Lilac watched in mute horror as they kneeled to yank his arms out from under him. After doubly securing his wrists behind his back with thick shackles, they tossed his body in after Adelaide, then mounted their own horses. Garin’s stolen horse was then secured to the back of the carriage.
“Let’s go.” The guard at Lilac’s elbow removed his own set of chains from his belt, but Sinclair made a noise.
“She’ll ride with me.”
“Sir—”
“Leave her, Arwen. Anything else she tries will only count against her.”
Growing heated now, she yanked away from Arwen. “Count against? You have no right to tally against me. Once I’m queen—”
The corner of Sinclair’s mouth turned down in pity. “Perhaps you don’t know,” he chided, “quite how this works. There’s enough evidence of treason against you to have your entire family locked away. I’m only here searching for you because it is my duty, otherwise I’d be completely fine with you being lost to the Darklings forever. Your chance at becoming monarch has long sailed. You’ll now be my queen. The queen consort, technically.”
Consort, she thought, blood boiling. Never.
“Treason? You left me for dead with a vampire!”
“That vampire, though? That one there?” In a fit of rage, he suddenly reached down and gripped Lilac’s chin. Instinctively, to save her own spine, she allowed him to forced her face toward the wagon. “The one that kidnapped you back at my camp? Taking him to bed is an odd way of showing contempt.”
Anger and confusion flashed over Lilac’s face before she could catch herself. She’d skipped a beat for less than a split second, but it was enough for Sinclair to notice.
“Did I forget to mention? Sable and Jeanare send their well wishes.”
“What did you do with them?” Lilac demanded.
“They’re safe at home. For now, until court calls for their arrest and execution. That will be fun to watch, no?” He held his hand out to her while Arwen led the last steed closer before mounting the driver’s seat of the carriage. “Come now.”
She swallowed thickly, her throat locked. Thanks to Garin, Jeanare had no recollection of their visit, and Sable couldn’t possibly have said anything. Unless it was urgent. Unless it was to spare their lives.
“Never.” Lilac’s lips trembled as she spoke in quiet fury. “I’ll have your head for this. My parents would never agree.”
“But they’ve already welcomed me into your family, my sweetheart.” He raised his eyebrows, as if in disbelief that she could think otherwise. “You made your stance quite clear when you disappeared, which I now know was of your free will.”
Lilac began to shake, her skin crawling with both hot and cold. It was all she’d ever wanted—to become the queen. The witch’s letter had suddenly inspired her seek freedom, made her believe she could become a leader her parents and kingdom would be proud of. After her time in Brocéliande, her hopes and dreams for reform included the Darkling community as well.
Now, none of those aspirations would come to fruition.
Sinclair sighed pityingly once more. “You poor, tiresome little thing. You’re not in any kind of trouble. Not if you comply. Your parents and your kingdom—our kingdom, awaits. Come now.”
Lilac stared numbly at the Marquis’ outstretched palm. Behind him, the expanse of marsh suddenly appeared vast and empty. A soft breeze tangled the waterlilies in the reeds and ruffled wisps of her hair, which no longer smelled of lavender sprigs, nor of Garin. This feeling, the gaping void in her chest, was agonizing. It was familiar and foreign all the same. She was the furthest thing from an untamable, feral flame; no, she was but an ember in a sputtering fire.
For the first time since she’d escaped into the Brocéliande wilderness, she felt small.
Insignificant.
And alone.
Managing to nod, Lilac detachedly placed herself into the very arms that had once pinned her down so that their owner could attempt to take everything he’d wanted and more. Despite how hard she fought, it seemed that he would succeed in the end, after all.
27
For most of their journey, they traveled the main road that Lilac had first been so careful to avoid. Winding around the denser parts of the forest, traveling that way would have cut her trip on foot considerably, by a few days at least; at the steady trot maintained on horseback, they’d be there by sunrise. They only resumed a woodland journey when they came up on a crowd of townsfolk; Sinclair directed the driver around, probably wishing to avoid drawing attention. Until then, Lilac had forgotten that a handful of prominent villagers and shopkeepers were invited to witness her ascension, too. She was thankful for the dark, and that any travelers who might’ve seen her probably either didn’t notice or care enough to inspect the miniature royal caravan further while navigating in their late-night stupor.
