by Kaylin Lee
After I’d rebuffed Estevan’s third proposal in the garden, I’d been certain he would give up—that neither Estevan nor his guard would return for me again. Instead, Estevan himself had come to my room and escorted me to dinner every night since. He hadn’t brought up the topic of marriage again.
What next? I appraised the table. Was it too soon for dessert? Why did we always have to eat it last, anyway?
“—listening? Belle. Belle!”
I started. “Yes?”
Estevan eyed me. “We need to talk.”
The dark tone of his voice sounded ominous. What could possibly be left to discuss? I reached for the dainty plate of iced buttercake that sat temptingly in front of my dinner plate and ignored his glowering look. “That’s fine.”
I’d just taken my first satisfying bite of the cake when Estevan’s chair screeched on the stone floor. He stood and walked to my side of the table, then held out one hand, his face sober. “Join me on the balcony.”
I swallowed the delicious bite of cake and nodded slowly. “I’ll bring my cake.”
Estevan’s lips twitched, but a moment later, the near-smile disappeared from his face.
I lifted the plate with my left hand and accepted his hand with my right. He pulled me to my feet and led me through the set of glass doors to the balcony.
The fall air rustled my dress and sent shivers up my arms. I pressed closer to Estevan’s warm body without thinking. When we reached the railing, I realized I was still flush against his side.
I stepped away and avoided his eyes, but he wrapped one arm around my shoulders and pulled me right back to his side. “No,” he said gruffly.
His arm didn’t move from my shoulders, and for once, I didn’t protest. It was too cold to maintain my façade of pride tonight.
The city spread out as far as I could see in each direction, glittering with the light of thousands of luminous lamps.
“The offer still stands, you know.”
I felt the rumble of his voice through his side, pressed against mine. He gripped my shoulders tighter as I set the cake on the flat surface of the balcony railing and let more of my weight rest against his side. The warmth of his body and the glorious, strangely comforting sensation of being embraced made my worthless mind slower to comprehend his words.
When they finally sank in, I stilled. “I already said no. And I wish you would let it go.”
“Because you’d rather face execution than marry me.”
“Because if you truly cared about me,” I retorted, “you’d make my charges go away without requiring marriage in return.”
He tightened his arm around me, but I shoved him away and stepped back.
“Well?” I pressed my lips together as he shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and leaned back on his heels. “Is it really so important that you marry me to become king? Why can’t you resolve the smuggling issue as my friend and marry someone else?” Friend was probably too strong of a word. “As my ally, at least?”
We stood in frustrated silence, watching each other on the cold, quiet balcony, neither willing to bend.
Finally, he spoke. “My offer still stands,” he repeated. “Marry me. I’ll fix everything.”
I thought of my father’s cold, emotionless face as he lifted his hand to strike me the day before my arrest. “You’ll fix nothing.”
~
I took the first sip of my morning coffee and sighed. Perfection. I settled back in the chair by the window and looked through the icy panes. The first frost, already? Winter would come early this year.
Steam from the coffee rose up and warmed my face, and I pressed my hands on either side of the mug for extra warmth. Then I flipped open the Herald and jolted so sharply, hot coffee gushed into my lap.
“What—” I stood abruptly, set the coffee on the window sill, and did my best to mop up the mess with my nightgown. The skin of my legs burned from the hot liquid, but it was nothing compared to the shock of the article I’d just turned to.
Heir to Bank Argentarius Announces Engagement to Lady Alyssa Galanos
I ignored my burning skin and wet nightgown as I scanned the article. My eldest brother, Lucas, had been restored as the heir, and he was suddenly engaged to my classmate, Alyssa. Ridiculous. I’d never seen them speak, much less demonstrate any sort of mutual attraction. He was ten years older than me and Alyssa.
The shadowy glimpse of a memory beckoned. Alyssa, leaning against the wall in the stairwell of the Royal Academy, beaming at Felix. Tossing her hair as she took my seat the morning the Blight’s bomb went off.
