Golden Chains

by M. Lynn

  She stood and gestured for him to sit. “Now you.”

  In silence, she took from him the last vestiges of youth. Maybe neither of them had ever had the chance to be young.

  An hour later, the horses were hooked to the wagon with only a little argument from Verité. In the night, they rumbled down the road, a band of weary travelers with no end to their journey in sight.

  Chapter Twelve

  Relief had come in waves for days. Alexandre would fall asleep with the suffering growing strong within him and wake up as if it’d never existed at all. The freedom lasted for hours before slipping away as he sank into the agony once again.

  He’d been unconscious when they arrived at the palace of Bela. They’d heard rumors of it being rebuilt, but how? La Dame had only been in Bela for a few months as far as they knew.

  A wrongness hung in the air as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Sunlight streamed through a window across the room. It stood open, with no glass separating the room from the outside world. Had they given him a means of escape? Nothing could be that simple.

  He pushed back the heavy blankets and noted his bare legs. They’d removed his clothes. A blast of chilly wind roared through the window, causing the hairs on his legs to stand on end.

  Wrapping a blanket around himself, Alex stood from the wood-carved canopy bed. A wardrobe stood tall in the corner—well, not corner exactly. The walls curved in a continuous circle. As he passed the table near the window, his fingers brushed the edge of a silver tray laden with food.

  It was more than he fed his own prisoners.

  A wide sill lined the bottom of the window. Alex stopped, his eyes rounding. The sky dropped outside the tower, connecting with the ground far below. A breath wheezed in his chest as he gripped the edge and leaned out. He wouldn’t be able to make it down without breaking his neck.

  Trees stretched as far as he could see without another structure in sight.

  Leaning back in, he stumbled and crashed into the corner of the table. He wasn’t in the palace of Bela. His prison cell was a tower in the middle of the woods.

  His eyes darted around the room in search of a door.

  The curse chose that moment to stab into him and he bent at the waist, trying to breathe. Why had he been put there?

  A voice sounded outside. Maybe he wasn’t alone after all. It was a sweet melody, and it drifted up through his window. He leaned against the wall, allowing it to soothe his frayed nerves. She sang of simple things—a villager’s magic and her love of a fisherman.

  A scraping broke through her voice, coming from the bottom of the tower. He peered out the window, trying not to be seen and reeled back. It was her.

  He’d been a boy when he’d first met La Dame, but she hadn’t changed. She continued to sing as she raised her face to him, her blackened tresses curling down her back. Her dark eyes locked onto his and he couldn’t move. Her bright red lips curved up into a smile as she raised her hands. The outer stones of the tower wall shook and shifted, and still, Alex couldn’t look away even as fear smashed into him.

  The stones continued to move until they formed a narrow staircase from the ground to the edge of the window. She climbed it with slow, methodical steps, holding up the hem of her low-cut black dress.

  As if released from a spell, he broke eye contact and stepped back, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. She climbed through the window with a tremendous amount of grace.

  He stood tall, refusing to cower in her presence.

  “Alexandre,” she said cheerfully. “It has been far too long.” She reached up to kiss his cheek familiarly, and he froze. “Oh, don’t be like that, young king. We’ve been friends for too long.” Her eyes scanned the room, and she clucked her tongue. “I left you quite the feast and you haven’t touched it.” She planted her hands on her hips. “That is rude.”

  When he didn’t move, she frowned. “Sit.”

  His legs moved with jerky, uncoordinated steps out of his control. His teeth clenched as he tried to stop himself.

  “Don’t fight it,” she said, taking her own seat. “You won’t win.”

  His butt crashed into the chair.

  “What’s happening to me?” he gasped. “Why—” His voice cut off when she snapped her fingers.

  “No talking. Eat.” She pushed the tray toward him and he had no choice but to obey.

  She steepled her fingers. “I came to extend an invitation to my ball tonight.”

  He swallowed noisily.

  “You can speak now.” She sighed.

