15. Chapter 14
Chapter 14
I kept a careful eye on Adastrus, positioning myself between Lyana and his intent gaze. She evaded his presence for three days, claiming fatigue from her journey. But now, she had no excuse to refuse his royal summons to dine with him.
Clack, clack, clack.
His lifeless fingers drummed against the table, each tap echoing through the tense silence.
My worried glance found Anderz, who conversed with another noble across the way. He gave a slight nod, lowered his goblet to respond to their remark, then turned his attention back to them.
Clearly, he was no help.
I still hadn’t gained any new allies at the high court’s evening table. A nobleman to my left griped about western trade, lamenting that our borders were too tight, stifling the flow of goods.
What was I supposed to say to that?
“You weren’t kidding,” Lyana whispered, stealing a glance around me to peer at Adastrus. “The way he taps those… things, it’s unnerving.”
Clack, clack, clack.
I shifted in my seat, once again putting myself between their gazes. My brother was usually cool and aloof, content to let me sit in peace at the opposite end with the lower nobles. Even Anderz sat closer to Adastrus than I did. I settled in, placing my napkin in my lap, ready for the final course. After poking around the last dish, we could retire to the safety of our rooms.
Ethyan escaped Adastrus’ interest, as far as I could tell. He had a room in the common wing as my guest, but Anderz warned it would be grounds for hanging if he was found unescorted in my quarters. As a virtuous princess , strange men who weren’t staff or nobles were forbidden without an escort.
Something about keeping my virtue intact.
A servant approached from behind, replacing my dish with a pastry drowned in glistening fruit preserves and dusted with fine, white sugar. The sweet aroma mingled with the rich scent of roasted meats. Lyana moaned as her plate was swapped, her eyes lighting up before she attacked the dessert like a wild boar.
I smiled to myself, nudging my serving toward her. The thought of eating felt impossible with my nerves twisted in knots.
Clack, clack, clack.
I frowned, glancing up the table. My brother leaned back in his chair, openly staring at us, his black fingers tapping the oak. His features set in a flat line, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed in contemplation.
I cleared my throat, waited a few moments, then excused myself to the minor noble on my left, whose name I still didn’t know, and stood. A servant hurried to pull my chair back.
Lyana glanced up at me, sorrow clouding her eyes, purple preserves smudging the corner of her lips. “Now?”
“Aye.”
Curious heads turned our way whenever we used Common Muik. Few in Wynterborne understood it, and even fewer spoke it. As far as I knew, Sainte, Anderz, Grimm, and Urien possessed both comprehension and fluency of Muik. Among the soldiers Lyana traveled with, only a few grasped its nuances, but she did her best to teach them every curse she could.
With a whine, she stood. A servant rushed to pull her chair back while she stared at her dessert.
“Don’t–” I interjected, though not fast enough.
She seized the plate with the half-eaten pastry and twirled away, the scent of warm berries trailing behind her. With a confident swagger, she sauntered out of the dining hall, humming to herself.
I glanced back at Adastrus.
Clack, clack, clack.
After a deep breath, I rolled onto my side, bumping into Lyana’s prone form. As I attempted to turn again, I teetered close to the edge. She was such a bed hog. With a gentle kick, I nudged her to make space.
A faint murmur escaped her lips, and she kicked me back .
I huffed, then shoved myself upright. I threw my leg over her, crawling to her side–
Crack!
I froze, then whipped toward the window, wondering if the icy chill might shatter it. Thick curtains shut out any moonlight, and I squinted in the dark.
“El?” Lyana moaned underneath me.
“Shh!” I hissed, eyes wide, searching the darkness for any movements in the shadows.
Glass exploded with a sharp crash. I didn’t wait for a shout or war cry. I tumbled off the bed, pulling Lyana with me. The thud of us hitting the floor muffled her startled yelp, the impact jarring my shoulder. With my back plastered to the bedframe, I strained to hear over the blood rushing in my ears. The rapid pounding of footsteps echoed across my room, drowning out everything else.
