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Chapter Thirty-Seven

E verything freezes—my breath, the beat of my heart, even the wind.

My father gazes down at me, and I see now that he knows exactly who I am.

He has known the entire time. For half a breath, his eyes soften almost imperceptibly, the way they did when I was little, when I would crawl into his arms after he returned from his post.

And like the fool that I am—the daughter who once loved and admired him even as she watched him grow cold—

I beg him to see the cage I’m in. I will him to drop his cruelty, the demon who wears his skin, and draw his sword on Illian. Help me, Father.

Help me.

Devilry seeps into his gaze then, and as he turns it to Illian, something cool and slimy hooks around my ribs.

“My daughter, Vastianna Stova,” he says, gesturing toward me. “Please, won’t you rise?”

The sound of my name on his lips shakes me.

My legs feel like splintered glass, but I force myself to stand. A sheen of sweat gives a sickly pallor to my skin. Aside from Copelan, I doubt anyone recognizes me—not after the way Sana prepared me. No kohl, no liner, no face paint or millen to hide behind. I look younger, more innocent.

My father smiles, then, and I know that whatever he plans to say next will break me.

“Twelve years ago,” he declares, “I sent my beloved daughter to West Miridran in a show of good faith, as a part of a courtship agreement designed by King Rurik and myself, and His Majesty, King Illian.”

My lungs feel as if they’ve collapsed, as if they refuse to take another breath.

Twelve years ago, when I turned thirteen.

When he announced I was to be sent away, wed to a man overseas who I did not know.

“It was meant to forge a deeper bond between our two countries. Their courtship would not only solidify trade agreements to usher in wealth and prosperity, but ensure a lasting, healthy relationship between both our lands.”

My ears begin to ring.

“And while we bear the weight of the happenings of the past few days, it is my heart’s greatest joy to finally announce the engagement between my daughter and my dear friend, Illian Orvere, thus bringing to completion the agreement made long ago.”

It was Illian.

Illian, who I would have been sent to on my thirteenth birthday.

Illian, who Emilia tried to protect me from.

I was no toy. I was a product. A commodity, primed and plucked to sell.

Again, I remember the argument I overheard between Emilia and my father. Had she seen Illian at the Gathering she performed at? Is that where they made their plans?

My hands lose feeling. My sight blurs. Emilia knew. It’s why she fought so hard to stop it. She died for it, died trying to hide me away, died trying to help me escape. My ears roar with the rush of understanding, a tidal wave thrashing against my skull.

The clattering of applause nearly topples me.

It isn’t until I feel a palm against my shoulder that I return to myself.

My father. His gaze is as dead as the Brisendali alstrea blooms after a frost. Having come to stand behind me, he turns my shoulders so that I’m facing Illian, and his next words wrap around my throat, squeezing my breath until I can feel my heart pounding in my ears.

“Illian Orvere, I gladly give you my daughter, my greatest pride. She is yours in every way.”

I feel the tender press of my father’s lips, damp against my forehead.

“I hope Emilia is watching,” he whispers into my ear. “I hope she sees how badly she failed.”

Hot tears stab my eyes, but the rest of me is frozen, numb with terror.

How badly she failed.

Because I never escaped him.

He knew. Somehow, he found me. “How long?” I rasp. How long has he known where I was?

“You were so easy to keep track of, selling Emilia’s ring to buy passage on that ship.” He scoffs. “I admit we lost you for a time, once you took up residence in that theater—or so I am told. I suppose I should thank you for running straight to him thereafter.”

Straight to him.

Because I had caught his eye. And not just because of my dancing.

“He recognized me,” I breathe. Somehow. Though we hadn’t met.

A shrug. “I knew you were in Miridran, that it was only a matter of time before we tracked you down. So we sent drawings, descriptions. He suspected the truth once he got a good look at you.”

I think back to the way Illian climbed onto the stage at the Melune. How his brows leapt an increment—a hint of a surprise once we were face-to-face. I’d assumed it was because I had been younger than he had initially thought.

“And when he found Emilia’s glove in your belongings, that cemented it.”

