Ruined

by Rebecca Grey

  Straining to listen, I stepped out onto the chilled floor. The soft padding of my feet as I tiptoed across the room whispered against the old woods. I sent a darting glance over my shoulder, afraid he might jump out of the shadows to snatch me up and break my soul.

  Dace’s hair had dried, slanted loosely across his forehead. His lips were parted as he breathed heavily. A blue robe to match the nightgown I decided not to wear was tied up over him, fabrics sprawled around him where he was stretched out over the red velvet couch. His chest rose and fell evenly, without a care in the world.

  My heart swelled with joy and guilt as I made my way back toward the bed. Silently, I thanked him for keeping his word. I cast him one last look before I pushed all my strength into a run and leapt onto the billowing covers. Sinking into the fabric, a small sigh escaped me. The pad of my fingers fluttered to run over my lips. I wanted to laugh. When was the last time I really laughed? Sure, I got a good chuckle out of Daethian’s impressions of the keepers, or the way he goofed off in the stables when I was down. But I longed for a deep belly laugh.

  With a grin lingering on my features I gave in to the soothing feeling of the mattress underneath me, letting the evening moon that peered in the windows kiss me goodnight.

  I still couldn’t be sure of the prince, and the night was far from over. Was the Prince of the Twinity Court truly as kind as he appeared? Or was a new game being played with my life?

  NINE

  Milo

  Fuck Stylica’s ale.

  Pain radiated through my skull, the annoying dull ache spiked with each clink of a dish. Apparently, training started this afternoon and this morning I was supposed to babysit the servants while the more experienced guards got to nurse their hangovers. This job was beneath me. With my skill level this was almost offensive, and otherworldly boring.

  Yet, it struck hope within me at the thought that if I worked my way up in this court it would buy enough time my queen could find a new obsession. Something to persuade her to abandon the token she sought.

  My stomach rolled but I stood tall in the doorway of the king’s bustling kitchen watching the servants with curiosity. None of them showed much difference in the way they were built compared to me. Though I caught a glimpse of one with patches of what looked like tree bark within her skin and another whose skin looked burnt by the sun in the most peculiar way that charcoal touched his cheek bones and the tip of his ears.

  We were one and the same, me and these slaves. Chained to a life we didn’t ask for. I would give anything to free myself, anything to free Terasia.

  “Clayton, run out to the garden and grab some more carrots. Trecklynn, hun no. You need to mince, mince, mince, mince.” A female snapped the orders next to me, swinging a long dish towel over her shoulder.

  She turned and caught my gaze. Her eyes were already small but seemed almost nonexistent as she squinted at me. “Excuse me, new guy. What are you looking at?”

  My eyes wandered around her and then to my right and left as I was sure she wasn’t speaking to me. But she kept her face focused solely my direction.

  “Are you talking to me?” I finally asked.

  “No, idiot, I’m talking to the other keeper with dark eyes staring me down, trying to make me uncomfortable.” She paused, slicking back a few flyaway strands of midnight black hair into her ponytail and placed her hands on her hips. “Look, if you think I’m going to let your arrogance get in the way of me and mine, you have another thing coming. The king likes his food how he likes his food, and if you keep me from making said food because you can’t keep your eyes to yourself then, he will boot you out faster than they took our magic.”

  I bit my lip trying to hold in my laugh. This tiny woman almost glowed with spunk, her ferocity a dare in her slitted glare. Slowly, I leaned forward holding her steady gaze. “But they are handsome brown eyes right?” I whispered.

  The woman sputtered then snorted, ripping the towel off her shoulder and wringing it in her hands. “Brown eyes just mean you’re full of shit. Now get out of my face so I can do my job.”

  My arms felt tight in the orange shirt they gave me as I folded them over my chest and mused. “What are you?”

  “I’m the fucking chef. Hence the kitchen.”

  “No, are you some sort of elf?”

  Her thin lips parted, her eyes shifting around me. “Is that some sort of slur I haven’t heard before? What’s your name keeper?”

