Page 58 of A Queen’s Game (Aithyr Uprising #1)

Chapter Thirty-Six

Marietta

M arietta remained in bed, though the sun had long since risen. The day of Amryth’s visit and the speck of motivation it birthed had passed, leaving her alone in the suite once again. No one visited. She didn’t leave, and she continued to spiral.

After that day, Marietta noticed items missing from the suite.

The fire poker from the hearth, scissors from her vanity, the letter opener from the bookshelves, and other sharp things disappeared.

It made her laugh—Keyain had the foresight to prevent Marietta from self-harm, yet he wouldn’t help her.

On a day of sunny weather with a gentle breeze tousling the trees of the garden below, Marietta tried to open the windows, to let fresh air into the suite and feel the wind over her skin, only to find them locked. As much as she pried at them, the locks wouldn’t budge.

Keyain confined her to the tiny space, alone and desperate, wishing she’d one day wake up and realize it was a nightmare, or never wake up again.

To lose control of her life was to lose control of herself.

At her very core, Marietta was confident and independent, and without her own control, she found herself a shell of who she was.

So she let herself go, dwelling on the memories of her past life.

Tilan was at the center of thought most days, questioning if they were ever truly in love.

Did it count as love if she never knew the real Tilan?

Sure, he supported her dreams and her goals and stood with her through everything.

But how much of that support came down as an order from the Exisotis? To keep her happy and away from Keyain?

The doubt hurt her more than anything. Losing such surety in her life was foreign, as was the second-guessing, yet how else should she feel? Tilan lied from the beginning, and that lie became the basis of their relationship, conceived to make Keyain suffer.

Marietta rolled over in the silk sheets, watching the clouds drift beyond the window.

She should get up, perhaps bathe and change her clothes, but she wouldn’t.

She should distract herself from the negative thoughts, but what was the point?

Until Keyain enacted whatever plan he had drafted, all Marietta could do was wait.

Lost in her head, she hadn’t heard the door open nor the footsteps into the suite.

“Lady Marietta?”

The voice startled her, deep and baritone—one she remembered from the garden. Marietta jumped from the bed. King Wyltam stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets and a frown on his face.

He averted his gaze from her nightgown, clearing his throat. “Apologies for not sending word prior to coming. I was hoping to speak with you a minute.”

“Of course, King Wyltam,” she said, bowing with a hand covering her chest as she leaned forward. Marietta grabbed a robe from her wardrobe, wrapping the silk around her body as she ignored her heart racing in her chest.

Why did the King wish to speak to her? And gods, when was the last time she washed? Her hair was in tangles as she ran her fingers through her locks, walking out to the dining room where he waited.

The King stood in the doorway to the living room, hands clasped behind his back. He turned to Marietta. “I was hoping to sit in here, but it appears Keyain has been sleeping on the couch.” He walked over to the dining room table and pulled back a chair. “Please, have a seat.”

The King of Satiros, the city-state that deemed pilinos lesser to elves, pulled out a chair for her . Confused, curiosity sparked from the King’s audience and kind gesture.

Marietta sat, letting him push in her chair before he sat across from her. His gaze raked over her face, then to her body, not even attempting to hide his stare. “You look terrible,” he said after a long moment.

An incredulous laugh left her mouth, a single breath, at his pointedness. The King was right, she knew, but the brusque manner of his observation was surprising.

“I do not mean that as an insult,” he said, pausing. “Your face is gaunt; under your eyes are near black. Unbathed, undressed, and most likely underfed, based on the weight you’ve lost since the ball.”

Marietta narrowed her eyes. “What ball, Your Grace?”

“Not surprising that you don’t remember; Keyain gave you a drug that would prevent you from knowing what was happening around you.” With a shake of his head, the black hair that fell into his face flicked back. His eyes were dark, nearly black, as she searched them, looking for any emotion.

“He drugged you and now leaves you neglected.” A flash of anger came across his features, gone before Marietta could fully register.

“One would think he’d treat his wife better, especially after all you’ve gone through; yet you have deteriorated since coming to Satiros, and for that, I deeply apologize. ”

Marietta bit back her surprise as the King bowed his head. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing, Your Grace.”

