Chapter 5
Reis had a problem.
He had a simple plan, really—get in, buy her, get out, then hide her in Rosthein, deep in snow-filled mountains where other kings and armies couldn't reach her. One less problem for him to worry about. One less threat looming on the horizon.
They would be married. He wouldn't do her the dishonor of denying her that. He liked the idea of a Siraelean queen anyway. He felt like it righted an ancient wrong.
But then he assumed they would both stick to their own lives. She would be free to do as she pleased so long as she stayed close and any gifts she had were stable.
Then he saw her.
Gods.
Reis had spent his life around Northern women, strong women, hard women carved from snowstorms and freezing winters. Beautiful in their own way perhaps, but nothing like this.
Mirielle looked as though she had been made from softer things entirely—candlelight, silk, moonlight reflecting over dark water. The kind of beauty that was shaped from quieter things. There was something unmistakably fragile about her, like a cool flame caught in a winter storm.
He had heard of the Siraelean line and knew of their gray eyes, black hair and pale skin.
Her eyes weren't really gray but silver, like an ancient lake trapped under ice.
Even the center wasn't black but steel gray, as if they had refused to let darkness be any part of them.
There was something old and ancient about her eyes, as if they had seen far too many battles and remembered every one.
And now he had two weeks of this ahead of him.
Two weeks with her sitting in front of him in the saddle, soft and warm against his chest like some kind of divine punishment.
Which was a problem because he needed to be focused and vigilant.
Instead he kept finding himself aware of ridiculous things—the softness of her waist beneath his hand, the quiet sound of her breathing, the way she unconsciously leaned back into him whenever Hank jostled too hard.
Reis could tell by the way she moved that she had never received any kind of combat training. Her movements were careful, not cautious. Reis knew the difference. A careful person expected danger. A cautious one knew how to survive it. She watched all the wrong things.
Yet she possessed a different kind of resilience. He had expected a crying, weepy princess. Instead, she had accepted her fate with more fortitude than he expected. She just wanted to be treated fairly. He could respect that.
His gaze wandered down to the back of her neck. Mirielle had clearly been assaulted recently. He could see the angry marks that circled her throat. He could tell by the way she breathed that she had a bruise on her ribs.
It left him twitchy with violence to see a marred woman.
The fact that she was so southern and fragile made it all the more worse.
She was all soft and silk edges. Every instinct in him rebelled at the thought of anyone raising a hand to her.
It felt less like anger and more like rage as though the world itself had violated some sacred rule.
Reis had a soft spot for wounded women. It was why women weren't allowed in his army—except Jude but Jude was... Jude.
He had seen enough daughters buried. He never once regretted turning down all of them.
It seemed like danger was drawn to Mirielle, though. He left her alone for half an hour. Half a fucking hour to negotiate her bride price and some spoiled prince tried to corner her.
Reis’s jaw tightened at the memory. Reis was lucky the bastard had used a sedative instead of force. He remembered the moment he felt it, her heartbeat slowing, faint but distinct enough he could have heard the difference from the other side of the cursed castle.
Wrong.
He was moving before he even understood why.
The prince enjoyed a drink of his own later that evening, one carrying a similar little surprise.
From what Reis overheard from the maids that morning, the pig ended the night face down in the palace gardens with his trousers around his ankles and vomit all over him. That improved Reis’s mood considerably.
He let out a slow breath and listened. Heartbeats bloomed in his awareness. He narrowed his focus to hers. It was distinct. It stumbled through its rhythm. A skipped beat, a flutter, then it found its pace again. It was the unmistakable drum of a murmur.
For a while he tried to smooth the worst of its turbulent rhythm. To take away some of the strain. Then he forced himself to let it be. He needed to focus on the task at hand. There were too many people in this city, too many dark corners.
But she was weary. He heard her heart working harder than it should.
He saw the way her eyes wandered blankly at the changing surroundings as they traveled through the ever-moving city.
The sedative was still working its way through her blood.
Her body was fighting that poison while trying to mend the injuries she'd already suffered.
He just wanted to find an inn, tuck her in bed and forbid her from moving until every wound had healed.
It was an absurd thought. Every mile north increased her safety. They needed to get to Kaldyr.
"If you need to rest, lean back," he said in a low voice. "You can sleep if you need to." It was not enough, but it was what he could offer. She only searched him carefully before turning her attention back to the crowd around her.
They passed like a shadow shifting its way through shaded streets. People moved around them as they traveled through the city. Eyes widened, mouths gaped and fingers pointed. He felt her shrink into him, clearly unused to the attention.
Carts ground over worn cobblestone as they made their way through the markets. Vendors shouted from market stalls draped in striped fabric of every color. Smells of fried meats, yeast, delicate soaps and perfumes filled the air.
"Is this a market?” she asked quietly, breaking their pensive silence.
Of all the questions he was prepared for from her, that wasn't one of them. He blinked hard as he stumbled for an answer and landed on the only appropriate one he could think of.
“...Yes."
He watched her for a moment. Her gaze kept jumping to new things, like everything, no matter how obscure, fascinated her completely. Then realization dawned.
"Princess," he said slowly, "have you never seen a market before?"
She shifted in front of him. “I wasn't allowed outside the castle.”
“You weren't allowed?”
“I was allowed in the gardens,” she mumbled. "I was told it was dangerous outside."
“Who told you that?”
She shrugged. "Everyone really.”
Reis looked out over the crowded street. Merchants shouting over one another. Children darting between wagons chasing mangy dogs. Smoke curling from food stalls. Ordinary things. Things she should have known years ago.
She was twenty-two. Twenty-two years locked between four walls.
“Your whole world ended at those walls,” he said, still reeling from disbelief.
Mirielle's gaze dropped to her hands.
"You've never seen mountains?" he asked. "Forests? Rivers?"
“I’ve read about them.”
He stared ahead for a moment. That hurt worse somehow.
He watched the way her eyes lingered on every new thing, looking at the world the way a child would.
"And your parents were fine with that?"
She shifted uneasily in the saddle. "My father was sick for most of what I remember. My mother left when I was five."
"Left?"
Mirielle nodded. He waited for the rest. It never came.
"Did she die?" he asked carefully.
"No."
His jaw tightened.
"She just went away."
"Went where?"
"I don't know." She shrugged. The motion seemed far too practiced, like it was a question she had given up asking years ago.
"And your cousin?"
She immediately hid her gaze from him beneath her hair. Her heart skipped. He watched her search for a careful answer before speaking. "He provided my needs."
"Your needs." His voice turned dangerously quiet. "Keeping you locked up in there?"
"I was protected."
Reis let out a sharp sound of disbelief. "You weren't fucking protected. Look at you."
He immediately regretted the edge in his voice.
Her whole body tensed as she clenched the saddle tighter, whitening her knuckles. He could feel her heart speeding and skipping.
Thump thump swish thump thump swish.
It was a far more severe reaction than any normal person should have.
Reis shut his eyes briefly. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, more controlled. “We’ll talk about this later.” His hand settled more securely around her waist. “Rest, princess. Once we’re far enough from the city we’ll stop for food and beds.”
Mirielle said nothing after that.
Slowly, exhaustion won over tension. Her body softened against him until she finally leaned back against the hard steel of his breastplate. She watched the city pass, her expression distant and hollowed by far too much change.
Reis looked down at her and felt guilt settle heavily in his chest. Her first time seeing the world beyond those walls and it had come on the worst day of her life.