Page 11

The downstairs foyer had burst with life. Servants had turned over the vases, arranging fresh flowers and greenery, swept the marbled floors, and traded out the rugs for new emerald and gold designs—as was their daily routine. Kaine cared little for the mundane. And his wealth far exceeded any limit preventing him from brandishing the manor with new furnishings every day.

Somehow, Alora stepped from the last level of the staircase without incident. Avoiding trampling her ridiculous skirts—that she had changed four times because of Kaine’s disapproval—underneath her jeweled slippers, she measured her steps. To hesitate in front of a perfectly pristine display of revolting power and seamless grace would be an embarrassment to Kaine.

Kaine wore noble finery, free of blemishes and wrinkles, and exuded high privilege. His boots reflected the sunlight from the windows, so clean they could be licked without repulsion. A lord amongst the rabble. And she noted how he took great care to sweep his eyes to the staircase. Reflected in his visage: a vicious evaluation of what was his.

Alora.

Like a piece of furniture, she too was required to be an epitome of his tremendous status. Standing there in a dress that was too extensive for her to run and too expensive to be seen as anything but a trophy for his arm. Like a wilted flower that thirsted for a drop of water; his hand was the only one to provide a taste.

He stepped forward, still evaluating her when his eyes became critical of something. She didn’t know what of but felt the vicious disappointment rolling off him.

Kaine lifted a hand, took another step through a tendril of smoke from a nearby candle, and tripped against the rug’s edge.

She flinched. The movement was entirely outside of her free will. Yet his face pulled taut, and his jaw set as he reset himself and stiffened. If they were anywhere alone, that hand would’ve done more than stuff inside his pocket, looping his thumb to the outside before pacing to cover his stumble.

Maybe she enjoyed those hideous rugs after all.

“You won’t go anywhere until I return. No visitors. Stay inside the manor. Do not leave,” Kaine merely said, stopping her heart hammering against her chest.

Alora forced herself to meet his glare, eyes widened, but she shouldn’t have been surprised.

The manor? Not even permitted to stroll the grounds or to enjoy a ride through his forests?

His instructions were painfully clear.‘Stay inside the manor.’

There was no point in asking why. She already knew he wouldn’t answer. And even if she did speak up, a backhanded sting would collide with her cheek or mouth, lingering for hours as a reminder of her insolent tongue. What property deserves the right to question its owner, after all?

Kaine didn’t so much as glance back as he passed through the front door. Taking the time to side-eye a short, golden-haired servant, and flash her a primal male grin. Despite the audience, he slowly raked his eyes over her before his heavy footsteps padded down the marble-chipped stones and a male servant opened the door to Kaine’s awaiting carriage. One of his many symbols of high class and nobility.

It clattered away with immaculate grace, leaving the grounds through the white-painted iron gates and shrubbery.

Taryn lingered a little too long for their connection to go unnoticed. Catching the astonished and envious glares and collecting whispers from the maidservants before her gaze met Alora’s with brash inconsideration.

Only a few more days, then Taryn could have him.

Alora lifted the skirts of her silken emerald dress ornately crested with fine golden threads as hideous as the rugs she scuffed her jeweled slippers on, turning toward the open door of the courtyard and the servant quarters beyond.

She was caged. Shackled like a wild animal. For whatever Kaine’s reason.

Only … her shackles were as illusioned as the finery she wore. And Kaine would learn something very critical, very soon. Caging an animal only fueled its ambition to escape. And he leftthe doors unlocked, wide open, envisioning nothing but his cruel voice to seal her in.

Alora forced back the boiling blood in her veins and slipped through the courtyard door.

Stay inside the manor?

Do not leave?

Watch me.

The dawnwood branches hung low,caressed by the light winds that blew in from the north. Alora pulled up the collar of her navy tunic and stopped at a tree carved with a symbol that indicated mass remembrance. The beauty of Rhidian Forest would’ve been enthralling had it not been for its sobering reminder of the past. Even now, two hundred years later, the ground wept for the lives ended within its embrace. The cries of the meek and powerless seeking swift refuge within its solace were still echoed in every bristle of the leaves. Singing unnerving melodies of steel and bloodshed.

Crisp, cool wind tore at her, drawing her attention to the north, toward the smuggler’s caves where she last laid eyes on her parents. Another similar series of carvings marked the stones there. A symbol by her own hand.

Alora laid her palm on it. The rigid indentations scratched against her skin when she traced the grooves with her fingertips.

The High King’s army was to blame for this injustice. Those stories were true. She had lived through it. Had fled through those same trees after days hidden inside the caves after his armies came and laid waste to Telldaira so long ago, ruthlesslykilling for the sake of two Marked Ones that he never found—or that’s what the rumors said. And in his devastation, thousands suffered for it. Not just her.

No stranger to this oasis, the earthy forest scent, strong with moss and damp dirt on its floor, welcomed her. She closed her eyes, thanking the forest for its refuge, and weaved through the tree line.