I sat on the edge of my bed and stared blankly at the coffee stain on my nightgown as my thoughts raced and whirled, hazy memories from before the accident melding with more recent memories of my father.
You’ve ruined years of negotiations with Lord Galanos, my father had said when he took away my position as heir. He must have intended for me to marry one of the Galanos sons. And now the two patriarchs, my father and Lord Galanos, were continuing their arrangement with different children.
I blew out a disgusted breath. “Because why should anything get in the way of a business deal?” I muttered as I scanned the rest of the article.
My nausea worsened as I finished the story, which ended with a breathless, glowing quote from Alyssa about the wedding plans. She was probably delighted to be joining the Argentarius family. Hadn’t she always wanted whatever was mine?
A moment later, I groaned and pressed my palms against my eyes. Poor, foolish Alyssa only wanted what was mine because she didn’t know what she was getting into. I’d spent my life pretending that everything was perfectly fine. I couldn’t blame her for falling for my act.
I thought of Kaia flinching away from my father in the fomecoach on the way to the ball and Jade’s toneless dismissal as she shut the door in my face the night before my arrest. How long would it be before Alyssa discover the truth?
If she fought against her new prison, would my father threaten to kill her, too?
I dropped my hands to my lap. If I told the Ministry of Justice that my father had threatened me into going along with the smuggling charges, he’d kill me. He’d find a way. If I kept silent, he’d win—and he’d keep winning. He’d rule over Jade and Kaia, and soon, he’d rule over Alyssa too.
If Ambrose testified that he’d heard my father threaten me before my arrest, the justice would probably still rule against me. We were only two voices, powerless against the fabricated evidence and the witnesses my father controlled. Still, that testimony would be a start—a public black mark on my father’s name. The Ministry of Justice might look more closely at his other activities. Perhaps the justice clerks could finish what I started.
What if, even in the final days of my life, I could bring my father down with me? Wasn’t it worth a try?
Somewhere in the back of my mind, an obstinate voice heaved a sigh of relief.
~
The rosedrops in Estevan’s garden had grown frail and dry. Their lush, pink petals had faded into light, wrinkly slips that fluttered to the ground at the slightest brush of my skirt as I passed by.
I walked the narrow garden path beside Ella the next afternoon, breathing in the mild scent of dry rosedrops that hung in the crisp, clear fall air. I wrapped a thin jacket tighter around my body and exhaled. “What did you want to talk about?”
Ella and Weslan had come to drag me from my bedroom after their committee meeting that morning. Weslan strode along the path ahead of us, while Ella and I lagged slightly behind.
Ella crossed her arms as she walked, her expression belligerent. “I told Prince Estevan about your witness.” She didn’t sound remotely repentant. If anything, she sounded like she was ready to begin our argument all over again.
I couldn’t help a short laugh. I paused on the path, and she watched me warily. “It’s fine, Ella. I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to ask my witness for help. But it will be his choice. If he refuses, I won’t force him to risk his life to help me
.”
Ella pursed her lips, then nodded. “You’re doing the right thing.”
I rolled my eyes and resumed walking. “Of course you would say that. I’m doing what you wanted me to do.”
She giggled, the gentle sound soft and relieved. “It’s not my fault I’m right about so many things.” Then she nudged me. “And if I was right about your witness, maybe I’m right about that other thing as well …”
Ahead of us, Weslan slowed his steps. “What other thing?”
I shook my head, but Ella’s eyes twinkled. “Prince Estevan wants to marry Belle. It would fix everything, wouldn’t it? The Ministry of Justice won’t dare convict the future queen on the testimony of her estranged father and his own employees. But she won’t even consider it!”
Weslan glanced back at me and snorted. “Of course he does.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Beside me, Ella frowned. “I’m sure Weslan is just teasing—”
“She’s a true Fenra.” Weslan turned and faced us when Ella and I paused walking. “What? Why are you both looking at me like that?”
