Captive and Crowned

by Elizabeth Newsom

  “But maybe he meant the,” she drew a finger across her neck, “kind of disappear.”

  Draven shook his head. “If they want Kimberly to be queen, they’ll be happy if you’re out of the picture at all. Since your Hybrid blood has yet to be verified, if you disappear, the King will need to marry Kimberly in order to access his legislative powers.”

  While shadows had flooded the narrow streets before, now the sun was overhead, pouring its hot rays onto the city below. Evelyn swiped her fingers over her damp hairline. “So why do they want Kimberly to be queen anyway? What could they get from her that they couldn’t from me? Would she be able to grant them more power? Would the King allow that?”

  Draven shrugged. “Who knows the ways of the Scorpio? You should primarily be focusing on your escape anyhow. Speaking of which, have you gotten the seal?”

  “Well… no.”

  “Then I’d suggest obtaining the seal with all haste. After all,” his green gaze pierced hers, “your life depends on it.”

  14

  Betrayed By a Kiss

  “Would you join me for dinner in my room tonight?” someone asked behind Evelyn.

  Evelyn turned in her seat to face the King as Camellia let out a surprised squeak. He stood in the entryway of the door connecting their rooms. For such a large man, he could be incredibly quiet. As the King stepped into the room, the fairies dipped into curtsies.

  Evelyn rose as well, preparing to sink into a curtsey, but the King held out his palm. “There’s no need for that, Evelyn.”

  With nothing else to do, she clasped her hands and smiled prettily. Her legs felt so wobbly and weak that she locked her knees. When she and Draven had returned, he’d led her up the stairs of the secret passage to her room, so she’d know the way, then back down to his room where her guards awaited. Then she marched back up another flight of stairs to reach her room.

  Needless to say, she’d had quite enough of stairs for one day. And the long walk through Octavya hadn’t helped matters either.

  The King nodded in dismissal to the fairies, and they fluttered from the room. As he approached, she kept the smile firmly fixed to her face.

  He studied her expression. “I was hoping to dine with the real Evelyn tonight.”

  Evelyn suppressed a startle and tilted her head to the side, allowing her loose hair to partially drape her face; the fairies hadn’t had time to put it up. “And who is that?”

  The King brushed her hair off her face. “I assure you, you’ll know her when you see her.”

  “How so?” And this was the part where he tried to woo her. She steeled herself in preparation. No matter how sweet he could act at times, she was escaping in sixteen days.

  “She’s rather small, loud, and irritable.”

  A loud snort burst from her nose before she could stifle it.

  A rather pleasant smile softened the King’s lips. “And I think I’ve found her. Would you join me for dinner in my quarters?”

  Seriously, this man was so capricious. His icy treatment was interrupted by bouts of moments like this. Was she a nuisance? Or did he actually like her?

  After a few seconds of silence, the smile on his lips faded.

  “Yes. Of course.” Poisoning him was on her to-do list anyway. She avoided glancing at the vanity, where she’d hidden the Manasseh. “If you’ll go to your room, I can put my hair into something more queenly before joining you.”

  His gaze combed through her long, loose tresses. “Yes, I think that would be for the best.”

  As he turned his back and strode away, she released a sigh. She was glad she was leaving him. The power he gained through their marriage was all that mattered to him, and as long as she was here, he would never stop trying to stuff her into the mold of a Torvan queen. Though with the commoners’ views of her, she could hardly fault him.

  Evelyn grabbed the vial from beneath the vanity and stuffed it down her corset before tying her hair back. The fairies weren’t here to help her with anything elaborate, so she’d have to settle for a braid.

  Evelyn strode into the King’s room. A silver platter had been set on a table, covering the entire surface. The King pulled her chair out for her before scooting it in and seating himself.

  She sipped at her gemen, relieved to find it was as sweet as the King had said it was during their first dinner. Except for the clink of silverware, they were silent.

  Evelyn cleared her throat. “So, I have a question.”

  He glanced up from his plate.

