Twisted: Belle's Story (Destined Book 3)

by Kaylin Lee

  He clasped my hands in his. “Imagine the good we could do, Belle. Think of it.” He pulled at my hands. Off-balance, I stepped closer to him. “Besides …” His lips tipped up at the sides in another slight smile. “We could be good together.”

  We could be good together. The sterile words hit me like a slap in the face. So that was how he felt. I pulled my hands from his and stepped back.

  Finally, his previous words sank into my fuzzy, confused brain. I’d gotten so used to calling him the Crown Prince, I’d forgotten about his father’s old decree. A final act of spite from a mad, dying king, the Procus ladies whispered to each other. A final curse on the dangerous son the king had always feared and despised. Estevan could not be crowned King of Asylia until he married.

  Chapter 8

  “Find someone else.” I stared at the horizon and fought to keep my voice even. “Marry someone else. No doubt you could be good with another Procus lady just as easily.”

  How had I forgotten the long string of Procus ladies he had already wooed? What had made me think, even for the briefest of moments, that I could be different?

  I felt him move toward me, so I shifted away from him.

  “I don’t want anyone else.” His voice was so low, it was practically a growl. “I want you. I’m asking you. Why won’t you marry me?”

  “Because I won’t.” I shrugged helplessly as my head began to pound again. Or perhaps I’d been too distracted by the handsome prince to remember my injury. “I don’t know why we’re still talking about this, and I’m tired. I … I need to lie down. If I may?”

  He frowned. But then he nodded, and I escaped to my room.

  ~

  I met Ella and Weslan at the legal library the next afternoon.

  The book room was at the corner of the west wing of the palace, on the ground floor, not far from the massive ballroom where we’d attended Estevan’s selection ball. It was several times larger than the mage library, with six tall, green-curtained windows interspersed among the neatly-organized bookshelves.

  Ella clasped her hands together as I entered, a kind smile lighting her face. “Are you ready?”

  I lifted a wan hand in greeting. My head had been pounding all day, and my pride was still smarting from Estevan’s admission the previous night that he needed a wife to become king. “Ready. Thank you again, for helping. Both of you. I am …” I stumbled over my words. “I am very grateful.”

  Weslan smirked as though he’d guessed at my discomfort, but then he glanced at Ella and a genuine smile appeared on his face. “We’re happy to help.”

  I set the stack of legal papers with my charges on the table beside a notebook and set of pencils that Ella must have brought with her. I glanced around the library with my hands on my hips, tapping the fingers of my right hand against my dress. “Let’s start with—”

  “I say we begin—”

  Ella and I spoke at once and then fell silent as we realized we were speaking over each other. Ella’s cheeks flushed pink. “Umm, sorry …”

  Of course, I would be the one to take charge of the research. It was my sentencing hour, after all.

  The next moment, my indignation evaporated. Why should Ella be sorry around me? She was the prince’s confidante and the city’s savior, albeit an anonymous one.

  I was nothing more than a former Procus heiress—an accused criminal. I didn’t even have my own pencils to bring to the meeting.

  I’d been lording my position as a Procus lady over Ella at school for so many years, she must have assumed I would continue to do so.

  “It’s fine.” I tried to inject a bit of gentleness into my voice, but I just sounded like I had a cold. “What were you saying?”

  Still flushed, Ella twisted her fingers in her skirt. “I was thinking we should begin with the primary offense—endangering the city by circumventing plague inspection protocols. We need to know the history of rulings since the gates opened after the plague and the purification system was instituted. Who else has been charged with smuggling? What was their specific crime? What was the evidence, and what was their sentence? Then we can see what that means for the evidence they say they have against you.”

  Weslan spoke up from where he lounged on a green couch beside us. “And we should research the legal code for that offense. I bet it contains the exact criteria for the justice’s ruling. Surely, not everyone accused of violating plague inspection protocols ends up … you know.”