Lilac half hoped a random ogre would appear to smash the carriage, inadvertently setting them free. She rode sitting as far from Sinclair as was possible with two riders occupying a single saddle, only grabbing at his robe when their horse jerked unexpectedly from a rat in the road. He remained uncharacteristically silent during the ride; Lilac wasn’t sure whether she should’ve been grateful or concerned. Perhaps he hoped that she would tip off at some point and break her spine, relinquishing the throne to him once and for all. The creatures of Brocéliande remained strangely quiet as they passed through, save the occasional rustling foliage and proclamation from the owls.
A pair of front guards on horseback quickly led the haphazard caravan, one with a torch and the other with an arrow at the ready. The carriage driven by Arwen came next, followed by Renald’s steed and two more archers, Sinclair and Lilac, and then a final rearguard. They plodded along in orderly fashion, pausing only once to let the horses sip from the creek. Depending on which way the path turned, what little moonlight filtered through the trees illuminated Adelaide’s wild-eyed sneer between the bars on the rear window. As much as she loathed Sinclair, Lilac was thankful he hadn’t made her ride with the unstable witch.
Just when her head began to teeter upon her shoulders at the sway of their horse’s rump, eyelids grown unbearably heavy, a quad of familiar brick turrets pierced the treetops ahead. The fortress appeared black against the gentle violet of early dawn. For the first time in what seemed like ages, Lilac would be awake to observe the magnificent sunrise.
If only the circumstances were different.
The cart jerked to a halt in front of them so abruptly even Sinclair seemed caught off guard; yanking the reigns, he steered their horse off to the side to keep from running into the carriage. Yawning, Lilac observed they had emerged to the right of the castle, behind the queen’s rose hedges and her bedroom tower. They stopped in front of two low grated windows flanking a shallow flight of stairs leading down to an iron-wrought door. The dungeon exit.
Sinclair dismounted the horse and snapped his fingers. “Get them inside. We don’t want anyone seeing her with these vagabonds. After today, hopefully she won’t have to deal with them ever again.”
Under his watch, the guards followed suit and retrieved a glowering Adelaide, whose hands now hung cuffed in front of her. Garin’s limp form swung from the other guard’s shoulder when he emerged from the carriage. When the last guard approached Lilac, she kicked, missing his helmeted head by centimeters.
“Don’t you touch me.” She gripped the leather saddle for support and carefully swung her right leg back, catching her balance as she lowered herself onto the grass.
Lilac had been through the dungeon a few times, but only to sneak out to her mother’s rose garden between guard rounds. Now, she was a prisoner herself. Tears welled in her eyes. In a daze, she followed the guards and their prisoners into the dank, stone hallway, almost ducking beneath the low ceiling. Cells had been hewn into the rock on either side of the hall, now reminding her chillingly of the vampire mine. Several prisoners stared blearily from behind bars as the group passed by befor
e leaving them in darkness again. One man reached through the bar as they approached, but a guard knocked his hand aside, and the man cowered away with a whimper.
With a squeaky groan, one guard opened a cell to the right and gestured Adelaide into it. “You get the only cell with a window, witch. Consider yourself fortunate.”
Ophelia spat in her guard’s face before being slapped and shoved into the cell so hard that she slammed into the back wall. Reeling she slumped to the floor beneath the dungeon window, an opening about the height of a palm that spanned most of the cell wall. Lilac’s father had once told her it had been carved to bring airflow to the prisoners.
The guard carrying Garin shoved past Lilac, tossing him to the floor in the room opposite Adelaide. His head smacked the stone floor with a loud crack, the arrows still buried deep in his flesh. Lilac stifled a sob.
“Something the matter?” Sinclair’s voice drawled lazily in her ear.