  “Are wolves… common in Torva?” She thought back to the black wolf she’d seen earlier and suppressed a shudder. If so, it’d make her escape that much harder.

  “In the forest surrounding Octavya, yes. You’ve noticed the walls and moat?”

  “Not the moat.”

  “Should you ever see the outside of the walls, you’ll see the moat. It’s actually a river that’s been diverted around Octavya. The fast-flowing waters are to protect us from the Malakrai—the wolves. The wolves live in burrows during the day and only venture out at night, which is why no one is permitted to leave or enter the city after dusk.”

  All this protection was just for the wolves? She hoped Draven had a plan to avoid them.

  “Now I would ask a question of you.”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you miss anyone on Earth?”

  He wanted her to admit that she was trying to escape. Nuh-uh. Not going to happen. “Not at all.”

  “No?”

  “No one back on Earth cares about me anyway, remember? My father hates me. My mother left me when I was a baby.” Though she’d probably been forced to. “My sister almost hates me as much as my father. And my boyfriend recently dumped me.”

  “I wasn’t asking whether someone misses you, Evelyn, but rather if you miss anyone. For example, do you still love this boyfriend of yours?”

  Wow, getting personal here. She shrugged. “I hope not.”

  “You hope not? It’s not a difficult question, Evelyn. Either you do or you don’t.”

  “Love is more complicated than that.”

  “Then how do you know you loved him at all during your relationship? Did you love him?”

  “Of course. He was the only one who could make me happy or brighten my day. And I was always thinking about when I’d get to see him again.” She cleared her throat. “But, of course, he’s out of the picture now, and I’m your bride, not his.” She whipped out her most charming smile.

  The King rubbed his chin. “I’m not certain you loved him in the first place.” He seemed not to have heard her last statement—or cared.

  As if Mr. Frosty knew what love was. She nodded, her hands clasped in her lap. “Of course, Your Highness.”

  A smile ghosted across his lips. “Aren’t you agreeable tonight?” He leaned forward. “Do you know why I don’t think you loved him?”

  “Why?”

  “Your love for him was based on how he made you feel.”

  “Is that so wrong?”

  “Perhaps not wrong, but you shouldn’t masquerade your infatuation as love. Love isn’t a feeling; it’s a selfless choice based on the other person’s best interests. Your so-called love was based on pursuing what made you happy.”

  She clenched her jaw to trap her retort. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  “Evelyn, you can be honest.”

  He wanted honesty? Fine. She folded her arms. “Your current day-to-day behavior hardly qualifies as loving, according to your description. If you really believe what you say, why don’t you act like it?”

  “Because I don’t love you.”

  She knew that, so why did hearing those words hurt so much? She glanced down—wishing her hair were still loose, so she could hide behind its veil—and blinked a few times to clear her vision.

  “Evelyn. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Evelyn sucked in a fortifying breath. She didn’t need love from the likes of him anyway. “So I guess you just plan on us
loving each other… eventually?”

  “Not quite.” His gaze darted away from hers. “Our marriage is rather unique.”

  No kidding.

  “And since we were wed under such unusual circumstances, it’s likely in both our best interests if we avoid becoming too invested in one another.”

  “You mean you want us to avoid loving each other?”

  “I do think some level of intimacy and informality necessary, especially for the making of an heir, but we would both be happier, perhaps, if we didn’t love each other.”

  She shook her head slowly. All this time, she’d thought his sudden bursts of tenderness were to coax her into falling in love with him. “How would that make us happier?”

  “We’ll hurt each other less, especially if one of us should die.” He stared into his goblet. “Since you’re a Hybrid, I have no idea how you’ll age compared to other Torvans.”

  “So you’ve decided not to love me, because I’ll probably die before you?”

  He said nothing and didn’t lift his gaze.

  She forced a shrug. “You’re right; that probably is for the best. Glad we cleared that up.”

  “As am I.”

