by Emma Hamm
“Giving up would mean letting him win.”
“And you don’t like to lose, do you princess?”
She drew herself from his arms. She used the last remaining sleeve of her dress and wiped away the moisture from her eyes and nose. “No. No, I don’t like to lose.”
“Then I will do everything I can to help you win.” The Dread stood and held out a hand for her to take. “Now, no more risks in coming to see me. I won’t have you broken again for my sake.”
“I didn’t break,” she corrected. “It’s just a scrape.”
He nodded. “It would take much more than that to break you. Now, come with me princess. I’ll bring you home.”
She didn’t want to go home. The palace was a place of nightmares for her now. And yet, she knew she couldn’t stay here.
Danielle reached up and slid her hand into his. “All right. Take me home.”
Chapter 17
Danielle snuck back into the palace and into her room with little issues. She carried a maid’s tray to her room, and the guards let her through without even looking at her face.
Milo sat up from his place in the center of her bed. His long blonde hair was a puff of gold around his face, tangled with sleep.
“Well?” he asked. “Did you get the answers you needed?”
“No.” Danielle placed the tray down on her vanity and sank onto the small stool.
She let the cloak fall from her shoulders onto the floor. Dirt had ruined the gown she wore but at least her face and hands were clean, thanks to her Dread.
“Danielle.” Milo’s sharp gasp echoed in the room. He lunged over the space between them and picked up both her hands in his. “What happened?”
She lifted her shoulders in a defeated shrug. “He couldn’t help us. Apparently father has left his mark on my secret helper as well.”
“He’s left a mark on all of us. Those who haven’t faced his wrath are lucky, but few and far between.” Milo reached up and stroked a finger over the scab on her forehead. “You need to be more careful, big sister.”
“Aren’t I supposed to tell you that?” she replied. A wry grin stretched her mouth into a mock grimace. “My head hurts.”
“I’m not surprised. You look as though you’ve been banging it off rocks.” Milo hesitated, then stood. “You weren’t actually banging your head off rocks, were you?”
She stifled a laugh. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Good.”
Milo pulled her onto her feet and spun her around. “Let’s get you out of this dress.”
“I have maids to help me do that.”
“I know you do.” His fingers made quick work of unbuttoning every single button all the way down her spine. “But I don’t mind helping, and something tells me you wouldn’t want a maid to see you like this.”
No, she didn’t. Though having her brother help her undress felt demeaning. He was a prince of Hollow Hill, not meant to be doing the work of a lady’s maid.
And yet, he knew how to undress her with surprising efficiency. He helped her step out of the ruined gown, then rifled through her closet to find the perfect sleep attire.
He brandished the silken underdress and the woolen overcoat at her with a sad smile. “In case father calls you out of bed tonight.”
“Do you think he will?” She took the clothing and pulled it over her head. “I thought he wouldn’t have any idea I was gone?”
A beam of sunlight pushed through the window and lit her brother’s beautiful face. A mixture of sadness and hope warred on his face. “I don’t know, sister. I hope he doesn’t, but I think his leniency has ended.”
The pit in her stomach returned, growing roots and digging through her flesh. All she saw in her mind’s eye was her father. The rage in his expression as he threw her against the door. The blinding pain between her eyes.
“I think you’re right, Milo.” She smoothed a hand down the woolen fabric and took a seat next to the vanity once more. “Perhaps you should slip out now. Through the servants passages as you had me go.”
“I’ll wait with you.”
“I don’t think you should. He’ll see it as you siding with me, my darling brother. You’ve taken enough pain already.”
Milo said nothing else. He moved to the wardrobe and disappeared without a second glance back.
Though she wished he had protested a little more, she knew how afraid Milo was of their father. He was the only son, and their father always said he wasn’t much of one.
The King of Hollow Hill didn’t see the determination in the set of his son’s shoulders. He didn’t see the beauty and the artistic nature of the prince who had the ability to change the way the world saw men.
She would fight to preserve that beauty, no matter how many scars it earned her.
Her reflection stared back at her in the vanity mirror. A reflection which had seen more than any woman had a right to. A reflection which whispered of new strength and renewed purpose.
The Dread had given her a part of himself in that cave. He’d given her the ability to stretch her muscles into something more than a princess. He said he couldn’t train her to fight in such a short time. But he’d given her so much more than muscle memory and a sword.
He’d given her confidence.
The guards entered her room at noon. They barged into the private quarters of the princess with dark grins on their faces. They knew what the king wanted. Her father’s personal colors threaded through their cloaks. If anyone was privy to the king’s private thoughts, it was this group of men.
One always stood in her father’s shadow. And her father had sent three of them to collect her.
She reached for the brush on her vanity and dragged it through her unbound hair. “Father thought all three of you were necessary?”
“Please don’t make this difficult princess,” the nearest guard growled. But she could see in his eyes he wanted the fight. He longed for her to attempt escape so they could chase, hunt, and then defeat.