I nudged Lyana, adrenaline heightening every sense. “Go! Get out of here!”
I seized a decorative book from my side table and hurled it toward the window. Whoever lurked would soon face a barrage of objects. Lyana darted as I grabbed everything within reach and launched it in a frenzy—candles, books, a vase. An audible ‘oof’ sounded as an object struck true. Out of hard things to grab, I yanked the blanket off the bed. As I held it out, ready to gather it to throw, something slammed into my stomach.
The impact forced a guttural sound from my lungs. I collapsed with a visceral scream, writhing like an eel out of water, as the weight of my attacker pinned me, the blanket between us.
A slew of High Wynter curses pierced the air, and I lurched to the side just as a heavy blow landed beside me with a resounding thud. By the searing sting in my hip, I could only assume it was a knife.
With renewed vigor, I unleashed a flurry of kicks, bucks, and frenzied thrusts. I managed to tangle their hands within the blanket’s folds, attempting to grasp their wrists beneath the fabric.
The sudden crash of the door slamming open accompanied the resounding thuds of heavy footfalls. Startled, my attacker retreated, their oppressive weight lifting off me. Fueled by determination, I lunged, seizing whatever I could—be it a boot, a pillow, anything—to ensure they wouldn’t get away.
“Hold!”
I struggled on the floor, legs twisted in the fabric.
“Shoot, you dirty piles of worm dung!” I shrieked as I kicked the blanket off and leapt to my feet.
Four armored guards positioned themselves within my chamber, two brandishing drawn swords while the other pair aimed crossbows toward my window. Startled, I spun around to face the source of disturbance, only to discover Lyana perched amidst the shattered glass, her figure silhouetted by a lantern’s glow. She peered upward with a mixture of frustration and anger evident in her cursing.
“Your Highness! Are you all right?!” one guard asked, lowering his sword.
Another, with a bow, darted for the chamber’s entrance, bellowing something down the hall. Lyana approached, the warm glow of her lantern casting eerie shadows along the walls. My gaze shifted downwards, fixating on the crimson stain seeping across my white nightgown.
“I guess not.”
“We knew it would happen sooner or later.”
“I hoped for later.”
My breath hissed past gritted teeth as Gilead worked. The promised numbness from the ointment she applied did nothing for the sting of someone threading a needle through flesh.
In the dim confines of the windowless chamber, I lay on my side, the sterile scent of medicinal supplies pricking at my nausea. Across from me, Lyana watched Gilead’s meticulous work with a mix of fascination and concern etched into her features. Sainte perched on a stool nearby, his piercing blue gaze fixed on me, carrying an unspoken accusation, as if I was to blame for the entire situation.
Anderz maintained a composed stance at the foot of the bed, hands clasped together in a quiet display of resolve. Meanwhile, Urien lounged against the doorframe, picking his nails with a wicked-looking dagger.
“Something sent him over the edge,” he said.
Anderz gave him a bored leer. “Prince Regent Adastrus is not her only enemy within the castle.”
“The only one so bold,” Sainte added.
Lyana leaned closer to the wound along my side. “Do you tie it off like a regular stitch?”
“Watch,” Gilead murmured.
Sainte winced, straightening his posture, eyes locked on me. “She needs a Valahant.”
“A what?” I asked.
“Careful, Captain,” Urien warned. His hands went still as he stared at the back of Sainte’s head.
“What is that?” I never heard the word before, but it was familiar, as if it had roots in Wynterborne.
“Done,” Gilead sighed, gathering her supplies.
Anderz tapped his lip as if contemplating. “A Valahant is…”
“An extension of yourself,” Sainte finished, cool gaze still fixed on mine.
The counselor nodded. “Many countries refer to them as champions or protectors.”
“A personal guard?” I offered. “I’ve seen them in the ports.”
“It’s more than that, Princess,” Anderz said. “They are, as the captain put it, an extension of yourself. They would be bound to you in life and death.”
“Never free to pursue their own will,” Urien added, deathly still.