  She leaned forward to pluck a disc of bread from the plate, and the hidden vial pressed against her stomach. That’s right. She wasn’t here to talk about love; she was here to poison him. But how? His goblet and food were on the other side of the table. There was no way she could slip the Manasseh out of her corset and reach across to poison his food unnoticed.

  The King cleared his throat. “In the near future, I’d like you to attend court with me in lieu of your lessons. Eventually, you might even assist me in doling out judgment.”

  “Of course. Your Highness.”

  “Alaric.”

  “As you wish, Alaric.”

  He stared at her steadily, lips pursed. She knew he likely wasn’t pleased with her demure façade, but he’d just said he’d decided he’d never love her. Even if her good little queen act didn’t lull him into complacency, at least it would serve as a buffer between her heart and his.

  Two Days Later

  She was uncomfortable for two reasons.

  One: despite the autumnal season, the air was stale and warm, due to the sheer number of people packed into the throne room. The heat plastered her dress to her skin.

  Two: these thrones were not designed for comfort. The padded cushion barely softened the marble seat beneath her. At least her throne wasn’t enormous like Alaric’s. It had obviously been designed with a human-blooded Hybrid in mind, so her armrests were well within reach.

  A red rug flowed through the room to the golden double doors like a river of blood. The four pillars closest to the throne room were adorned with tapestries, one pillar for each country of Torva—Taijeng, Arwa, Cade, and Silva. Each country’s name was sewn onto the bottom of its respective tapestry. One knight stood on the right side of her throne, and the other stood on the left side of Alaric’s.

  Natural light poured from the windows behind the thrones. Towering golden doors lined the sidewalls. Supposedly, the pair of small, rounded doors at the end led sentenced criminals and their armed escorts to the dungeons. At least, that was what her guards had told her when she’d asked.

  A commoner walked away and another commoner approached. She fidgeted in her seat. How did King Alaric stand this? Her eyes trailed the clustered line of commoners all the way out of the throne room.

  Evelyn felt a tug of guilt at her selfishness as the woman’s words echoed back to her: …he’s turned out to be a fine king. It’s unfortunate he doesn’t have a queen to match.

  These petitions were important to the people, and she’d even tried to insert helpful comments where she could—partially to keep up her good queen act and partially to stave off her guilt.

  Some petitions tugged painfully at her heartstrings—like the mother whose son had gone missing, which was why she’d requested an increased number of knights on patrol at night, or the man who’d requested funding to invent a cure for Bloodburn, a disease his wife had died from.

  But most were complaining about fines they’d paid for misdemeanors, fighting over property borders with neighbors, or protesting the tax rate. And though she tried, she was finding it hard to care about those as much as she ought to.

  Evelyn stifled a yawn. To make matters worse, she’d barely slept the past two nights. She couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss of the assassin’s knife against her neck. Hopefully, Draven was right, and they’d leave her alone once she escaped.

  The commoner pressed his forehead to the rug. “Your Majesty.”

  “Rise. You are well met. What is your petition?” The King sat back against the throne, his wings splayed and draped over the armrests, their ends brushing the ground.

  The man rose to his feet. “I humbly ask that you consider buying more potatoes for Torvan soldiers as opposed to Coran bread. I’m a potato farmer, and from my experience, I know them to be more nutritious, less likely to mold…”

  A few minutes later, the man stopped talking about the benefits of potatoes, and King Alaric spoke, “While I appreciate your insight on this matter, I’m afraid the previous king has already made a law determining what proportion of what types of food ought to be bought for Torvan soldiers. I’m unable to change this until the Council has verified the Queen’s Hybrid blood, allowing me access to my legislative powers. As of now, we’re looking through records and attempting to trace her mother’s bloodline to ensure it has Torvan origins. Be assured that once I access these legislative powers, I will consider your petition.”

  The commoner opened his mouth to speak again, but a knight jogged up to the King’s side and bent to whisper in his ear, “I would have a private audience with you, Your Majesty.” His voice was loud enough that she could hear it, soft enough that no one else would.

  The King turned sharply. “Have any of them spoken?”