She arched a brow at him. “I’ve met more terrifying things than you.”
“A princess of Hollow Hill has little experience in fear.” He bared his flat teeth at her.
Danielle chuckled and bared her own teeth at him. “You don’t know me.”
Two guards placed their hands underneath her arms and lifted her. She didn’t fight them. That’s what her father wanted. He wanted her to make a scene, so there was a reason for him to leave another mark on her.
She held her head high, lifting her bare face to all those who would see her in the halls. Let the servants gossip. They would spread word about the injured princess, and that guards dragged her to the King’s study.
As much as her father was beloved, he’d made certain his people loved her as well. Danielle was his creation. She was his perfect princess, but that would soon all be thrown in his face.
The perfect princess planned to overthrow the king.
A few of the maid’s whispered to each other as they walked by. She caught snippets of conversation as if in a dream.
“The princess’s face, did you see?”
“She’s wounded.”
“What happened to the princess? Why does the king want to see her?”
Danielle forced her shoulders to remain proud and strong. She was not weak like her father thought. She would be strong until the very last moment when she couldn’t see straight through the haze of his anger.
The guard who had taunted her pounded on the door to the study. “Your Majesty, we have the princess.”
“Enter,” her father grumbled beyond the solid door.
She allowed the guards to shove her through the opening and into her father’s study. She didn’t let her eyes stray to the place where her head had struck wood. The King would only believe her worried or fearful because she remembered what he’d done before.
Did he ever move from his desk? He sat behind it as he had the first time she’d been here. Fingers steepled, eyes flashing fire an
d rage.
“Daughter,” he said.
“Father,” she replied.
He leaned back in his chair and surveyed her. “Your head has healed well.”
“No thanks to your healer. He did little more than force me to drink a tonic and then left me to my own devices.”
“He’s the best healer in the kingdom.”
Danielle arched a brow. “And he left in such a hurry I don’t think he would have remembered my face. The man was frightened out of his wits.”
“As he should have been. I would have killed him if he harmed my most precious daughter.”
Precious? She wanted to throw the words in his face. Danielle wasn’t any more precious to him than any of his other children. They were playthings in his chess game of a kingdom. Nothing more, nothing less.
Her father gestured toward a seat in front of his desk. “Sit.”
She didn’t want to allow him to order her around. But she also knew there were some fights she should pick, and others she should let go.
Danielle took a seat in front of her father, folded her hands in her lap, and inclined her head. “You wished to speak with me?”
Let him think he had ordered her here, but she would control this meeting. There would be no more lifted fists or angered words. Today was when her father realized he’d created a weapon of a daughter with words for a sword.
A slow grin spread across his face. “Indeed, I did. You will tell me where you have been sneaking off to.”
“I won’t.”
“Really?” His hands closed around the arms of his chair, white knuckled in anger. “I don’t believe you understand just how little control you have, princess.”
The nickname on his lips sounded far more cruel than it did on the lips of the Dread. “You need not know where I have been. I’ve been safe, well taken care of, and I’m not meeting with anyone who affects the kingdom. My secrets are mine to keep.”
“You have no secrets from your family.”
“We all have our secrets. Don’t we, father?” She tilted her head to the side and watched him as he was watching her.
He held himself so still, she wondered if he even breathed. His hair had grayed more than she remembered. Perhaps from stress or an illness he hadn’t told his children about.
She couldn’t imagine the King ever succumbing to illness.
But there was something different about her father. Perhaps an air about him that whispered of darkness and shadows. A small chink in his armor.
Danielle straightened her shoulders the perfect picture of a princess. “Father?”
“Hm?” He shook himself and released his hold on the chair’s arms.
“I will not tell you.”
Rage burned a blush across his high cheekbones. For a moment, she thought he would launch himself across the table and wrap his hands around her throat.
The King controlled himself. He closed his hands on the arms of the chair again. Thoughts flickered behind his eyes, the chess game moving but only pieces she couldn’t see.
A dark smile spread across his face, and she knew she was about to lose. “Then I will have to assume you are running out to meet a lover, princess.”
“I’m not.”
“Who will believe you? The servants already spread rumors, Danielle. You seek a lover in the forest and as such, you have embarrassed your entire family by soiling what is sacred ground.”
Danielle had to force her hands still in her lap. She wished to cover the body he stared at. “I am not sacred ground.”
“To this kingdom, you are. That womb of yours will bear the next King of Hollow Hill. You aren’t a woman, Danielle. You’re a piece of history, a figurehead, and nothing more than an object for the people of this kingdom to believe in.” He arched a brow, the expression like looking in a mirror. “You’re a princess. Or have you forgotten?”
She hadn’t forgotten. How could she? The chains around her throat were sometimes too heavy for her to bear.
Danielle opened her mouth, hoping she could tell her father something, anything, that would throw momentum back in her direction.
He didn’t give her a chance to speak at all.