Her glove, embroidered with her name.

Emilia’s glove.

The one that had gone missing.

“As far as my acquaintances knew, I had already sent you to your suitor.”

I sway, the ground tilting beneath me.

To anyone else, this must look like he’s whispering his blessings; a doting father sad to lose his daughter but glad to gain a son.

All this time, and I had played right into their plans. I should have seen it. Should have put the pieces together here at the very least, when at every step my father was there.

And now Illian thinks to collect me like a tax collector would his coins.

My father takes my wrist, his thick fingers squeezing the fragile bones the way he had years ago. He nods at Illian, who removes his gloves.

Illian holds my gaze as my father presses my palm neatly into his. Flesh to flesh. A deal sealed.

We are touching, for the very first time.

I wait for time to stop. It feels like it should. Then, softly, Illian tacks a kiss to my knuckles before sliding a ring onto my finger. It’s cold, small, and altogether too tight, just like my shackles.

And before I know what’s happening, he takes my jaw and nudges my lips to his.

My mouth is slack, numb, but he makes up for my lack of response, plunging harder, tilting my head back. His lips are wet. Cold, like frost. Like his soul.

Then, with a shudder that feels like relief, he backs away and slides his mouth to my ear. “You have no idea what it’s been like being unable to touch you.”

Revulsion climbs up my throat. I blink, and he comes into focus. His eyes are dark, heavy, and I remember all the times he looked at me this way before and never acted on it. Until now.

Until now, when my father allowed it.

The woman he brought to his room, swathed in my costume. The times he reached for me but pulled away—

I understand, now. She is

yours in every way.

Only then do I hear the crowd, the music.

Illian lifts our hands, displaying my ring before them.

And when finally the cheers subside, he leans in, confirming my guess.

“Yes, Vasalie. I made a vow to your father not to lay so much as a finger on you until he gave his permission. And I kept my word.”

But it has nothing to do with his word, and everything to do with whatever bargain they struck after working together for so long. He didn’t want to risk losing Maksim’s help. Or maybe because Maksim knew his plans and could expose him at any moment.

And my father—he didn’t want me tarnished. I was insurance.

Leverage.

Property.

I feel Illian’s palm against my cheek, but I remove myself from my body. Distantly, my father calls for celebration, but his words sound as though they are underwater. Figures dance, warping in and out of sight. Music soaks the air like mist.

I’m being pulled to the dance floor.

“You really knew this whole time?” I hear myself ask dazedly. Flatly.

Illian leads me into a waltz, his hand crawling up my waist. When he leans in, his breath is a cool wisp against my neck. “It was meant to be, don’t you see?”

Because I had fallen right into his lap.

“But why, why didn’t you—”

“Wed you sooner? Honestly, Vastianna, you made it much harder on yourself. If you hadn’t run off, you would have been welcomed into my palace instead of starving on the streets.

” He spins me around, then guides me back into his arms, and there’s a possessiveness to the way he holds me.

“I am not so cruel as he. Your father wanted you in my court right away—wanted the deal sealed. But I would not have married you until you were sixteen. You could have had three years of learning, pampering, and yet you chose to flee.”

Was it really kindness, I wonder, or more because he needed to accomplish something, first?

“Nonetheless, the hand of fate stepped in. Guided you to me in that theater. And that is precisely the magic of it. It was destiny, as if written among the stars themselves.”

He looks at me as if I should agree with him. As if I should thank him for it.

“Unfortunately, by the time I confirmed who you were—that it was you who were meant to be mine—our plans to unite Miridran while he took Rurik’s place were delayed, as I had yet to prove that Estienne was unfit for the throne—a feat that took far longer than I had expected.

And of course I still had to handle my headache of a younger brother. ”

Because Anton wouldn’t just die.

“But I alerted your father, who agreed to honor our initial agreement—one we struck at the very Gathering where my despicable father split my country from beneath me. I was promised Miridran in its entirety, and I was given a paltry third. Rurik even denied me Aesir’s hand because of it.”

And my father saw his opportunity with a young, devastated prince.

“The general’s offer was too good to pass up,” he says, confirming my line of thoughts.