  “Invitation implies I have a choice.”

  “Ah.” She smiled. “You’re to be the honored guest. The clothing I’d like you to wear is in the wardrobe. I hope you like to sing.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t give away all my surprises, now, can I?”

  “Why am I here?”

  “Hmmm, an inevitable question. Although, I am feeling a bit slighted you act as if you’d rather be elsewhere.”

  “I am your prisoner.”

  “I don’t like that term.” She pursed her lips in thought. “Be patient, your Highness. All will be revealed.” She stood. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat with you all day, I have a ball to prepare for. Before I go, I brought you a bath.”

  She walked to the window and gave some sort of signal to a servant waiting below. Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs and a man who barely fit through the window shoved a wooden tub through and climbed in. A second man followed, dragging someone behind him.

  A mop of inky hair covered the boy’s face, but Alex would recognize his brother anywhere.

  “Tyson,” he breathed.

  Tyson’s head snapped up at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Alex?”

  “Reunions are lovely, aren’t they?” La Dame’s voice was wistful.

  Tyson was jerked forward, and he fell to his knees in front of the tub.

  “Fill it,” the man behind him ordered.

  Alex glanced from La Dame to his brother in confusion, but Tyson seemed to understand what they meant. He leaned forward and put both hands down into the tub. La Dame poured a pitcher of water over his hands and the water expanded until it filled the tub halfway.

  Alex collapsed onto the corner of his bed. He’d been told his brother had magic, but his mind couldn’t grasp onto that fact.

  La Dame clapped her hands together, the sound jarring him from his thoughts. “Tyson will stay here until the ball. I wouldn’t want to break up such a happy reunion.”

  Without another word, she exited the window with the two men behind her. Once they were down, the stones shifted back into place forming the smooth wall.

  Alex stared at his brother for a long moment. Tyson met his eyes.

  “You hate me now, don’t you?” He gestured to the water he’d created with a defeated sigh.

  Opening his mouth, Alex was suddenly lost for words. He stood from the bed and dropped to his knees in front of his brother who still sat by the tub. Releasing one of his arms from the blanket, Alex pulled Tyson into a firm hug that said everything he couldn’t.

  They sat there for a moment longer, before Tyson chuckled. “I’d feel much more comfortable if you had some clothes on right now.”

  Alex smiled. When was the last time he’d done that? Pulling away, he climbed to his feet. “I don’t want to take anything from La Dame, but my desire for clothes overrides that.”

  “She’ll want you to bathe before the ball.” Tyson rose and went to sit in a chair at the table.

  “I don’t care what she wants.”

  “You will, brother. Don’t be placated by her niceties. I’ve seen what she does to people who disobey her.” He sighed. “I knew they’d gone to kidnap you. When Matteo told me, I feared what kind of shape you’d arrive in.”

  A grimace flashed across Alex’s face. “It would have been worse, but the pain lessens each night. It must be Etta.”

  Tyson shifted his eyes away. “You’ve released
her then?”

  “Of course.” He paused. “Tyson, look at me.”

  A beat of silence passed before Tyson raised his eyes.

  “I am not our father.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe I was like him, but it’s different now. I don’t hate you for your magic and I will never forgive myself for what I did to Etta.”

  “She’ll probably never forgive you either.”

  Alex snorted. “I imagine not.”

  “But she’s coming for you,” he went on.

  Alex tried to refute that, but Tyson shook his head. “Even if there wasn’t a curse tying you two together, she’d come. It isn’t in her not to fight. That’s what La Dame is counting on.”

  “What do you mean?” Alex pulled on the clothes that had been left for him and dropped into the chair opposite his brother, wincing from the agony that grew worse by the minute.

  “This isn’t about you. Matteo says she’s playing with us.”

  Alex raised one finger. “First, who is Matteo. And who do you mean by us?”

