a winter night. Her own body's reaction to it surprised her.
But he was right. It was a truth she knew too well. Once her bride price was paid, there would be a number of people, including the current residents of her own home, who would benefit from her death.
Mirielle's life was the only thing preventing her cousin's heirs from taking the throne. The only reason Mirielle was alive was because of her lineage and its value. A value that her kingdom had just pocketed.
But she was leaving Nyteny and it broke her heart.
Mirielle's gaze lowered to the floor. All protests barred by defeat.
He watched her for a while. His jaw tensed as if there were words he wanted to say but he wasn't quite sure he should. After a long while, he finally spoke. "I noticed your injuries." His grey eyes searched hers carefully.
Her gaze hit the floor and pained heat crawled up her bruised neck.
He could clearly see the angry marks around her throat and if he had taken off her corset.
Her body tensed against the thought. She wasn't ready to speak about them anyway, and certainly not with a man she had only just met.
Instead, she stubbornly stared at the floor.
"If you could have some clothes sent in and wait outside, I will dress and we can leave." Her voice was small and broken as if it had been crushed beneath heavy stone.
The room fell silent. She could feel his gaze on her, steady and unwavering. Slowly, she looked up.
Reis was watching her. The morning light caught the grey in his eyes while the rest of his face remained shadowed.
There was something surprisingly soft beneath their searching.
For a moment he looked as though he wanted to say something.
Then his jaw tightened and whatever words he was about to say stayed dead in his throat.
"There is a change of clothes in the washroom. I'll wait out here." Something sounding suspiciously like defeat was hidden in his voice.
Mirielle nodded and promptly retreated into the adjoining room, closing the door firmly behind her.
The silence of solitude enveloped her. For several long moments, she simply stood there staring at the wall.
Her thoughts felt sluggish, thick. The remnants of whatever drugs had been given to her still clouded her mind, making it difficult to grasp the full weight of everything that had happened.
Slowly, reality began to settle. The worst possible outcome had come to pass. She was going to be married and to a king no less. A violent king who possessed an army and power, who would soon possess her in every legal way.
And if he learned what she truly was. Mirielle closed her eyes.
No.
She could not allow that.
She had spent more than a decade hiding her gift from Orbin, lying, deflecting, enduring suspicion and punishment.
She could do the same with King Reis. She would have to. He would grow angry, he would punish her, he would hate her. All was preferable to becoming a weapon that could kill thousands.
Eventually she forced herself toward a gilded mirror. Her hair had been washed, her braids undone. Someone had bathed her while she was unconscious. Hopefully Reis had been telling the truth and a maid was responsible.
She began dressing in a gown that had been draped over the empty tub.
It was of sturdy fine linen, a deep muted green that would not easily show the dust of travel.
Its bodice cut under her breasts, allowing the skirt fabric to flow freely without constricting her.
The sleeves were slim and practical, ending at the wrist.
She found a pair of women's riding boots. A light riding cloak accompanied it. She quickly tied her hair in a single loose braid, washed cold water over her face and returned to the chamber.
She found the king already dressed in his armor, his sword strapped across his back. He appraised her quickly and sighed wearily. "We will get you better clothes when we cross into Kaldyr."
Mirielle looked down. She wasn't quite sure what was wrong with her clothes.
He strode toward her in long, confident strides and offered her his hand.
"Stay close to me," he said quietly, "it will be safer once we are out of the city."
She rested her hand in his obediently. His fingers closed around hers immediately. They were rough but warm, somehow contradictory to the chilling legends that followed him.
He led her out of the room into the hall, slowing his pace to match hers. The castle hall stretched before them, lit by tall windows that bled pale morning light across the marble floors. Maidservants and residents peered at them from corners and behind large vases in shocked awe.
Mirielle peeked up at him. Every feature of him seemed to be formed with sharpness. The edge of his jaw, the slants of his eyes, even his hair seemed to carry an edge. But his gaze was the sharpest of all—a living dare wrapped in grey.
"King Orbin will see you before you leave,” Reis said low enough that only she could hear. “Given the circumstances, I think it’s necessary.”
A mix of emotions passed by her face. Mostly bad ones. Luckily, she didn't have time to dwell on them.
Large wooden doors opened to a wide courtyard.
A massive black horse stood saddled and ready at its center, held by a sheepish-looking stable hand. It was the largest horse Mirielle had ever seen. It had thick heavy muscles and a shaggy coat laden with flowing feathers. She assumed it must be a breed made to survive the cold of the North.
Mirielle peered around the courtyard, hoping to catch a glimpse of the people she knew and loved. She saw Ophelia, the kitchen maid, who used to sneak her sweetrolls before dinner. No Bael. No Nyteny. A pang of loss swept across her chest.
Above her on the rampart wearing a heavy cloak was King Orbin. Carved gold glimmered over his chest. He looked every bit the picture of a king.
Mirielle seemed to shrink, only slightly, nearly imperceptible.
Reis noticed.
Reis met his gaze as a tense, silent exchange passed between them. The sort that had been happening between kings since crowns were first forged.
"We need to leave." Reis guided Mirielle towards the large horse. "Can you ride?"
"I..." she hesitated. "...only on small ponies."
"That's fine." His voice carried no irritation. They approached the monstrous horse. Mirielle had seen plenty of war horses before, positioned around guard houses throughout the castle, but none as big as this one. His back was higher than her head. His massive hooves pawed the ground.
"You don't have a king's guard?" she asked.
"Don't need one," he said in a low voice. And it was true. Double the regular guard was stationed at that courtyard and every single one of them looked at Reis in horror. His reputation seemed to do enough to instill most adversaries with crippling fear.
Reis carefully lifted Mirielle into the saddle. The motion was slow and deliberate, his hands avoiding her bruises as though he had already memorized where each one lay.
She gripped the saddle tightly, holding her perch while Reis climbed behind her with practiced ease.
Reis sat atop the black stallion like he had lived there his entire life. His face swept the courtyard with cold challenge and every guard seemed to shrink into their armor. Even the sun seemed incapable of warming him.
He held the reins in one hand. His other slipped around her waist, his palm settling on her stomach.
Mirielle went rigid. The unusual closeness was unnerving. Reis didn't seem to notice.
The heavy gates of Ambersaith loomed before them, the doorway to the only home she had ever known.
As the horse began to move, Mirielle looked behind them. She saw the crowded courtyard, the familiar windows of the palace. And high upon the ramparts she saw Orbin looming over her. Even from this distance she could feel his eyes on her, cold and cruel and furious.
The gates opened. Sunlight spilled across the road beyond. They passed beneath the shadow of the gates.
And for the first time in her life, Mirielle left Ambersaith behind.