  Slurs. I was familiar with those. Back home I was a soldier, royal guard, or loyal Atarman. Or Oathkisser as people on the street often sneered at us. Sometimes they called us Dreetmen as a play on my favorite curse word.

  More shockingly though, she didn’t know what an elf was? Some creatures didn’t live in this realm that existed in mine, then. Our lingering conversation was starting to earn worried glances from the other servants.

  “My name is Milo.”

  “Milo, don’t let that uniform confuse you,” she said sternly. “You can call me Red and this is my kitchen.”

  “How do you get away with your attitude when you are merely a servant?” I asked the question, but Red was already turning her back to me and making her way to the hot oven top.

  “Holy Havala. You don’t stop, do you?” Red was shaking her head, picking up a large spoon and tasting a heaping dish of what looked like potato. “Just get this straight now and your time in this kitchen won’t be so bad. The king likes me more than he likes you. So unless you can take the crops and make them into the most spectacular five course meal, you have nothing on me.”

  “Red,” her name felt weird on my lips, like I was changing destiny, like I was never supposed to say it, “I don’t want your job.”

  I just want to know what you and your people are.

  Red flicked the spoon at my face, hot potato burning against my forehead before I wiped it away. Multiple servants stopped working with surprised expressions. I made a mocking face before turning away from her to watch the rest of the kitchen. She hummed, pleased with herself as she flittered over the dishes in the kitchen, tasting and adding ingredients as she went.

  The other servants like her were quiet about their work. I hardly even caught their whispers here and there. My eyes continually scanned the kitchen for some source of trouble to scold or reprimand. I kept my gaze away from Red and the busy sway of her hips. No need to draw attention to myself as the new guard who knew nothing about anything.

  Over the years I’d become familiar with standing, standing and watching, watching and waiting. Life as a guard was rarely exciting. With the exception of the time the man I now was meant to hunt had an unexpected trip to Tierasia. I’d done the queen’s bidding before and handled the torture—I actually prided myself on my abilities to get information out of someone-- but Randsin had been different. Randsin came to save my people, whether he knew it or not. He was the one cog in the machine that set everything into motion. Even if I was still bitter that Eydis had feelings for him, he would save my one true love, Tierasia.

  The kings here must be kind and generous to allow such prosperity within their courts. His people must bow before him and give him great offerings in appreciation. A pang of homesickness struck within my gut. This place was great, but it was different, and it just wasn’t where I’m meant to stay forever.

  The small businesses struggling to make ends meet and the farmers watered their crops with their tears as they cried out for plentiful yieldings. That wasn’t the home that I missed. No, it was the home that existed, before Atarah sank her red painted nails into it, that I longed for. Back when neighbor helped neighbor, crops were abundant enough to share, the pubs were filled with people happy to celebrate instead of those seeking to wash away their sorrows. Yes, that was a great time. Children ran about the street laughing and playing instead of being put to work or stolen from their families and forced to take the magic bound oath to the queen.

  The loud clatter of a tray falling to the ground had my attention snappi
ng to the scene. Red was already there, next to the servant picking up the pieces. When she caught my frigid posture, hand hovering next to the whip they had given me, she pierced me with a cold hard stare. A dare to move.

  “It’s alright, hun. No harm done, we will get this cleaned up and that will be the end of it. Forget it happened.” Gently, Red brushed her hand along the cheek of the young woman. The girl’s eyes were wide as she looked across the small distance between the shattered dish and me. She nodded, turning with trembling hands to begin her work elsewhere.

  Should I be asserting my authority? Was Red really as important to the king as she made herself out to be or was she just trying to take advantage of someone new to the position? Perhaps this king was kind to his servants.

  I wished I had taken more time before jumping into this to learn about the king and his ways. It was too late for that now and I needed food, housing, and money. This was the best way to get it.

