Page 2 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)

Tracing her fingers over the long, thick scar tearing diagonally down her face, Arenna Steele scowled at her reflection.

The Queen of Brookworth and Ruler of the human continent Varios hated mirrors.

She did her best to avoid them, but standing on a platform surrounded by attendants and seamstresses, she couldn’t escape her reflection.

Couldn’t avoid her hollow, daunting eyes staring back at her, either.

No longer able to stand it, Arenna’s emerald eyes slipped closed. Memories danced through her mind, causing her pulse to quicken, and sweat slick her palms. All the horrible, cruel, violent moments from that night still knocked the breath from her lungs, even after four years.

When she opened her eyes after a few futile deep breaths, she didn’t dare look at the scar or acknowledge the memories intertwined with it. Her husband wanted her to remember it forever, so she would spend the rest of her life trying not to.

Castle healers did their best to sew her skin back together, but despite their efforts, the scar remained jagged—and to her horror—the most prominent feature on her face.

Months after enduring the agonizing half hour to piece her back together, she learned Jaksen had instructed the Fae healers not to use their magic.

Instead, he told them to let her punishment heal in uneven, contorted lines.

Thankfully, the scar’s color had faded back to her usual pale shade. Whether others failed to notice or merely chose to be polite, Arenna always found it in the depths of mirrors.

Still, in the deepest of sleep, those memories haunted her, always lingering in the back of her mind.

Bruises would heal, and Arenna could avoid reflections, but the emotional damage was something she feared would never leave.

The reminder of all the pain and torment laced with the scar, and the bruises hidden beneath her clothing—felt suffocating.

Arenna’s throat tightened, her very bones shaking in fear as if they recalled the days spent in darkness. With burning eyes, she refocused her attention on her seamstress, placing the finishing touches on her gown for the opening ceremony. Jaksen was not worth her tears or her memories.

Her husband was worth nothing.

“Almost finished, Your Grace,” Mannie said. A tiny needle between her fingertips swayed back and forth as she stitched a few stray beads back into the bodice of the red gown. “King Jaksen has excellent taste. Are you satisfied with it?”

“Yes, it’s beautiful, Mannie. You and King Jaksen work wonders together.” Arenna glanced toward her attendant, who stood in the corner of the room with her umber hands folded delicately in front of her tan skirt. Isabella subtly rolled her eyes, pinching her lips to hide a smile.

Arenna stifled a cough to suppress her laughter. Isabella was like the sun after rain. She embodied hope, kindness, warmth, and comfort—all the things Arenna needed while living in her husband’s shadow, or enduring his fists.

Turning back to the mirror, she straightened.

Tonight marked the opening ceremony of the week-long festivities, culminating in a secret tournament known only to Jaksen and a select few staff.

Arenna rubbed the silk of her skirt between her fingers.

She hated to admit it, but Jaksen knew how to style a woman’s body.

Red fabric flowed from her hips like liquid, pooling at her feet. There were silver accents etched into the armored shoulder pads and the corset. The skirt swayed with her movements, its long train cascading down the platform like a waterfall.

“Finished,” Mannie exclaimed. She took a step back, placing one hand on her hip and the other under her chin as she scanned her work. “Flawless. Only missing one element,” she added with the wave of her finger.

Mannie kneeled next to a small trunk. She lifted the lid carefully, revealing the Brookworth crown.

Silver serpents wound around the thick base and sprouted from the center, slithering and twisting every which way.

“Beautiful,” the seamstress whispered, placing the low–set crown onto Arenna’s wavy black hair.

From her snakeskin heels to the two silver serpent bands wrapped around her biceps, she was a walking display of her husband’s title, the Serpent King .

And it made her ill.

There was a time when Arenna was proud to be his wife and his queen, but the moment he struck her, every ounce of that dissipated.

“ Now you are ready,” Mannie said, clasping her hands, the silver bracelets on her wrists clanking together.

Arenna took one last look at the stranger dripping in red and silver in the mirror, and stepped off the platform. “Thank you for your time. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

“Never, my queen. My duties to you and this kingdom are my honor.” Mannie gathered the tools and fabrics, stuffed them into her bag, and left the room.

Arenna’s gaze stayed fixed on the door long after the seamstress left.

She engaged in little human interaction throughout the day, often finding herself longing for a simple conversation.

