Twisted: Belle's Story (Destined Book 3)

by Kaylin Lee

  “I’m … well, I’m here because …” My mind went blank, and I stumbled over the words, unable to force them out. What would she think if she knew I was suspected of endangering the city? She’d risked her life to save the city, and here I was, a wealthy Procus lady accused of trying to destroy it for the sake of vanity.

  Ella pressed me into an embrace, then released me and grinned, standing beside my chair with her hands on her hips. “You’re well. I can’t believe it. Prince Estevan said you’d been rescued, and I scoured the Herald to find word after the Blight was stopped, but I couldn’t quite imagine you’d survived that wild mob unscathed. And here you are! Oh, it is so good to see you!”

  A strange lump in my throat prevented me from replying.

  “Belle?” Ella’s brows furrowed, and she put a soft hand on my shoulder. “Are you truly well?”

  I stared down at the papers and willed the lump to go away so I could speak, but it wouldn’t move. The words on the top page grew strangely blurry.

  Ella murmured something to the man who’d entered with her. I was dimly aware that he left, and then there was a jarring screech as Ella pulled a wooden chair up next to mine and sat in it.

  “Listen … I know you’re not well, and I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.” She gripped my hand. “You didn’t leave me, even when we had to fight our way through that horrible mob to get to the palace after the ball, so I’m not leaving you. Please, tell me. Did something happen? What’s wrong?”

  My head ached, and I wanted to shut my eyes again. But I knew the tears would fall if I did so. I stared furiously at the papers on the table. “Everything’s wrong. I’ve been charged with smuggling. They have real evidence and eyewitnesses promising to come forward … even my own father.” I gestured helplessly at the legal papers. “I didn’t do it, Ella.” My voice was barely above a whisper. “But I can’t … I can’t tell anyone. Don’t ask me why.”

  Ella was quiet for a moment, and I glanced at her. She leaned back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other, her forehead wrinkling as she studied me. “I haven’t read anything in the Herald about you being arrested, much less on smuggling charges. But if you’re really being charged with smuggling, why aren’t you in the dungeon?”

  I huffed out a quiet laugh. “Prince Estevan must be keeping the news of my arrest quiet. He invited me to stay in the palace instead of the dungeon while I await my sentencing hour.”

  Ella’s eyebrows nearly rose to her hairline. “He did?”

  “He says he wants to marry me. That if I marry him, he’ll make the smuggling issue go away.”

  She chewed her lip before asking, “Do you … Would you marry him?”

  My father would probably kill me if I did—literally. I crossed my arms over my chest, leaned back in my chair, and sighed. “No.”

  “Well … you’re innocent of the charges, but you say you can’t defend yourself against them.” Ella lifted one eyebrow. “So wouldn’t marrying him be the perfect solution?”

  I shook my head. “It’s not that simple.”

  She watched me for a moment, then turned to the papers on the table. “Can I take a look? Maybe we can find another option.”

  Heat rushed to my face as I handed her the stack. The part about smuggling my own rosedrop oil past plague inspectors was too humiliating for words, but I couldn’t deny that it felt nice to share my burden with another person.

  I tapped my fingers on the table while Ella read through the papers, one by one. When she finished, she settled back in her chair. “And you have no legal clerk of your own, to help you prepare for the sentencing? I would assume your father would provide one, but you said—”

  “That’s right. No clerk. My father … he’s the one who accused me.” A niggling sense that I was forgetting something tickled my mind. As though I’d had something—someone—a way to help myself without depending on my father, and I should be making use of it now.

  I frowned and shut my eyes, searching my fragmented memories for a clue. Nothing but a blur of humiliating moments with my father and siblings, and a desperate hunger for something else, whatever it had been.

  I opened my eyes and shook my head. “I’m on my own.”

  Ella nodded resolutely. “We’ll need a few legal books, then. I don’t know much about criminal codes, but I’m sure we can find the information if we try. We need to know how to prevent a … you know. A death sentence. And from there, we can search out a way to mitigate the secondary offenses too. See if there’s a way to convince the justice to rule them tertiary offenses instead.”