Ella rubbed her arms as a cool wind rustled through the garden. “I thought that was just a silly phrase for the Procus gossip column.”
Weslan shrugged. “Real enough in some circles.”
Like the only ones I’d ever known.
“What does her being a true Fenra have to do with anything?”
“It’s part of the clause.” A strange discomfort stirred in my stomach as he spoke. “The curse, as people call it. You know … the old king’s decree. Prince Estevan cannot officially take the kingship until he marries a true Fenra. To cleanse his bloodline from Kireth impurities and all that nonsense.” Weslan rolled his eyes as he spoke. “You didn’t know that? All the mages know.”
My head began to pound, and my mouth went dry. True Fenra. Why did it always come back to that horrible phrase?
Ella balled her fists at her sides. “But that doesn’t explain why he wants to—”
“El. He has to marry her. Belle’s probably the most famous true Fenra in the city. Now that she’s not under her father’s thumb, he actually has a chance with her. He’d be crazy not to take it.” Weslan shook his head at Ella. “Honestly, it’s like the two of you don’t pay any attention to Procus society. You spent all your time studying for exams. You may have been at the top of your class at the Royal Academy, but I’m pretty sure everyone else knows about stuff like this.”
“Weslan! I’ll have you know—”
The words of Ella and Weslan’s argument faded into meaningless noise beside the roaring in my ears. He has to marry her. Cleanse his bloodline. The garden around us began to sway, and I shut my eyes to end the spinning. A lump in my throat took hold of my voice with a stiff, crushing grip.
“Belle, wait. Please, let’s talk about—”
“I have to go.”
~
Estevan’s familiar, firm knock echoed against my door after the first evening bell.
I jolted up from the chair by the window and dropped my hands at my sides.
My green dress was wrinkled beyond redemption, and no doubt my hair formed a wild, tangled cloud of frizz around my head. True Fenra. Why wouldn’t that ridiculous title leave me alone? How could my life always be reduced to a meaningless set of attributes, a collection of features that just happened to be in fashion?
By mere chance, I’d been born with darker skin and hair than my sisters, built with a petite frame instead of their statuesque, feminine curves. Mere chance—mere accident. And yet how much of my life had been determined by those accidental differences?
If I survived my sentencing hour, would I ever know the love of a man who saw beyond them? Or would they define the rest of my life too?
I trudged to the door, my mind trapped in the loop of questions and memories that had tormented me since I’d returned from the garden. Every subtle brush of his arm. Every time his eyes had swept over me, a touch of hunger on his face. The warmth of his embrace on the balcony last night. Had it all been part of an act of attraction, offering me a false courtship he thought I desired? Or did his dark gaze simply reflect a hunger for power—for victory?
I opened the door and stood silently, at a loss for words.
Estevan frowned. “Are you well?”
I shook my head. “No.” My voice was hoarse. I noticed dimly that his eyes were deeply shadowed, and a wary hesitation hovered on his face. “Are you?”
“Your witness.” His jaw tightened. “He’s gone. The Ministry of Justice couriers searched the city for him, but he’s disappeared. Looks like he abandoned you.”
A strange haze of numbness followed his words. My last ally was gone. I was alone.
“I— I understand.” How many days did I have left now? Five? Four? Foolish hope had made me lose count.
“Marry me,” he growled. “Just do it. Why are you being so stubborn?”
Because my father will kill me if I do.
Because you just want to use me.
Because you don’t love me.
“You offered marriage. You say it will solve both my problem and yours. You’ll become king, and I’ll keep my head.”
Estevan leaned back on his heels, his face growing hard. “That’s right.”
“And yet you haven’t mentioned anything about my being a true Fenra.”
He clenched his jaw and looked away.
My stomach sank. For the first time, he was the one avoiding my eyes, instead of the other way around.
“So it’s true?” My voice rose, and I had to strain to avoid sounding as hysterical as I felt. “You chose me because I’ve got just the right color skin and hair? That’s ridiculous!”