Malsen—her personal guard—was kind enough, but kept to himself.

Aside from a few loyal friends, everyone walked on eggshells around the queen.

Surely it was her husband’s doing, but that didn’t change the bitterness or the loneliness she felt.

Sighing heavily, she slouched on the edge of her canopied bed.

“For what it’s worth, you look beautiful,” Isabella said, the mattress dipping as she sat. “It is a lovely gown.”

Though Jaksen had a rule against fraternizing with the staff, Arenna believed two kindred souls could not be kept apart, even by a controlling husband. Isabella was assigned as Arenna’s handmaiden five years ago, when she was first betrothed to Jaksen, and with her, she stayed.

The queen wouldn’t have survived her marriage without Isabella.

“I hate it,” Arenna groaned. Isabella laughed and raised a brow. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I love it. But I hate that I do.”

Isabella laid her head against Arenna’s shoulder. Her dark curls spilled over, brushing against the queen’s collarbone. “I know, I know.” Isabella stood. “There are a few things I need to finish in the hallway before your entrance to the ceremony. I’ll be back in just a few, okay?”

Arenna nodded.

Isabella squeezed her hand before walking out of the chamber.

Familiar loneliness crept in, but the only good thing about being alone was that she didn’t have to pretend.

Jaksen needed everything and everyone to be perfect.

Perfect posture, clothing, hair, behavior .

But in the comfort of her chambers, she didn’t have to be any of those things. Arenna was free to just be .

“Well, don’t you look like a serpent prize?” Faylen purred. She stood in the wide doorway of Arenna’s chamber, leaning against the wooden frame with a smirk. She wore a plum-colored gown with a slit down one side, revealing one of her long, thin legs.

Arenna swallowed the envy that tightened her throat. She had always admired her older sister, wishing she had even a fraction of Faylen’s poise and beauty.

Faylen pushed off the frame and walked toward Arenna with fluid grace, taking the vacant spot on the edge of the bed.

“It’s an honor to look as such,” Arenna murmured. She twisted the band around her arm, which—though beautiful—ached.

“True,” Faylen agreed. “You do look lovely, little sister.”

Arenna smiled, doing her best to make it seem genuine. “New gown?” she asked. It was beautiful, and Jaksen likely paid for it. Whatever she had to endure from her husband, it all seemed worth it as long as Faylen was taken care of.

“Mm,” Faylen hummed, running slender fingers down her lap. “I got it from Beledona’s in the city. It’s custom-made to fit in all the right places.” She winked, and Arenna laughed.

That small shred of happiness quickly fizzled out. Arenna missed their life before this castle, their innocence, and the playfulness of their childhood. Her past was nothing but painful memories now.

She closed her eyes, trying to block the images from the night the Fae army burned their port, when soldiers killed their mother and nearly killed Faylen. Brookworth was their salvation, and even knowing what she would endure, Arenna would have made the same choices.

“Hey,” Faylen whispered, taking Arenna’s hand, “is everything alright?”

No , she wanted to shout. Nothing is alright . Arenna cleared her throat. “Everything is perfect,” she said with a smile, standing and moving toward the door. “The king would not appreciate it if we’re late.”

Faylen’s gaze burned as it lingered on the inner portion of Arenna’s arm. She turned, hoping her older sister didn’t see the bruise from this morning.

You stupid, stupid woman. Arenna closed her eyes, hands balling at her sides. You know you have to cover them better.

“When did that happen?” Faylen’s voice was cold. Hard. She wrapped a hand around Arenna’s wrist, pulling her little sister toward her.

The Serpent Queen flinched, ripping her arm from Faylen’s grasp. Even after all this time, Arenna could not handle her wrists being touched. Not when the phantom manacles never left her skin.

Faylen’s sapphire eyes went wide.

“Enough,” Arenna warned. “I fell. It was a stupid mistake.” Faylen’s eyes burned with doubt, her lips pressed into a thin line, and a flicker of tension sharpened her usually elegant features—a sign she didn’t buy Arenna’s overused excuse.

“Your Grace?” A soft voice drifted from the entrance of the chamber. “King Jaksen sent word it is time to present yourselves at the banquet,” Isabella said, her amber eyes darting between the sisters with unease.

“Very well.” Arenna turned to Faylen, whose face was still pulled into a tight pout. “Will I see you there?”

She nodded.