  My hand relaxed away from the weapon at my hip and I took a few strides over to Red and the mess. Around us the kitchen stuttered. Surely a staff that was so hesitant and nervous around the keepers was not treated with the same respect as the majority of the land. Perhaps I should have pulled out the whip.

  “Playing Mr. Nice Guy isn’t going to earn you any points in my kitchen. You’re a keeper and you will always be a keeper in our eyes,” Red snarled.

  “You’re a slave and you will always be a lowly slave in the eyes of mine,” I spat. I couldn’t help to match her wit while she was so quick to judge. She wanted to define my character when she knew so little about me. It reminded me why I liked isolation so much. By nature we were all nasty beings, mean and selfish. I would never forget it.

  Glass shards sat cradled in my palms before I dropped them into the garbage. My boots stuck to the juices that spilled on the floor as I returned to my post and Red moved back to the oven. The kitchen door swung open revealing Marcus with a wide smile. Each servant kept working, not stopping to give him any attention. His boots swiveled as he took a long look around the room.

  “How’s my kitchen, Red?”

  Red’s movements became stiff with an awkward shrug of her shoulders. “Great.” She eventually bit out, her eyes trained heavily on the stew she was stirring.

  “Great,” Marcus repeated, slapping his hand against her shoulder as he moved past her to me. How’s it going back here?”

  “Just wonderful. Collin was right, huh? Living the life and babysitting?” I chuckled to hide the bitter edge of annoyance in my voice.

  “The nymphs haven't given you a lick of trouble have they? I know Red can be a handful just by herself.”

  Nymph. That’s what Collin had called them. Yes, I remembered the term now.

  Marcus raised his voice as he finished his thought. “She is fortunate we haven't sent her off to the Acture Court yet. Lucky the king enjoys her cooking so much.”

  “Lucky, indeed,” I agreed. I decided to leave it at that. As much as I would like to throw that fire tipped tongue of hers out to the wolves, I wanted to see just how this court worked first. Couldn’t get myself in over my head with the king’s favorite chef just because she was rude as hell.

  “Come on. You’re relieved from the kitchen to get some practice in with the guards. You’ll be back here the rest of the week.” He cut his hand through the air in dismissal. Without hesitation I followed Marcus out of the kitchen and didn’t give the servants another glance.

  The castle was much like every other castle I had been in, built of solid stones and filled with treasures too costly for others to own. Large mirrors hung throughout the halls, reflecting the afternoon sun throughout the rooms. Lamps hung from the ceilings waiting to be lit when the sun resigned its post and gave way to the moon.

  Each smooth surface of glass rippled with crimson, the image of a woman's pointed features shining back with each passing. I knew the call. I could feel her burning gaze on my skin and her magic tugging me toward her.

  Marcus didn’t see the red. The mirrors, to him, were just mirrors. I fought against the urges to drop this meaningless task of following him to answer my queen’s command. Fire burned down my spine in response.

  Together we twisted and turned down the unfamiliar halls until the ceiling gave way to an open courtyard. It was a relief not to see any waiting mirrors. Doors edged the open space, the guard’s bunks as I had found this morning as I brought my items to the castle.

  I stepped into the sun's glare. Magic still pulled me, my feet stumbling toward the invisible rope that nagged me. A pitcher of water, sparkled, bloodlust magic edging it on a nearby table.

  “Mind if I get a drink?” I rasp.

  “Be my guest.” Marcus nodded.

  Mild wind rippled against my tight uniform. I poured into the glass, taking a sip before I stared down at the cup.

  “It’s been nearly a week with no report Milo. Are you close to finding our thief?” Her voice was buttery smooth, pitching in the seductive way that she does.

  “I’m securing my place within the walls of a king in this realm. I’m hoping that with his good grace and knowledge I can find the man we seek.”

  “Entertaining another ruler?” She hissed. “Should I have scent Barthalow on this mission instead?”

  I lowered my voice to a soft whisper. “Your Majesty, I will not let you down. This realm is mighty different from ours and Barthalow would not be able to keep himself from praying upon those differences.”