  “Matteo Basile. His father is Viktor’s brother.” His eyes darkened as his next confession poured forth. “La Dame isn’t after the Durands. She wants her revenge on the entire Basile line. On Matteo. On Persinette. And on me.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  In an instant, everything made sense.

  Tyson’s magic.

  His father’s disdain for the youngest prince.

  His mother’s cleaving to one child over the others.

  Alex knew his mother loved him. There was never any doubt of that. But with Tyson, she was different. Her mothering bordered on obsession. Even as a child, he’d been stunned when she took Tyson to her own breast despite the arguments from the wet nurse.

  A queen didn’t serve her children. It was beneath her. But not Catrine Durand.

  Alex rubbed his eyes. The days following his father’s death now had meaning. It’d struck him odd how deep into mourning she’d gone when she’d never appeared beholden to her husband at all.

  Viktor Basile. The kingslayer. His mother had loved the man. He was sure of it now.

  His fists clenched at his sides and he glanced at his brother who stood beside him. They’d barely spoken since Tyson’s confession hours before.

  When La Dame came back to retrieve them, Alex tried to resist, but it was useless. He was her prisoner. Physically. Mentally.

  For the first time in his life, he felt powerless. Unclenching his fist, he placed a hand on Tyson’s shoulder. His brother’s body shook as he stared at the ornate mahogany doors in front of them.

  A guard had come to wrap heavy chains around Tyson’s ankles, but Alex was left unfettered.

  The witch couldn’t control the Basiles with her magic so she used other means.

  Both princes were dressed in the finest clothes. What better way for La Dame to show off her prizes?

  “Alex,” Tyson whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  The words caused more suffering than the curse ever could. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  “But my … father.” The boy swallowed. “I know how you feel about the Basiles.”

  “I think we can agree, Ty, that if the Basiles can resist La Dame’s magic, they’re an ally of the Durands.”

  Tyson smiled tentatively. “Thanks for saying it at least.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I know where things stand.” Tyson’s gaze drifted up to the tall doors. “I’m just not sure I know where I do.”

  “You’re my brother.”

  He nodded. “Do you get what this means?”

  Alex shook his head.

  Tyson’s smile stretched into a grin. “I have to kill my brother for imprisoning my sister.”

  A laugh burst from Alex’s mouth and echoed off the high ceiling. “And apparently, I’m in love with my brother’s sister.”

  “I’m glad you love her. It gives me hope for all of us.”

  Hope. It was a foreign concept in one’s prison cell. Even if that cell was currently a castle of the likes he’d never seen. It was opulence on its grandest stage. But it was still a prison just as much as the tower out in the middle of the woods.

  Even there, his brother had more faith than he’d ever possessed and he was envious. If only he could feel one tiny piece of that.

  The doors opened slowly to reveal a ballroom larger than any they’d ever seen.

  A trumpet blared, and the ringing sounded in Alex’s ears long after the trumpeter was out of breath. The string quartet let their music fade into silence and every ornately dressed person in the room turned to face them.

  Alex’s eyes drifted over the pillars wrapped in gold, to the twinkling lights made to look like the stars in the night sky. The beauty of it all slammed into him. Who were these people?

  Some of their faces held a hint of fear they did their best to cover up. Others looked indifferent. None seemed happy to be there.

  “My boys!” La Dame’s voice covered the room in a thick wariness. She stood on a balcony leaning against a silver balustrade. Her gold dress shimmered with every movement. Straightening up, she regarded her gathered people with a false joy in her eyes. “Let us welcome Alexandre Durand, King of Gaule.” A smattering of claps made its way around the room. “And we are also graced by the presence of Tyson Basile.”

  Alex started at the name. Tyson was as surprised as he was, judging by his raised eyebrows and clenched jaw. Who cared who his father was? He would always be Tyson Durand.

  “Please, make my honored guests welcome.” La Dame stepped back, and the music began again.

  As if compelled by her words, a line of people began welcoming them to the ball. When they finally broke away, Tyson leaned in. “There’s someone you should meet while we have a chance.”