  “Dead.” My head throbbed, and I put a hand on the back of my neck, rubbing my muscles in a vain attempt to ease the pressure in my head. “I hope not.”

  Ella glared at Weslan, and he shrugged. “What? We’re not supposed to talk about it?”

  “Don’t worry about me, Ella. I know full well what’s at stake. Let’s just find some books that will help. We can divide the work.” I strained to keep the bossy tone from my voice. “That is, if you agree?”

  Ella nodded. “Sounds good. Weslan and I can look for past cases together, since there are bound to be many of them.”

  “And I’ll take the legal code.” I paused as Weslan stretched and stood from the couch. Ella was already walking to the bookshelf on the opposite wall. “Ella, may I borrow a piece of paper and pencil? For my notetaking?”

  My face heated with embarrassment as the request passed my lips, but Ella only glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Of course. Help yourself.”

  I took a paper from her notebook and a pencil from the stack beside it, keeping my eyes averted from Ella and Weslan in case her smile had turned into a smirk.

  Did she relish the reversal in our fortunes? Surely any other commoner would. If I were in her place, I probably would too. My back was stiff as I made my way to the shelves furthest from Ella and Weslan, the torn piece of paper crinkling in my tight grip.

  The tiny print on the book spines swam before my eyes, and I put one hand on the nearest shelf to steady myself. I had to do this. I had to get myself together. I wanted to live, didn’t I? This was where it started.

  The first bookcase was dedicated to books on the Ministry of Justice’s organizational structure. I moved to the next, and then the one beside that. With each title I read, my headache grew worse. “Legal code, legal code,” I muttered under my breath. “It shouldn’t be this difficult to find books on the legal code in a legal library.”

  You’re practically worthless. My father’s dismissive words echoed in my mind, and I forced myself to keep picking through the titles, my head pounding and my eyes burning.

  Finally, at the fourth bookcase, I found a section that looked promising. I pulled out one title, then another, and then a third. Eventually my fingers landed on the right book—Asylian Legal Code Sections 37.5 to 38: Violations of Import Regulations. I pulled the heavy gray book from the shelf. It was hard to imagine that such a dry-sounding book contained the text that would lead to my death in six weeks. I quieted the dark thought and hauled the book to the table where I’d placed my other papers. Then I sat down to read.

  I was only ten pages in when Ella and Weslan joined me at the table, their arms full of similarly-thick books. Had there really been so many smuggling sentences since the gates opened two years ago? Goosebumps stood up on my arms at the thought. What made me think I would be different from any of them?

  The afternoon hours passed mostly in silence. Occasionally, Ella would mutter something under her breath as she scribbled notes, or Weslan would stretch in his chair. We flipped through the pages of our books, filling Ella’s pile of blank paper with notes, the quiet air growing heavy with pessimism.

  By the time the first evening bell rang, I’d found nothing to help—only a vast array of quotes to support the likelihood that I would be executed very soon. My head hurt so badly I could barely read the paragraphs, much less discern which ones might be helpful. My gut told me none of them would be.

  “Did either of you find anything?” Ella’s smile looked forced as she stretched in her chair.

>   “I’m not sure.” I fingered my small pile of torn notebook paper. “I tried, but … I’m starting to think the solution we were looking for doesn’t actually exist.”

  Ella frowned, some of the forced optimism fading from her expression. “What do you mean?”

  “The legal code is a bit confusing, but I’m getting the gist.”

  Ella shot me a strange look. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call something confusing,” she said slowly. “Are you sure—”

  I waved a hand and cut her off. “‘Section 37.8, Pertaining to the Endangerment of the City through the Deliberate Import of Uninspected Foreign Goods.’ Endangering the city by bringing uninspected goods inside is a primary offense. It says that either testimony of two or more witnesses or the existence of expert-certified physical evidence is enough for a guilty verdict. And in my case, they have both. My father’s employees, the empty crates with false bottoms, and the discrepancy in weight as recorded in the import inspector’s log.”