“I would reclaim what I lost, he would be king. I would have my Brisendali princess along with a marriage that would bind our kingdoms in mutual prosperity. Of course you disappeared after that. But as much as I would have wanted us to wed once I finally found you, we couldn’t until we had what we needed.

My father had made it impossible to locate anyone who had witnessed Estienne’s birth, which would prove he was illegitimate—a fact I had long since known, thanks to my mother.

It was by fate alone that we finally located Annais. ”

“And in the meantime, you threw me into a cell,” I spit. It could have been even longer, had he not found Annais. How long would he have left me there?

“It was not so simple,” he says. “The night of Lord Sarden’s wedding, during our promenade, I asked you a question. Do you remember what it was, Vastianna?”

I want to shove him away and damn the consequences.

But then—

Lord Sarden’s wedding.

It had been one of the happiest nights of my life.

The wedding itself was pleasant, but it was only after the revelry turned rambunctious that Illian offered to escort me into the gardens for some air.

It returns to me now, the way moonlight cut swathes through the evening fog, setting a scene that felt like a dream as we drifted between hedgerows.

Oh, how my heart had swelled to have a moment alone with him.

He’d walked beside me, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, and I remember itching to free those hands.

To grab them, cradle them within my own, if only to thank him for bringing me.

For letting me accompany him, laugh with him, and for everything else, too—all the ways he had changed my life.

Then he had turned to face me, a solemnity to his gaze. Is it better, he had asked, to suffer for a reward guaranteed, or gamble with the risk of losing it altogether?

This reward, I had asked. How great is it?

Invaluable, he’d responded. Beyond measure. One could equate it to happiness eternal.

And the suffering before, I had hedged. Would it end in death?

Never, he’d said. Nothing so final as that.

Then losing such a reward would be unimaginable, no? Perhaps worth whatever torment might come, so long as that torment would end.

He’d plucked a rose from a nearby bush. Twirled it once.

Thank you, he had said, then handed it to me.

Oh, what a mistake I had made.

I had sealed my own fate. He had asked me plainly, yet I thought nothing of it; even after, I wouldn’t have guessed he had been referring to me.

“Your imprisonment was part of our agreement,” Illian says.

“One I would have liked to spare you from. His amendment was that I punish you for running away. For causing him such grief. The terms of our agreement were nonnegotiable. I delayed it as long as I could, even at the threat of your father revoking our deal. But I had wanted to show you what all I could offer. You were pampered, doted on. In the end, however, I had to honor my end of our bargain. And as much as it pained me, Vasalie, I knew it would keep you safe. And, well, you were becoming so defiant. So bold and beguiling. With half the nobles roaming around you, ready to pounce . . .” He trails off, running his nose along my cheek.

“Didn’t you wonder why we kept you alive, well fed, and away from the rest? ”

I don’t believe for a second that was all it was. He wanted to control me. Wanted to manipulate me into needing him, obeying him . . .

I jerk away. Illian’s eyes flash, and he tries to haul me back toward him, but I retreat another step. Others are beginning to watch, the tension between us palpable. Every action I take will have consequences, but I feel as if I barely inhabit my own body.

I am breaking—before everyone.

“I believe it’s time for us to retire for the evening,” Illian announces, forcing a smile at those around us.

He inches his fingers around my ribs. “My wife-to-be needs her rest and is still grieved over the loss of her king. I think it best for both of us.” He clamps a hand on my hip and turns to where my father stands, talking to some of the Serain court. He pauses when he notices us.

“This is the part where you bow and cast your well wishes upon the groom and his bride,” Illian says lowly, his thumb digging into my waist.

A small spark flares within me.

I raise my chin, just slightly, and look upon my father.

“May every deed you have bestowed upon others be returned to you tenfold.” And then, to Queen Aesir, a woman not much older than I am, or even Emilia when she wed my father, I say, “Congratulations, Your Grace. It takes a bold woman to replace my stepmother. May he love you with the ferocity with which he loved her.”

I hold their gaze, even as I dip into a short, irreverent bow.

And then I stride away.