  He led him toward a table laden with food. The men and women sitting nearby stood immediately and bowed, issuing a quick welcome, but Tyson bypassed them to walk to the servant filling wine goblets.

  The servant stopped and his eyes darted around to look for eavesdroppers.

  “Alex,” Tyson began. “Meet Matteo. He’s… well, I guess he’s my cousin.”

  Matteo stepped closer, the chains about his ankles rattling. His eyes narrowed. “So you’re the one killing my people?”

  Tyson gave Matteo a hard look. “We don’t have time for that. She’s going to fetch us soon.” He didn’t need to say who he meant. “She won’t want us speaking to you.”

  His eyes flicked toward the balcony, but she was no longer there.

  Tyson turned to Alex. “I’ve been coming to these balls every night since I arrived. They never change.”

  “Because La Dame doesn’t change,” Matteo cut in. “I’ve been with her my entire life and she has always been as she is now. Seemingly harmless and completely destructive in the same breath. Are you scared, King?”

  Alex had barely even admitted it to himself, but he was.

  Matteo took his silence as confirmation. “At least you aren’t as big a fool as I thought.” He studied him. “I don’t like you.”

  “Matteo,” Tyson started.

  “No.” Alex held up a hand. “It’s okay.”

  Matteo sighed. “But in this place, we’re allies. What do you see when you look around the room?”

  Alex did a quick scan of the crowded dance floor, anger bubbling to the surface. “They’re enjoying themselves.”

  Matteo rubbed his face in exasperation. “I see people who tried to escape the tyranny of the Durands only to walk into another prison.” He picked up his pitcher to return to work and glanced at something over Alex’s shoulder. “They are no more free than you. But you’re the king of Gaule. When you look at us, all you see are enemies.”

  “Matteo,” La Dame snapped from nearby. “Back to work or you will pay for it later.”

  Matteo resumed his task and Alex turned to face La Dame.

  “Are you enjoying my party?” she asked.

  Alex didn’t
respond, and she scowled.

  “Obey your most gracious host. Say you are having a pleasant time.”

  Alex tried to press his lips shut, but they parted on their own and his voice sounded foreign to his ears. “I’m having a pleasant time.”

  She nodded, pleased, and gestured to one of the men standing close behind her. “Take the young prince to his seat.”

  Tyson’s chains clanked loudly as he walked away, but not a single person in the sea that parted before him took notice.

  Matteo was right. They were all under La Dame’s power.

  She grinned at him with perfect, bright teeth. “My people are in need of a song. Come.”

  As her magic pulled him along, pain tugged at him and he welcomed the familiar sting of the curse. It kept him tied to a time when he was free. It was a silly thought, because perhaps with the curse he’d never been free.

  His life had never fully belonged to him.

  And it was because of the woman walking in front of him cheerily as if evil was not a word she knew. She stopped at the edge of the stage.

  “Stand on the stage,” she ordered.

  He did.

  “Sing.”

  “What?” He wasn’t a singer. Drawing he could do. Shooting an arrow was easy. But lifting his voice in song? His fingers tapped against his leg as he fought to hold back the music threatening to spill forth from him.

  “Sing,” she commanded again.

  And he did. A folk song his mother used to sing for him flowed naturally.

  He sang of power and magic. Of hope and love.

  A calmness settled over him and his eyes found Esme sitting alone in the corner of the room working her magic over the crowd. Over him.

  He closed his eyes and focused on the words allowing Etta’s face, her long golden hair, to eat away at the misery.

  No one stopped to watch him, the unwilling entertainment. His heart beat frantically in his chest as he began another song and humiliation reddened his cheeks. Maybe that was her plan. Bring him low. Erode all of his self-respect. And it was working.

  Many songs later, La Dame allowed Alex to stop.

  Tyson joined him as they prepared to leave for their confinements once again. He leaned in. “I’ll get you out of here, brother.”