  I shifted in my chair. I’d already been planning to find legal books to fight the primary offense, but it hadn’t occurred to me that we might be able to fight the secondary offenses. “You really think that’s possible?” I’d resigned myself to a lengthy prison sentence days ago.

  Ella leaned forward and gripped my hand. I started at the contact, but she held on and met my eyes. “It won’t be possible if we don’t even try. But if we try … Well, in this city, anything is possible, right?”

  I laughed. “I suppose.”

  Ella released my hand and grinned, the expression brightening her face like the summer sun. Then she cocked her head. “Wes, I know you’re out there! Just come in, silly.”

  The blond man—Wes, apparently—poked a sheepish head in the doorway. “You all done?”

  “We have a plan, at least. Belle, I’d like you to meet Weslan Fortis, my …” Her tan cheeks flushed bright pink. “Umm, my …”

  Weslan strode into the library and lifted one hand in greeting toward me, then leaned down and kissed Ella on the cheek. “Her soon-to-be fiancé.”

  Impossibly, Ella’s cheeks turned an even brighter shade of pink. “Wes,” she hissed, “you’re supposed to propose to me before you start telling people.”

  He smiled and straightened, then took the seat across the table from hers and stretched out his legs, clasping his hands behind his neck. “You’re going to say yes, so your friend might as well know, don’t you think?”

  Ella’s leg jerked as she kicked him under the table, and he laughed before turning his attention to me. “Nice to meet you, Belle.”

  I nodded a greeting, feeling inexplicably awkward. “So … what are you two doing here, anyway?”

  Ella and Weslan exchanged smiles. “We’re doing the labor sentences Prince Estevan assigned to us.”

  “Wait … what labor sentences?”

  Ella laughed softly and returned her focus to me. “That night I saw you at the ball, I was trying to convince Prince Estevan to loosen the regulations on mages. I thought it would help the city recover from the market crash caused by the plague if mages were allowed to engage in commerce, rather than only working for Procus families and the government.” She paused for a moment, eyeing me uncertainly for the first time since she’d arrived in the library.

  Petrina’s hesitant, downcast face flashed before my eyes for a moment. Guilt wormed through me. Why hadn’t I ever thought of that? “It’s a good idea, I suppose …”

  A hint of insecurity shadowed Ella’s face for a moment, and Weslan spoke up instead, leaning forward in his chair. “It’s a brilliant idea, actually. And Prince Estevan thinks so too. We broke some rules in our attempt to convince him, but he pardoned the most serious offenses and gave us labor sentences instead. We’re working them off on a committee to reform the mage regulations.”

  Weslan gestured to the bookshelves around us. “The prince sent us to this library for more research materials. Supposedly, it’s full of books on the history of mages in Theros. And old Western books too.”

  That figured. Those books were supposed to be burned in the plague bonfires at the old king’s decree, and yet, every shelf of the small, narrow library was packed with the worn spines of old books.

  Weslan must have read my mind. “Apparently, some books didn’t get burned. The prince says those are kept here now.”

  I followed
his gaze around the room, and disappointment flowed over me. I wouldn’t find any answers here. “Well, it looks like you found what you need then.”

  Ella gave me a sympathetic glance. “Sure, but there aren’t likely to be any books on the Asylian legal code here. We’ll have to find another library. I’m sure the palace has plenty to choose from.”

  I shifted in my chair, suddenly uncomfortable. I pulled my wild hair over my shoulder, attempting to twist it into a neater spiral. “You don’t have to help me. You have your own work to do.”

  Ella sat straighter. “We have time to help you. We’ll make time. Right, Wes?”

  Weslan watched Ella, his lips curved up in a hint of a smile. “We’ll make time.”

  Chapter 7

  Ella and Weslan. Weslan and Ella. Engaged? To be married?

  I flopped into the worn, wingback chair in my small bedroom and curled my knees up to my chest. My head ached, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Ella and her soon-to-be fiancé.