The King cocked his head. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be. Has he tried to intervene at all?”

With a dry laugh, Marietta sunk into her chair, crossing her arms across her chest. “He offered to drug me again. That was his solution.”

Anger flecked through the King’s expression once more, his eyes searching the room as he thought of his words.

“I asked to visit the Temple of Therypon,” Marietta said to break their silence, drawing his attention. “He refused to let me go.”

His fingers drummed on the tabletop, an expressionless mask falling over his face. “In Satiros, it is illegal to bar someone from attending a temple. Keyain knows this and knows you don’t know the laws.”

Marietta gripped her forearms, not bothering to hide her grimace. “Keyain always gets what he wants, regardless of the law.”

The King considered her words, once again his eyes darting back and forth in thought. Such silence from someone would bother her if it wasn’t the King. Though he had the authority to dismiss Marietta, he considered her words. He put thought into his answer.

King Wyltam was nothing like a king, at least from what Marietta thought a king should be. His presence alone was abnormal; yet he sat before her, dressed in fine but plain clothing, all black as if he were in mourning. Even the crown on his head was a simple circlet of gold.

Beyond that, he took a moment to talk to her, to listen to what she said. A king should be busier, should not have the time for such a visit. Perhaps he felt the need to because he was friends with Keyain.

“Keyain doesn’t know I’ve come,” he said after a moment. “As no one does. Leaving the palace would put you at risk, given the unrest in the city. Should you visit the Temple of Therypon, which you have a right to do, don’t travel plainly through the streets.”

“Are you giving me permission to leave?” Marietta asked, her heart skipping a beat. If the King allowed her to go, what could Keyain say?

“You do not need permission when the law states you are free to go,” he answered. “However, I’d advise you to make plans with Keyain.”

Her hope faltered. “As I said, he’d break the law to get what he wants, and what he wants is me locked in this suite without contact.” She should have hidden that disdain for him in her voice, but she couldn’t, not after weeks of being trapped.

“You’re angry with Keyain for more than his neglect,” noted the King. “I wonder, is it because he waited to save you or because he saved you at all?”

How easy it would be to tell the King her truth, that she didn’t marry Keyain, that she loved another? Yet the Queen hadn’t told her husband such a truth, so why should she? “How could I be angry now that I’m safe, Your Grace?” she lied.

A small smile cracked his expressionless mask. “Everyone lies at court, Lady Marietta. As an outsider, I had hoped you’d be different.” He stood, regarding Marietta. “Let me know if that changes.”

The King walked to her chair, pulling it back so she could stand. “Talk to Keyain, and if he doesn’t listen to you once more, I’ll intercede on your behalf.”

Marietta was at a loss for words—the King himself was now involved with Keyain and his plans to isolate her. She could be free, at least to go to the temple.

“I hope the next time we speak is less bleak,” he added before turning for the antechamber.

“Thank you, King Wyltam,” she said, adding a quick curtsy.

He turned to face her in the doorway. “I am simply doing what Keyain has failed to do.”

After a day of contemplating what to say to Keyain, she thought it best to sleep on it, mull it over before approaching him again.

She could tell him she was aware of the law, that he can’t keep her from going to the temple, but again, Keyain would break it.

And how would she let the King know if he did?

Instead, she spent the afternoon crafting a plan, the words she’d say to him. Because remaining in the suite was no longer an option—any moment longer trapped in the small space would send her over the edge.

She ignored Keyain when he returned to the suite and didn’t join him as he ate dinner, though he gave a half-hearted attempt to get her to eat. Instead, she roused herself to bathe, taking her time in the bath and letting the heat soak her bones.

It was a small luxury, with the lavender-scented oils in such a large tub, and it helped her clear her head as much as she could. Tilan was still at the fringe of her thoughts, lurking as he always did, but she had a small goal to focus on: the temple.

After allowing her hair to dry a bit, she sat at her vanity. A comb broke up her tangles, so she took to setting her curls, encouraging the coil of the strands, when Keyain walked in.

“You’ve bathed,” he said, leaning against the bed frame off behind her, his face reflecting in the mirror of her vanity.

She glanced at him a moment, then focused on her hair once more, determined to ignore him. Anger was just below the surface, waiting for her to lash out with frustration.