Lyana scoffed. “Well, that’s awful.”
“It is,” he agreed. “Post her own guard. The prince can’t deny her request for protection.”
Anderz lifted a gray brow. “And you would trust those picked by our dear regent to protect her?”
With Lyana’s help, I sat upright, adjusting my gown. “Do I get a say in this?”
“No.” Every man in the room answered in unison.
Lyana snickered, and I turned my glare on her. With a huff, I folded my arms, the movement slow to avoid tugging at my stitches.
Sainte dipped his chin. “I will do it.”
My glower narrowed. “I choose Urien,” I said, just to spite the men and their plans.
“You can’t.” Urien pushed off the doorframe, straightening. “If you did, the prince would claim Sainte and pit him against us.”
“Then what’s stopping Adastrus from claiming you? Wouldn’t the result be the same?”
“He would never pick me.” A dangerous glint sparked in Urien’s gaze, dark and menacing. “He learned that lesson before.”
“How ominous,” Lyana muttered.
“He poisoned him once,” Sainte ground out.
Urien scoffed, waving him off with a flippant gesture. “Rumors, rumors.”
Anderz cleared his throat, directing the conversation back to the topic at hand. “The Vahalant has to be willing. They would forfeit the possibility of familial ties and any titles or land they may have. They would offer their entire life.”
My mouth parted. “No.”
He had no family, and gods knew deep down I was jealous of that possibility. Yet, in all the desolate expanse of the Great Iceland, I would never shackle him with such an agreement.
“I am willing.”
“And I said no!” I shot back, looking to Anderz for help.
He watched me with that annoying calmness of his. “What is your reasoning, my petulant princess?”
“Deeply held religious beliefs.” I sniffed, lifting my chin .
Lyana cackled, and I’m pretty sure I heard Gilead choke on a laugh.
“As a Valahant, he would go where you go, sleep where you sleep—”
My gut twisted with nerves.
“—eat what you eat and drink what you drink. It was common practice for generations.”
“Back when we were all barbarians?” My voice pitched unnervingly high.
“Would you consider the prince regent anything less?”
“Ugh!” I spun, finding Lyana with a silent plea for help.
Her eyes opened wide in understanding, and she cleared her throat. Propping her chin on her folded hands, she batted her eyelashes at Anderz. “What if she happened to have romantic feelings for the Valahant?”
“Lyana!”
“In the past of course!”
Heat stung my cheeks as I hurled a pillow at her. Pain flared from the stitches in my side. I thanked the numbing cream for dulling the ache.
“Though I wouldn’t advise it, pleasure would not be a question of morality.”
“Gods, no.” I buried my face in my palms, positive the tips of my ears were on fire.
“Children, however, could be a problem,” Anderz continued, “especially if you take a spouse.”
“Gods and goddesses above and beneath, Lyana. I’m going to kill you,” I growled.
“I would have a moment with Princess Elspeth,” Sainte murmured.
Oh, if given a moment with Sainte, I’d murder him out of sheer embarrassment.
“Well enough,” Anderz replied.
The small group shuffled out, Lyana’s fingers brushing my shoulder in passing. The door clicked shut, sealing in the awkward silence.
“Elspeth–”
“No, Sainte. No.”
“Look at me.”
“If I do, I’ll slap you.”
“Then slap me!”
I yanked my face out of my hands and stared at his livid features.
“Do you know how close that was tonight? How close I was to–” He took a sharp breath and exhaled through his nose, keeping his eyes on mine. “I have a blanket to thank.”
My pulse slammed in my chest. “It was a lovely blanket.”
“A cursed shred of fabric is all that saved you. That and the sheer luck of Lyana in your bed.”
“Better her than you. ”
He flinched as if I had slapped him, recoiling with an expression of confused shock.
“Sainte, if you were my Valahant, you’d sleep where I sleep?!” I spat, shaking my head in disbelief.
“I’ve no care who you take to your bed.”
For some reason, that hurt more than I expected.