  Apparently, handsome, blond Weslan was a weak expellant mage—a low-level appearance mage like Petrina. He’d been cast off by the Mage Division and found work at her bakery in the Merchant Quarter. Now his expulsion had been rescinded, they’d fallen in love, and Prince Estevan himself had invited their guidance on mage regulations.

  Really?

  I was suddenly exhausted. My head drooped against the side of the chair.

  Ella and I had both been injured in the Blight’s attack. But somehow, the attack had only strengthened her. It had made her more courageous, more ambitious, more … more herself.

  I, on the other hand, had lost everything. My father’s favor, my position as heir to Bank Argentarius—gone. My memories, my hope for the future, my very mind itself—all were lost forever, thanks to the Blight.

  Ella’s stepmother may have vanquished the Crimson Blight’s leader, but she couldn’t undo the damage he’d done to me.

  ~

  “Marry me.”

  I stopped in my tracks, just two steps inside Prince Estevan’s dining chamber.

  He stood between me and the elegantly-laid dining table, his fists clenched, a fierce expression on his face. He wore a casual, well-tailored suit of common fabric, but his black hair was rumpled from its traditional slicked-back style, and once again, his jaw was rough with black stubble. His eyes were dark and unreadable.

  “Marry me,” he repeated, his voice low and oddly frustrated. “Say yes, Belle.”

  No matter how handsome Prince Estevan was—and how much I didn’t want to face my sentencing hour—my fear of my father was greater than any prospect of marriage. “No.” I crossed my arms over my chest and lifted my chin. “I won’t. I never will. Let it go, Your Highness.”

  Prince Estevan’s nostrils flared, and his scowl deepened. “You’d rather die than—” He broke off and stormed out the open glass door to the balcony, then stood with his back to me and looked out over the city, his hands gripping the railing, his shoulders bunched up.

  I kept my arms crossed and watched him warily through the tall windows that lined the wall. After several long, tense moments, his shoulders relaxed, as though he’d let out a long breath. He turned around and met my eyes through the open door. His expression had changed—from one of pure frustration to a calm, calculating look that made me wonder if I should flee. He re-entered the dining chamber and approached me slowly, his hands raised, palms out, as though to show he meant me no harm. “Let’s enjoy our dinner. We can talk later.”

  I’d told him I wouldn’t reconsider. What was there to talk about? “Fine.”

  He helped me into a chair, took the seat across the table, and served us both. Curried meat filled my plate, alongside a warm, golden butter bun with a light dusting of flour on top. He watched me as we began to eat and smiled slightly every time I accidentally met his gaze. I’d rejected his proposal twice now. What exactly did he have to smile about?

  We finished the meal in silence, and then he lifted the cover on a small platter with two delicate cups of whipped spiceberry cream. “Will you join me on the balcony? We can take in the view while we eat dessert.”

  I blotted my lips with my napkin and set it on the table beside my plate. “I suppose.” If he didn’t plan to throw me off the balcony, it would be safe enough.

  His smile widened, and he came around to my side of the table and grasped my hand, pulling me to my feet. “Lovely dress, by the way.” Did he mean the plain, boring, common gown I’d found in the wardrobe? I couldn’t quite read his tone, so I glanced at his face. But he wasn’t even looking at the dress. His eyes were fixed on the darkly glittering skyline of Asylia as we stepped through the door and onto the balcony.

  “Thank you. Um … Your Highness,” I finished lamely, cringing as I realized I had only addressed him by his title one other time all evening. It hadn’t even occurred to me to curtsy when I’d entered the room.

  He shot me a quick glance, his eyes glinting with humor, before he returned his gaze to the city. “Call me Estevan. I’ve proposed marriage and been rejected twice now. Surely that earns me the honor of a first name.”

  I laughed in spite of myself, and the warm, unfamiliar sound was startlingly loud on the quiet balcony. I felt my cheeks heat up and forced my face into a neutral expression. “Very well.” I swallowed. “Estevan.”

  He chuckled, a soft, short sound under his breath as he faced me and held out my dessert.