“Is he…”
“Alive? I mean, in the undead sense, sure. But not for long.”
Sinclair nodded to the guard behind her, who grabbed onto her arm. Grinning, he approached the facedown vampire. He placed his foot upon Garin’s back and grasped the arrow shaft closest his heart. Leaning over the vampire body, Sinclair shoved downward and gave it a violent twist.
“Stop!” Lilac lunged forward, straining against the guard. “Adelaide,” she pleaded, tearing her gaze away and peering through the cell opposite him—but the witch only watched Sinclair in stoic silence.
Everyone, including the other malnourished prisoners, glanced questioningly at Lilac’s outburst.
“They haven’t done anything wrong,” she blurted. “Garin hasn’t done anything but help me on my way to Paimpont. I’d ordered him to.”
“Blasphemy,” Sinclair uttered, gripping the arrow tighter and narrowing his eyes. “You’re clearly a traitor—”
“No,” Lilac insisted angrily through her tears. “I only… I wanted to be a more suitable queen. And my visit to the witch—”
“The name’s Ophelia,” she snapped from her cell.
“My visit with Ophelia was only to benefit the kingdom. To benefit you. I want to be an obedient spouse to you, Sinclair,” she lied. “One you won’t be ashamed to walk beside.”
“That’s odd,” Sinclair replied dubiously. “Considering you’ve despised me since the day we met.”
Wrong. She’d disliked him since the day they met; she’d despised him after he’d assaulted her. She hated taking on such a subservient pretense, even in her lies… but she’d do anything to save Garin.
“Despite what you might think of me, I’m not stupid, Sinclair,” she explained slowly, aware of the witch’s eyes now on her. “Though the news of giving up my role as monarch wasn’t easy to hear, I agree it would be better to reign beside you than not at all. In Paimpont, Ophelia created a draught for me. To get rid of my Darkling Tongue for good.”
Sinclair watched as Lilac pulled the small vial from her pocket. Every eye in the room shifted from her to the golden liquid, glinting in the torchlight.
“That’s not possible. You can’t—” Scoffing, he spun to exchange glances with the small crowd of guards and chained onlookers, but no one else seemed to share his amusement. “Can she do that?”
Fingers shaking, Lilac took a deep breath and pulled on the tiny cork stopper. She froze, every hair on the back of her neck raising. Despite everything, despite all the obstacles she’d barely scraped past for the measley remedy… Suddenly, the last thing she wanted to do was take the potion. She knew deep down, and perhaps it’s what she should’ve known all along, that using her ability to help Brocéliande would mean more to her than salvaging her own reputation.
But at this point, she’d do anything to save Garin’s life. Even if it meant sidling up to the real kingdom’s monster.
In one fluid motion, she raised it to her lips and swallowed the contents in one gulp. It tasted like strawberries and sunlight, made the soles of her feet tingle hot—then cold. She shut her eyes, waiting for something more tangible to happen. When nothing did, she reopened them in confusion.
Sinclair was staring hard at her. Eventually, his expression softened. “Incredible. A show of faith from my bristling bitch of a bride.”
What a fucking compliment.
Lilac squared her shoulders. “As I said, the vampire was only involved because, upon meeting, I ordered him to take me to Paimpont. It was either he’d do that, or I would have him swiftly executed. He helped me, and for that, I’d like to let him live. Both he and the witch,” she added hastily, feeling Ophelia’s furious glare.
Sinclair’s hand hesitated on the arrow shaft. But instead of thrusting the Hawthorne deeper and into Garin’s heart as she’d feared, Sinclair dug his heel into the vampire’s back for leverage and yanked both out.
“I’ll spare him an immediate death. He should wake in a few minutes’ time. Luckily, witch,” he said, turning to Adelaide after exiting and locking Garin’s cell door, “you’ll get a front row seat to the fiery demise. You seemed to have it out for him at the marsh. Well, here you go.”