  “Yes, but not much.”

  “I would see the smugglers.”

  “I have had them brought up from their cells. They await you in the vestibule to the dungeons.”

  Smugglers in the dungeons? What had happened? Were they talking about some sort of interrogation? It must be urgent if the knight had interrupted.

  “Court is recessed.” The King stood and walked down the steps, the knight at his side.

  Evelyn rose to her feet too and scurried after them, her skirt fluttering around her ankles. He hadn’t told her to stay, so she might as well go and see what all the fuss was about. The knight held one arched door open, and King Alaric strode past. Though the knight eyed her as she entered, he didn’t stop her.

  A metallic smell washed over her, and she stifled a gag. She peered around the King. Four men stood before him, bracketed by knights on either side. Blackened blood crusted their skin and darkened their clothes.

  The knight walked toward King Alaric and stopped in front of him. “After interrogation, the smugglers have admitted little concerning who hired them to bring the Achilles Gems. Except for this one.” The knight inclined his head toward a particular prisoner.

  The knight behind the prisoner shoved him forward. The man stumbled and collapsed to his knees. Tremors wracked his tortured body.

  The stench grew stronger, not only of blood, but also of vomit, filth, and singed flesh. Evelyn cupped her hands over her mouth and nose. She backed away until she hit the wooden door.

  She wanted to close her eyes, to shut it all out, but she couldn’t stop examining the men’s skin, crumpled with burns, ripped with oozing gashes, and painted purple with bruises. Her chest tightened.

  The knight nudged the man, and a slow moan dribbled from the man’s lips. “Tell the King what you told me.”

  The man’s gaze crept upward before meeting the King’s eyes. He remained silent.

  “Tell him.” Before she blinked, the knight had snatched a coil of whip from his belt. It shot out like a snake before biting into the man’s bac
k.

  The prisoner sucked in a ragged breath. His blood ran into the crevices of the stone, and a new burst of red colored his shirt.

  King Alaric jerked before turning as stiff and cold as stone. He obviously didn’t like seeing the men tortured, so why wasn’t he doing anything?

  A kick to the man’s side had him curled on the ground. A few spots of red glazed the knight’s armor. “Tell him, you skimmer.”

  He gurgled and sputtered as his chest rose, like he was choking on his own blood. He spat a glob of red. “The Scorpio will rise again.”

  The knight raised the whip once more.

  She bit her lip, but a noise escaped. Something between a soft sob and a whimper.

  The King turned. His eyes widened, then narrowed. “Hang it, Evelyn. You shouldn’t have come.”

  She was worried if she opened her mouth, she’d start vomiting or sobbing. Nausea constricted around her chest. Vomiting it was, then.

  Alaric grasped her shoulder and steered her into the corner of the room. He tucked strands of hair behind her ears. Her insides cramped. Then she heaved up her last meal, a sharp, sour tang flooding her mouth.

  Alaric turned her toward him and wiped her mouth with his sleeve. “It’s all right. I did that my first time as well.”

  His first time? She stepped back from him. How could he stand looking at torture like this? And more importantly, why?

  He tensed, as if he could sense her hardening. “One of you, escort the Queen back to her quarters please.”

  One of the knights stepped forward and bowed toward her. “Your Highness.” He gestured to a door. She followed him, running from the sight of torture and the man who had ordered it to be done.

  Evelyn was in her Room, sitting on her sofa with her legs curled against her chest. She couldn’t stop thinking about the smugglers, how their gashes openly wept blood, how they stank of vomit and burnt flesh. She’d seen movies that were more graphic, but this was different. This was real.

  She glanced around her Room, at the pictures on the wall, the stuffed animals on the shelves. Homesickness clamped over her chest, squeezing until it hurt to breathe. She missed Earth. She missed the little conveniences she’d taken for granted—like having coffee in the morning—and she missed interacting with people like herself. It’d been so long since she’d had a normal conversation with someone, about school or graduation plans or even the latest Marvel movie.