  I took it, gripping the slender stem of the crystal glass with one hand and plucking out a small silver spoon with the other. I took my first bite as he turned back toward the city, and the warming taste of spiceberries mingled with the rich, cool cream on my tongue. I matched his pose and studied the rooftops, leaning against the railing as I took a second bite.

  “Seven hundred years,” he said.

  Again, my gaze went to his face, but he kept his eyes on the skyline.

  “Seven hundred years of peace, and we almost lost it all to the Crimson Blight.”

  I stilled, then dropped my spoon back in my glass, suddenly ill at the thought.

  “If you hadn’t helped Ella Stone get to the palace that morning, Asylia might have been destroyed completely. I never thanked you. I should have, but you were in danger because of my own incompetent guards, and then your father whisked you away before I ever got the chance to see you.” He glanced down at me, then away. “So I’m thanking you now.”

  “You’re welcome.” My voice was quiet. I cleared my throat as I twirled the spoon in the glass of spiceberry cream. “They really could have destroyed the city?”

  Somehow, I’d held that thought at bay this past week. Or perhaps I’d been too wrapped up in what I’d lost to consider how much had been saved that day.

  “Completely. The Blight’s core group was so high up in the Mage Division structure, I—” He shook his head as though it was too difficult to say the words aloud. “If Ella’s stepmother hadn’t found a way to fight back, and if Ella hadn’t led us to the Blight’s warehouse in the River Quarter, I’d be dead right now. So would you. So would most of the non-mages in the city.”

  I shivered. “I don’t think I quite believed it. Ella told me, and I read about it in the Herald, but I still couldn’t imagine it was true. And Ella’s stepmother fought against them?” The article in the Herald that I’d read at the bank had been frustratingly vague about that detail.

  Estevan nodded slowly. His hands gripped the top bar of the railing, his dessert balancing untouched on the railing’s smooth top surface. “She did. I might as well tell you. You’ll hear it soon enough in the Herald.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Tell me what?”

  “Zel has the Touch. The Blight’s leader had her True Name, but she managed to fight against his control. Before he could force her to kill anyone, she slipped his control and killed him instead.”

  A chill ran down my arms. “She can resist her True Name?”

  He nodded. “She can.”

  “How? I
thought it was impossible.”

  “Apparently, it’s quite possible.” He shrugged. “Zel says she just had to approach it in a new way. A mage’s True Name is a part of his or her soul, she says. It’s malleable to the will of a master, but ultimately under the control of the mage him or herself, according to Zel. Once she realized it, there was no going back. No one can command her anymore.”

  “But if she can do it, then—”

  “Any mage can. I know.” He ran his hand through his hair, sending the messy dark strands into further disarray. Then he turned to face me. “I love this city. I’d do anything for it. You may have heard rumors about me, about the mages, about my … my nickname. Beast.” He spat the last word out, his face twisting into a scowl for a moment. “But they aren’t true. I swear it. I love this city, and I’d do anything for it.”

  I watched his face as he spoke, his expression alive with passion and frustration. I’d never guessed the cold, arrogant man I only saw at Procus balls felt so strongly about Asylia. What would it be like if he felt such great passion for me, too? He’d said he’d always found me beautiful. That was a start, wasn’t it?

  He thinks you’re a smuggler, a voice whispered. I shushed it. What if he really did want to marry me? What would it be like, to be the object of such love?

  Then I realized he was still speaking.

  “—know your father may protest our union, but he’s not the ruler of Asylia. I am. And if we married, I’d be king. I could change the mage regulations without any interference from the Procus families. We could stop them from enslaving the mages with the True Name system. We could transform the whole city.”

  I chewed on my lower lip. What exactly was he saying?

  “I’m always bound by my father’s dying decree. That stricken curse,” he growled under his breath. “I’m only the Crown Prince, my every ruling subject to veto by a majority of Procus families in the Court of Lords. But once I marry, I’ll fulfill his requirement. I’ll be king, able to rule the city as he did. Not with his brutality, but with his authority—as the true king.”