“You don’t get it,” I shot back, rising to poke him in the chest. “You would give up your life—that part I understood as clear as day. I’m free to do what I want, apparently, but your future vanishes with one lousy vow. No wife, no children, no cottage in the woods—you’d lose it all!”
He lunged forward, causing me to drop onto the bed. He advanced with a menacing glare, slamming his hands on the mattress. I scrambled backward as he loomed over me, his breath hot on my face.
“No. You don’t get it, Princess .” His eyes, cold and angry, bore into mine. “I swore my allegiance to the kingdom years ago. My life is forfeit, my–” He broke off, shaking his head and looking away, wrestling with something deep inside. When his gaze returned, it was softer, calmer. “I made a vow, Elspeth. I vowed to serve the throne, and I cannot serve this regent.”
Understanding dawned as I realized his urgent need to bring me to Wynterborne. This wasn’t just about the kingdom or my duty. It was about his honor. He embodied loyalty and integrity. My Sainte couldn’t uphold his pledge to the throne with my brother on it.
“But what about your desires? If you could choose freely, without your vow?” I bit my lip, exhaling slowly. “What would you do? Where would you go?”
“Nowhere.”
“Your dreams, Sainte. What do you envision for your future? I don’t want to rob you of a family, of the freedom to choose.”
He drew in a deep breath and held it, locking eyes with me. Silence stretched, and my heart raced as I studied his cool blue irises, flecked with silver under the lantern’s glow.
“I would choose you, Ellie. Every time, I would choose you.”
Anderz warned me. Sainte assured me. Yet nothing prepared me for my brother’s reaction.
“What?!” Adastrus abandoned all decorum, his hair brushing across his furrowed brow.
“I demand a Valahant of my choosing,” I reiterated, chin lifted in defiance .
As Counselor Dyre instructed, I approached him in the Hall of Receiving, prepared to confront him. He told me I could seek him out privately, yet facing him in front of nobles would compel him to honor the request. Surrounded by onlookers, my breath seemed to reverberate against the lofty ceilings. Sainte stood behind me, a silent support. Meanwhile, Anderz mingled with the crowd, whispering to a nearby noble.
Adastrus lounged in the gem-encrusted chair atop the dais. It resembled a throne more than a seat for common pleas, but who was I to judge?
“That’s an ancient custom you invoke, sister,” he remarked, his posture relaxed yet his eyes sharp and calculating as they fixed on Sainte.
“Tradition is tradition. Law is law. I’m not asking, brother.” I quoted the words Anderz told me to say. He said it would move the nobles, and as I spoke, murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“Ah, so there it is. You survive one rite unscathed and believe you're destined for the throne.”
My lips pressed tight. I needed to choose my words with care. I was ill-equipped for this conversation.
“Less than a month you’ve been here and already you try to remove me.” His dead fingers drummed on the hard wood of the chair.
Clack, clack, clack.
“I would name Sainte Nytestorm as my Valahant.”
“Predictable.”
Adastrus pushed to his feet. Angry sparks flew from his eyes, a sharp contrast to his easy smile as he descended the steps, reaching me on level ground. It must have irked him that I was nearly as tall as he was—he couldn’t look down on me anymore. I struggled to stay composed as he drew closer, his gaze flicking to Sainte.
“Do you know the old customs, Captain?”
I turned, keeping Adastrus in my sight as he circled Sainte, who stood unwavering under the scrutiny, his head held high.
“Do you realize you’ll be a mere puppet—”
I fought a thrum of panic as he moved behind Sainte and whispered in his ear.
“—just as they wish her to be?”
As my lips parted to speak, movement from the crowd caught my eye. Anderz shifted in his seat, pressing his fingers to his mouth. His golden eyes bore a silent warning.
“I am willing,” Sainte declared, gaze fixed ahead.
“Willing, but not eager? Yes, I can’t imagine any man would be eager to provide for her needs.”
A tic worked in Sainte’s jaw, but he remained still .