  I rubbed my temples, then my eyes. “I’ve been through this chapter too many times to count, and I don’t see any possibility that a guilty verdict would result in anything other than a death sentence.”

  Ella and Weslan shifted uncomfortably, and I shuffled my papers together to avoid looking at them. My scalp was on fire. I had to get back to my room—had to rest, or do something, anything, other than stay here in this miserable library.

  I stood and bundled up my notes with the legal papers I’d brought. “Did either of you find anything helpful?”

  Weslan pressed his lips together and shook his head.

  Ella ruffled through her notes. “Well, there must be … I thought I found … oh.”

  Whatever hope that had started to grow in me died again at her disappointed tone of voice.

  Ella stared at her notes for a moment, then raised her head, her forehead creased. “Never mind. All the past cases I could find ended the same way. For every guilty ruling, the Ministry of Justice had at least two witnesses or clear evidence, or both to bring against the defendant, and every single defendant found guilty was executed.”

  She sighed. “It seems as though the Ministry of Justice doesn’t bring charges unless they are fairly certain the sentencing hour will end in a guilty verdict and execution. Which I suppose makes sense, since they risked bringing back a plague that killed nearly a third of the city, but …”

  The room spun around me. “That’s— That’s fine. Thank you for looking. I’m sure I’ll find something soon. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I must …”

  I couldn’t think of an excuse. I shook my head without finishing my sentence and left without meeting Ella’s eyes.

  ~

  The walk to Estevan’s dining chamber was over far too quickly that evening.

  I entered, and the prince rose to his feet, his eyes wary. “Good evening, Belle.”

  “Good evening, Your— Estevan.” I remembered to pair the greeting with a small curtsey.

  He smiled as he came forward to offer his arm, the worry lines around his eyes softening slightly. “I still have a first name. I’ll take that as a good sign.”

  I rolled my eyes before I thought the better of it. “Take it however you like.”

  He laughed as I gripped his forearm and let him lead us to the table.

  We ate quietly. When we were done, he leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out before him. “How was your day? How did you pass the time?”

  I twisted my napkin in my lap. I didn’t want to talk about the case. “The library.” I glanced out the window at the landscape spread out below us. It was growing dark earlier each evening. How had summer passed me by? The last summer of my life, gone before I had a chance to enjoy it.

  I shivered and turned back to Estevan. There was no point in dwelling on thoughts like that. I had to keep my fear under control, or I’d squander the last few weeks of my life.

  Estevan shifted his long legs, his expression unreadable, his gaze locked on me. “Which library?”

  Here it was. “The legal library. On the fourth floor.”

  Silence stretched between us. I went back to twisting my napkin as I watched the streets below us. Luminous streetlamps flickered on like tiny glow bugs, and the long, sleek shadows of fomecoaches sped through the night.

  “And did you find what you were looking for?” Estevan’s voice was low and quiet.

  I didn’t dare look at him. “No.” The word was a hoarse whisper.

  “Belle …” I felt him stand and approach my seat, but I couldn’t look at him.

  He freed my hands from their tight grip on the napkin and pulled me to my feet. Finally, my eyes locked on the buttons of his crisp, white shirt.

  He released my hands and cupped my face in his hands, tilting my chin, so I had no choice but to meet his dark eyes. “Why won’t you—”

  “No!” Marriage again? When would he give up? I shook off his grip, stepped back, and tripped over my chair. I shoved the chair upright and stood, facing him, with my back to the window. “Don’t ask me again.”

  His jaw worked for a moment, but then he nodded once and stepped back. “I see. You don’t want to lower yourself.”

  “What? I—”

  “You’re just like your father, aren’t you?”

  His words hit me like a slap in the face. “No.” The word sounded like a question, even to my own ears. My memories were fuzzy and incomplete, but certainly my father was far crueler and more dangerous. I was just another one of his victims.