Instead, he interrupted her as soon as sound left her lips. “Now that I understand you’ve been running off to meet some suitor, the only thing I can do is ensure you are married off as quickly as possible.”
“None of the neighboring kingdoms have suitable husbands,” she interjected.
“No, but in a situation such as this, another royal will not do. You’re soiled goods, princess.” The evil glint in his gaze made her swallow in fear. “You will be suitable for anyone I pick. There are many excellent merchants in this city. Hungry men who want power and I’m willing to give it to them. For a price.”
He would make a commoner king?
She’d never thought to hear those words leave her father’s lips until she realized his plan. All the fight drained out from Danielle’s body and she slumped back into her chair.
It wasn’t possible. The king wouldn’t stoop so low and yet... She met his gaze. “You would trade this kingdom and your daughter, so you can create a king of your own making.”
“A commoner will listen to me, the only royal who matters. The one who gave him a place among the stars. And I will ensure this kingdom continues to run exactly as I desire, even after death.” Her father leaned over the table, so close she could smell the mint on his breath. “I will make your life heaven or hell, princess. How well you cooperate will decide your fate.”
“Father, please.”
“A ball in a week’s time will be hosted in your name. I’m calling it a ceremony of appreciation for our beloved kingdom. The next the generation of royals will welcome all people into the fold of nobility. We walk into a new age, hand in hand with commoners.” The grin on his face turned her blood cold. “Your hand is the one I’m giving away, and I will decide who owns it once that nasty gash on your forehead heals.”
“I do not consent.” Danielle didn’t know what the words would do, but they felt important to say.
Her father stood up from his desk, rounding it with lazy aggression. He reached his hand out, cupped her chin, and forced her to look up at him.
She’d never seen that look in his eyes. That awful rage mixed with so much happiness.
“Say it again,” he said.
“I do not consent to this plan. This is madness.”
Her father leaned down and pressed his lips to her ear. “I don’t care.”
Chapter 18
Her maid tucked the last strand of hair behind Danielle’s ear, looking her over and ensuring every tiny piece of the princess was perfect.
Danielle stared at the woman in the mirror. The creature looking back at her wasn’t herself. It couldn’t be.
Her hair was pulled into a simple chignon. Every icy blonde strand was placed so not a single thread was where it shouldn’t be. Her makeup was lovely. Lips red as a rose, eyes circled in kohl, and blush giving her life where there was none.
But there was a bleakness in her gaze. Dead eyes she’d never seen before. The gaze of a woman who knew her life was about to end and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Stand please, your highness,” the maid said. “I want to make sure your gown is right.”
Of course it was. The best weaver in Hollow Hill had created it, or at least, the best weaver the humans knew of.
Danielle stood. Her reflection shifted with grace, moving as a princess should. Every inch of the gown looked the part of the ice princess.
Droplets of glass hung from her arms and dripped down her torso. The fabric plunged low between her breasts, and icy tendrils of lace and glass beads stretched like frost over her skin.
She was lovely. Any man who wandered into the ball would want to be her king. They would desire nothing more than to break through her icy exterior and plunge into the hidden fires of her soul.
She thought they might be disappointed
when they realized the ice around her heart was so thick, no man would ever find the heat within.
“You’re lucky,” the maid said as she shifted a bead back in place. “The eldest daughter of the King, getting married today!”
“Married?” Danielle’s stomach rolled. “I’m only finding a suitor tonight.”
“No, darling, didn’t the King tell you? You’re getting married tonight.”
A dark glint in the maid’s gaze meant her father had planned all this. He wanted her to find out from the lowest of servants. He wanted her to know her freedom wasn’t disappearing soon, but now.
So be it. If he wanted her to marry tonight, then she would do so. But he wouldn’t convince her to allow any man, husband or not, to order her around. There were still plans to be made. Dread to convince their war needed to continue.
Family to save.
“Come, Your Highness. Let’s get your shoes on. Everyone is waiting for you in the Great Hall.”
The shoes her father had sent were made of sturdy glass and molded to Danielle’s feet. They would suffice for the night, although her toes may bleed by the end of the dances.
Perhaps that’s what her father wanted. His daughter kneeling before the throne, feet broken and bleeding.
She reached for the nearest post of her bed and steadied herself. The maid dropped to her knees and placed each shoe on Danielle’s feet. The cold glass made her toes ache and stretched up to her soul until she felt as though her entire body couldn’t move. She was ice. She was snow.
Danielle had become little more than a figurehead, as her father claimed she needed to be.
“Come,” the maid said. She gestured toward the door where three guards waited. “It’s time for you to seek your future.”
Ominous words for a maid. Danielle lifted her head high and strode out of her only haven. She allowed the guards to place their hands under her arms, marching her through empty halls.
Music drifted toward her, reaching out in tendrils of sound beckoning her toward the end. They wrapped around her waist and arms just as strong as the guards. Pulling. Tugging. Leading her toward the room where everything would change.