He finally dragged his gaze back to my face. When he finally spoke, his tone was icy. “And what if it is true? You want to live. I want to be king. We both have needs, and together, we can meet them. What’s the problem?”
“The problem? I …” I shook my head, at a loss for words.
“You think it’s easy, being nothing but the Crown Prince, subject to those Procus fools in the Court of Lords, when I have every right to be king? Being constantly accused of harboring secret Kireth loyalty because of this—” He gestured up, along his tall, lean body. “—and these?” He clenched his fists and held them out to me, then shoved his hands back in his pockets.
It took me a moment to realize what I’d seen—the backs of his hands were smooth and bare, with no dark freckles, like mine. The most valuable mark of Fenra blood was the simple, subtle grouping of freckles on the knuckles of each hand. Every Procus lord I knew had them. And Estevan had none.
I glanced down at my own freckled hands reflexively, then studied him for a moment. He was tall, yes. But his coloring was completely Fenra, like mine. Did the Procus lords—and even his own late father—really consider him illegitimate without an obviously Fenra queen at his side?
Pity made my skin tighten for a moment, but I shook the feeling off. “That doesn’t change the fact that you kept the truth from me. That you pretended at some possibility of romance with me, when in truth, you courted me for my bloodline.” I paused, waiting for him to protest. He was silent. “So that part’s true too.” My voice was cold and hollow. “It was an act.”
Estevan ran a hand through his hair. “What do you want me to say, Belle? When your father gave you up for smuggling, I thought you’d fallen out of favor. I thought I had a chance. After all, what kind of father would ever give up his own daughter? You have the best pedigree in the city. I thought you would be of use to me.” He shrugged one shoulder in a careless gesture. “It appears I was wrong.” He buried his hands in his pockets. “All those moonlit dinners, garden walks, evenings on the balcony … You can’t say I didn’t try, right?” The humor in his eyes no longer seemed warm, as it usually did. Now, it was mocking and sinister.
I took another step back. “Yes,” I whispered. “You were wrong. And y
ou were wrong about your nickname.”
He frowned.
“Beast. It fits you perfectly.” With that, I shut the door in his face and locked it.
I stood just inside my dark room. Evening had fallen while we’d been speaking, and I hadn’t yet turned on the luminous dial. The familiar numbness settled in my chest. Blank, crushing numbness. Had I really taken comfort under his warm arm on the balcony last night?
“I’m a fool,” I muttered. “I should have known better.” Hadn’t my whole life taught me that no one else could be trusted? Now Ambrose had abandoned me, and I’d put my trust in Estevan without even realizing it.
I stepped toward the bed just as someone knocked on my door. “Estevan … I don’t have anything left to say to you.”
He knocked again, and I hissed out an annoyed breath. What did we have to talk about? He was a beast. I was a fool. And we were done.
Another knock.
“Fine!”
I turned the lock and grabbed the doorknob, but it swung open in my face. I reared back. “Estevan? What are you—”
A heavy weight hit the side of my head. I sprawled on the ground in my dark bedroom, then groaned and clutched my face. My head throbbed as I peered up at the doorway. A broad, muscular man, swathed in shadow, entered my room and shut the door behind him. Chills ran down my arms. “Who are you?”
The man stepped closer and leaned down. “Doesn’t matter, lady,” he said softly. “Your father knows you tried to contact your secretary. He’s had enough of you. Can’t take the chance that you’ll tell your little prince the truth. You’re done.”
He lifted his fist and brought it down on my face.
Chapter 11
Blackness greeted me, and I welcomed it. But it disappeared too soon.
Done. Done. Done. Hadn’t I just said that to myself? A strange pounding in my head brought me up from the empty darkness that had taken my mind. The man. He was still here, looming over me in my dark room. I felt my face. Blood poured from my nose, and I couldn’t bend my fingers. Had I just blacked out again?
The man came forward with a rope in his hands and reached for my neck. Done.