Horrified, Lilac and Adelaide both followed his gaze. Through the narrow window in Adelaide’s cell—which opened to the east, just as her balcony had—the sky was brightening. Garin’s cell sat directly across from it. The bars were impossibly stout and thick, and there was no source of blood, dead or warm, for him to draw strength from—and even if there were, it surely wouldn’t provide him enough strength to break free. There was no escape for him, no shadowed corner to recoil into. The sunlight, albeit in a narrow strip, would eventually cover every corner of the cell over the course of morning.
“But—”
“But what?” Sinclair answered, poorly masking the impatience in his tone. “Shall we get rid of him now? I’ll stake him myself, if you’d like.”
She silently shook her head and willed herself not to gag.
Not only had she ingested the potion for no reason. She’d failed to save him. Despite their rough start, Garin had protected her throughout her entire journey—and this was how she’d repay him. Death—a final death, perhaps one not even the two most powerful women in the kingdom could prevent. Another execution she could not stop, this time of a Darkling—a man—she loved. Through the hot tears, she glanced at Adelaide, who’s ochre eyes glimmered distantly with their own remorse. The witch finally spared her a slow, meaningful glance.
Please, Lilac begged silently. Anything for him.
Sinclair grunted to acknowledge the guards. “Gentlemen. This is where we leave you. Keep a close eye on these two. Well, the witch, after the vampire’s gone. He shouldn’t be trouble for much longer. Princess?” He held his arm out jovially. “Let’s get you to your tower, shall we? The kingdom awaits.”
But Lilac wasn’t listening. Like Ophelia, she didn’t utter a word.
She was distracted, burrowed between fragments of imagination and memory.
Garin, she thought as forcefully as she could while Sinclair pulled her out of the dungeon, up into the quiet and dark castle.
Although the fireplace in the main hall crackled, on the verge of sputtering and surrendering to the coming sunlight, the stone walls stood mute, drawing a frigid dampness into her bones. Passing servants either did a double take, or blushed and scrambled the opposite way as she numbly allowed Sinclair to pull her through the back hallways and past the main entrance. She was accustomed to the wary stares and, before her journey, would resort to sheepishly ducking out of the way as quickly as possible. This time, she firmly met each and every one of their gazes.
Her parents weren’t among the surprised crowd of spectators, but she expected no less; they were likely in their own tower being prepped and primed themselves. She wondered if they even knew she’d been found.
No, of course they knew. Their daughter’s prolonged absence was no reason to forego or skimp on pre-coronation formalities, she thought to herself bitterly. She forced her s
houlders back and cocked her chin a bit higher. No matter the morning’s outcome, she would not give Sinclair or his family the satisfaction of her defeat.
A show of emotion was as good as surrender. And she was done surrendering for a lifetime.
The last room they had to pass was the kitchen; Hedwig looked as if she’d seen a spectre when they’d turned the corner. Eyes wide as a saucer, she clutched her heaving chest and bent to retrieve the drying rag she’d dropped.
Lingering behind just a second, Lilac could only stare apologetically.
Later, she mouthed to the shaken cook, whose bottom lip trembled in agreement.
“Back to work, Harriett,” Sinclair said, before ushering Lilac upstairs.
Her tower bedroom was just as she had left it, save her now-discarded expanse of haphazard escape rope, and the lack of pungent burning hair. Although she’d hoped to find her mother or at least her father there, a pair of older handmaidens waited instead, springing to their feet at her arrival. Sinclair left her with a revoltingly moist peck on the cheek, which she hadn’t had the energy to dodge.
She was ushered into the room, in passing catching a glimpse of herself in her vanity mirror. As she stared at her reflection, she knew no amount of powder would suffice in masking the fading purple splotch on her jaw, nor the shadows beneath her penetrating eyes. The hair atop her head was a crow’s next, though at least the ends of her mangled braid were no longer matted with dried blood. Still, she stared on, a slow smile tugging up at the corners of her mouth. Lilac liked the look of being pretty, but it wasn’t anything like the glow of being ravaged by the forest that had swallowed her whole, then spat her back out. She was a survivor, and she’d wear ugly like a minx shawl if that meant letting it show.
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