“Him?” Adastrus’ hand settled on his left shoulder, resting his chin on the other. His dead-black fingers dug in as he smirked behind Sainte. “You would demand him?”
“Yes. I demand Sainte Nyte–”
My teeth slammed together as my brother rammed his fist into the small of Sainte's back. He grunted, staggering with the blow, but remained upright. His eyes fluttered shut, as if he were pulling himself to another time or place.
“The first lesson, dear sister, is that your Valahant must take a beating,” Adastrus declared, dragging his lifeless fingers across his back, eliciting a wince, before circling to his front. “We wouldn’t want,” he threw a fist into his stomach, causing him to stumble and gasp, “you to be protected by someone weak.”
My whole body trembled with rage, my vision blurring with red as I witnessed my brother pummel Sainte.
And he took it.
He stood firm, absorbing each blow.
“You see, little sister. Your Valahant is a part of you, almost as if they were you.” When Adastrus’ fist collided with Sainte’s face, blood spurted from his nose, an angry welt forming on his cheek.
This wasn’t about Sainte or any bones he might have with him.
It was about me.
“Truly brother, if you want to strike me, I’m right here.” My voice shook with anger. It was reckless, but I couldn’t care less.
Adastrus turned and Sainte’s heaving breaths filled the silence. His sickly green eyes locked on to mine as he raised his hand, licking the blood from it like a cat would clean its paw. Disgust surged through me, and I couldn’t hide my grimace.
“Oh no, sweet sister. I would not hit you.” The malice in his words hinted at other forms of torment. “I’m merely teaching you a lesson. Remember our last? You were such a good student.”
I struggled to maintain composure, forcing myself to stay calm. I couldn’t lash out. Impulsivity was not an option. It would endanger both my life and Sainte’s.
But if I was ever given the chance…
I would kill him.
“I remember it well. Will you provide me a velebond, or must I seek out a common smithy?”
Adastrus made a sound of contemplation as he tapped his jaw, turning back to Sainte.
No, no, no.
My brother gestured for a servant to leave, and they scurried off. He then circled behind once more, resting his head on Sainte’s shoulder, casting a sidelong glance my way. Despite his bleeding nose, swelling eye, and ragged breath, Captain Nytestorm stood resolute.
“Have you bedded him?”
My cheeks flushed with fresh anger as my hands balled into tighter fists, nails biting into my skin.
He smirked. “Not yet then, I see.”
“Whom I bed is none of your concern, nor anyone else’s,” I spat, thrusting my chin up.
“So long as you take the blood tea, perhaps not. But remember–” He snapped his fingers, as if recalling something, then returned to Sainte’s front. “When you rut like dogs in heat, do be silent. Not everyone wants to hear a howling bi—” he snapped his knee up but Sainte's powerful thighs caught the strike before it hit true. Adastrus stumbled, bracing himself on Sainte’s shoulders. A calm, deadly storm swirled over his features.
“Careful, Captain.” He leaned close, resting his forehead against his. “Treason is but a breath away.”
A sickening feeling churned in my stomach as Sainte relaxed, letting him go. My brother grinned and patted his shoulder, as if this entire scene were a jest.
Fury boiled within, fueled by the helplessness of the moment. Adastrus planted a hatred in me I’d never felt before. I would claim the throne, not for power, but to shield Sainte from such malice. This growing contempt only strengthened my resolve. He would never be king—he’d be a tyrant, seizing whatever he desired, whenever he pleased.
There was no place for Adastrus on the throne of Wynterborne.
Quick footsteps approached, echoing through the chamber’s silence. The servant bowed low before the regent, presenting an ornate box.
“Ah, the velebond. I trust you chose only the best for my little sister.” He snatched the box, his grip rough as he peered inside. “A kitten, quite suitable.”
When he tossed it to me, I caught it, fumbling in my rage.
He turned away, striding back up the stairs to the dais, gesturing dismissively. “Be sure to collar your kitten tightly.” He spun and collapsed into his seat, bringing his bloody knuckles to his lips. “Wouldn’t want him to stray.”