  “Focus on your task, Milo.” Her curvaceous lips turned down.

  “That’s a long water break,” Collin yelled from the chaotic ruckus of clashing swords on the practice field.

  My teeth grinded together as I gave my queen one last withering look before turning on what little charm I could manage. “Are you begging to get your ass whooped again?”

  “Take your sword and find a partner.” Iron bit from the side lines, stopping his conversation with Marcus.

  Grunting, I tossed the whip that dangled from my hip to the ground and pulled a sword from the waiting barrel. I balanced it in my hand. Sadly, I wasn’t able to ruin this clothing as I had with the ones that I had purchased myself. The uniform I wore was suffocating but no one else seemed to be bothered by it.

  Advancing toward Collin, he shook his head. He took a step back toward me trying to make himself look more on the offense until I walked him into a corner. I thought about letting him win one, just for the sake of his own pride, but honestly, that was never going to happen.

  Other staff members would come and go in our training area. To either get a good look at the new guards or to find some sort of entertainment in their everyday lives, I guessed.

  The hard blade of the wooden sword I practiced with firmly smacked into Collin’s arm. He gave an angry frustrated growl before tossing his weapon on the ground at my feet.

  “Dang it, Milo. Fight someone else. You’re already pissing me off.”

  “Oh, it’s only ‘cause you can’t win one against me. Don’t be such a sore loser,” I shouted after him as he stormed away. I tossed a look over my shoulder at Marcus and Iron with a short shrug of my shoulders.

  From the shadows a figure emerged, a long gown trailing behind slender curves. Marcus and Iron bowed low. “My princess, you’re back from your trip to the Heathern Court so early?”

  I was eager to see this princess, I hadn’t yet been made aware that the king had any children, much less a daughter. Joining Marcus’s side, I leaned down to pay my respects to the princess. Her long blonde hair was sprinkled with hints of browns and was pulled back in a low ponytail, her large nose lifted up as if she was constantly disapproving whatever was happening, and she pinned those grey-blue eyes on me.

  “Is this the guard you so raved about to my father?” she drawled with an odd curiosity playing on her features. The princess pulled her arms out from where they had been tucked behind her back and began rolling her wrists.

  It was clear to me, she had never been
denied the finest things in life. Gold rings adorned her fingers, glinting under the sun as she reached down, swooping her dress up from under her legs and tying it up. Her thin fingers then wrapped around the hilt of a blunt wooden practice sword.

  “My name is Milo.” I offered my hand.

  The princess stared down at my hand glistening with sweat for a moment before taking it firmly in her grip. “Milo, I am Princess Maggie. Though you probably already know that.” Her smirk revealed two dimples in her cheeks. I’m sure that was her signature smile that won so many people over. It likely wouldn’t work on me.

  “I would like to see what you’ve got. I won’t hold anything back if you promise you won’t either.” Maggie was shuffling in front of me eager for a fight. Princess or not, I wasn’t one to back down.

  “You have yourself a worthy opponent, my princess.” I was already warmed up from the afternoon of fighting, I was great with a sword, and if this princess only had these men to practice with this would be easy.

  Maggie snorted. “We will see about that.”

  Together our swords met, I now gave my full attention to our swordplay.

  “Marcus told my father you beat every opponent he pitted you against.”

  “Really?” I said as if I was bored already. “Surely I’ve earned much more praise than that.”

  “You really are a cocky little thing aren’t you?”

  Maggie’s attention bore into me, our swords collided and held together. I ignored the brittle sting as my muscles struggled to hold my place.

  “I apologize, Princess, but you do not frighten me.”

  A ghost of a smile passed over her lips. “I am not intending to.”

  My gaze narrowed on my opponent who wasn’t appearing to tire as we pushed back and forth. Just as I thought I would get the upper hand, Maggie swung the wooden sword hard enough to knock my own weapon from my sweaty grip. Stunned I stared at my sword as it skittered away from me, the wood hissing against the ground. That was a first.