  So why did I have so many distinct memories of sharply dressing down our villa servants while my father stood off to the side, smiling?

  Estevan raised one eyebrow. “Then you don’t mind the fact that I have Kireth blood in my veins, and I look more like a mage than a Procus lord?” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his head cocked like he was only mildly curious about my answer.

  The hardness in his eyes gave him away.

  I let my gaze sweep over him—his tall, narrow, muscular form, his dark, slicked-back hair, the stubble on his jaw. My cheeks heated, and my heartbeat picked up. “It’s not that,” I said.

  “Of course not.” His voice was empty.

  I swallowed. “It isn’t, so stop looking at me like that.” My hand reached out as though of its own accord, and I placed it awkwardly on his stiff arm. “I can’t marry you, and trust me when I say it would not truly solve my problem or yours. It would probably just create more problems for you. But it’s not because you look like a mage.”

  He stared down at my hand on his arm, and I yanked it back. Like a fool, I twisted the ends of my hair with my fingers. “To be honest, I think you look quite … nice.”

  His eyes darted up to my face, and his lips drifted into a hint of a smile. “Nice? Care to clarify?”

  I cleared my suddenly dry throat. “I don’t think you need any clarification.”

  His smile widened. “I would hate for there to be a misunderstanding.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” I mumbled. I offered a lightning-fast curtsey, bid him goodnight, and hustled back to my room, my face on fire and my emotions impossibly tangled.

  ~

  The next morning, my breakfast tray was dropped off outside my bedroom door with a folded copy of the Herald. I picked the tray up from the floor and carried it to the soft chair beside the window. When I lifted the newspaper, a small note flitted to the ground.

  Thought you would want to see this one. —E

  It had to be from Estevan because it wasn’t Ella’s handwriting.

  I fingered the note for a moment, then unfolded the newspaper and nearly dropped it in shock when I read the large, bold headline on the front page—An End to the True Name System? Prince Estevan Unveils New Proposal for Mage Regulations. Below that article was a different article about Ella’s stepmother, Zel, and how she had saved the city from the Blight by resisting her True Name. I settled back in my chair to read them more slowly, my
legs crossed and my coffee in one hand.

  The main story, quoting Estevan extensively, made the True Name system public knowledge, revealing it to the commoners for the first time in Asylian history. It also announced his plan to change the system and replace it with one that allowed greater freedom for mages.

  The article about Zel was different. It told the story of her life in Draicia, controlled by her True Name, locked in a tower, and forced to serve a horrible, violent clan leader from an early age. I shivered as I read the matter-of-fact account. She’d suffered endlessly at the hands of those who wanted to control her with her True Name, and even in Asylia, she’d had to spend over a decade in hiding. Perhaps Ella was right, and the True Name system really was evil.

  My skin grew uncomfortably tight at the thought. How many times had I used my appearance mage’s True Name just to prove to my father that I was as hard and cruel as he was?

  I’d done what I had to do to survive, but Petrina had paid the price for my cruel reputation. So had Ella.

  Someone tapped on the bedroom door behind me.

  “Belle, are you in there? It’s me.” Ella’s soft voice was muffled through the door, but I heard her clearly enough. “I wanted to see if … if you were well. After yesterday.”

  I set the paper down and went to open the door. After how poorly I’d always treated her, how could Ella possibly care enough to see how I was doing?

  Ella stood in the hallway alone, twisting her hands in the hip pockets of her violet day dress. She looked apprehensive, but when I smiled, she smiled back. “Are you allowed to walk around the palace?”

  “I think so.” I glanced around the empty hallway. “They don’t lock my door, and I don’t see any guards. No one has stopped me yet from visiting the various libraries, at least.”

  “How about outside?”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “There’s a path that wraps around the palace,” Ella said, lifting one shoulder. “It winds through a few gardens and the front courtyard too. You won’t be going off the palace grounds or anything. I was thinking we could walk together.” She peered into my room. “I don’t think you should just stay inside all the time.”