Page 9 of Bloody Black

I wake up alone, still in the marital bed. The crowd has left, and William’s space is empty.

Somewhere off to my left, in the interconnected rooms, a door creaks. Shattering the stillness of the night. My ear sought the sound, my head tilting. He must have gotten up to go to the privy.

Outside in the corridor, a thud sounds, followed by a groan. I might have dismissed it as a drunkard, a couple carousing… Except that I suddenly remember the note left in my napkin.

You are in danger.

My lips clamp together, holding my breath, as I strain my ears. Nothing.

Nothing. But then… a whisper of movement comes from somewhere in the suite, deliberate and cautious.

Though the sound is so quiet that it might have been imaginary, soft footsteps fall, each one deliberate.

Not the clumsy shuffle of a servant but the me asured tread of someone who knew how to move without being seen.

Some would assume a bird had flown in through a window left open. That an ocean breeze stirred. A door unlatched. They’d spin excuses even as their skin prickled.

But not me.

My fingers tremble as they slip into the bedside drawer, then I curse when I find it empty. This isn’t my room. So there’s no knife hidden in the drawer. Although, if memory serves me… Sneaking from the bed, I go through the clothes on the floor.

Oh! The ceremonial knife from William’s coronation. It’s still on his belt.

Clenching it in my fist, I scan the shadows of the room. Searching for threats. Whoever they are, they’re probably expecting some shy, delicate female… and not a princess who grew up with a sword in her hand.

I tell myself not to worry; after all, William is a hardened soldier. And while it’s true he hasn’t been a royal for even an hour, he knows how to handle himself when his life is in peril. Knowing this makes me feel better, but only slightly.

Because my mother knew how to handle a sword, too. She never sat in a room where there wasn’t a weapon, always had a dagger within reach. And she’s still dead.

I have to find him.

I slip from bed, barefoot and soundless, and move like a sliver of moonlight across the floor. The dagger presses close to my thigh, its jeweled hilt heavy in my fist .

Like a ghost, I wander the room, slipping in and out of the shadows.

Someone helpfully provided wax candles and lit them in various recesses around the room. These provide romantic golden light here and there, but not enough to truly see by. It’s barely enough to reassure me that I’m alone.

I hesitate, listening hard and studying every shadow. Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. Perhaps it had been William himself. After all, I wasn’t used to sleeping with someone else; maybe he’d made that noise?

And then I see him. William.

Faint, from behind. He’s standing close to someone—pressed intimately against her in a corner. One of the maids, perhaps. She writhes against his body, making little whimpering sounds.

He’s still naked. His hand is over her mouth.

Shock, like lightning, arcs through me. I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing.

Something inside me—soft and foolish—insists I’ve misunderstood.

That this is some ritual, some misunderstanding, that he’s telling her a secret.

Or the woman is acting. But I know better.

My skin knows better. My body began to tremble.

We’re only just married. Now I’ve stumbled into a moment meant for someone else. He’s with another woman, our marital bed not yet cold. My chest cracks open. Heat floods my skin, not from shame but something jagged and nauseating.

He must be in love with her. Our marriage is a sham. A trick. My stomach lurches. I want to look away, but I can’t, because I need it to not be true.

William turns to find me watching .

Relinquishing her, he cocks his head. He doesn’t address me. He can see every tortured expression on my face, yet he offers no explanation. No reassurance.

If anything, he seems happy.

“William? What are you doing?”

It’s only when I glance down, down at his nudity, that I notice the knife in his hand. Dripping.

My gaze returns to the maid. She’s fallen to the floor, bleeding out in an ever-widening pool of red.

My mind stutters. Refuses to make sense of the image in front of me. That’s William—my husband. That’s a dagger. That’s her blood. But the pieces don’t fit. He’s the crowned prince. Everything about this scene is strange, and any moment now, I’m going to wake.

I am obviously dreaming.

William sees the terror written across my face, the way my body curls in on itself, the hesitation in my feet.

He stalks toward me.

I launch myself across the room, quickly falling to my knees, hurrying to look under the bed—there’s always a sword there. Ever since my mother’s death, my father insists that every room have a weapon. If I could put a true sword in my hand, rather than the old knife, I might have a chance.

But it isn’t there. I feel around in the dark. This one isn’t in its rightful place.

I am wrenched backwards, my chin scraping the ground as his arm circles my waist .

When being attacked, a quick reaction is key. My head shoots backward, hitting him squarely in the nose. Knocking him completely off me.

I scramble up, jumping across the mattress, trying to put the bed between us. William’s hand closes around my ankle, dragging me back toward him.

“No!” I slap him, claw him, trying to get him away from me.

William hits me back, and the force is enough to make my ears ring.

Hearing that–the slap, the burn of my skin-wakes me up. This is real. My husband is trying to kill me.

He probably expects me to run. Instead, I launch myself at his middle, teeth bared, and it surprises him. He lurches, his head thuds against the wall, and then I’m running again, toward the door.

Then he’s on top of me, throwing me to the floor. Sitting atop me and bearing down on my ribs. His hand is tight over my face, cutting off the air to my nose and mouth.

“Keep fighting, and I’ll kill you right now,” he pants. “Understand?”

It’s the first thing he’s said to me. Frantic, I nod. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

“I hope you two are done playing.”

I’m so startled that I freeze.

The voice is familiar. It’s familiar.

And maybe it is my overwhelming sense of panic of hearing it, or maybe it is that William hasn’t removed his hand, but I faint.

When I come to, sleepily blinking, I count five men standing over me. Six, including William, who is now wearing pants. One on each side holds me in a tight grip, with no way to fight and no way to flee.

“Feast your eyes, men. Isn’t my wife a beauty?”

It’s only when the figures around me titter, eyes lascivious, that I remember that I’m still wearing my nightgown. Their laughter scrapes across my skin like coarse wool, and I curl inward, nowhere to hide in the moonlight.

William comes closer, until he is upon me. “You know, Anne, I expected a virginal idiot, good for nothing. You surprised me–your fire. Your clever little mouth.” With a look of pure longing, he touches my cheek. “Originally, I planned to get you with child. To kill you after we had an heir.”

I jerk away, shuddering.

“But you know what I realized? You’re too smart for that.” He taps his temple with one finger. “You’d uncover my ruse. Ruin all my plans.”

All the breath rushes from my lungs, and I sway.

“As lovely as fucking you tonight was, it’s faster to be rid of you. To marry whomever I want, whenever I choose. To be king, and to be free. Just like you.”

His lips keep moving. More poisonous words fall from his mouth, yet the roaring of my heart is so loud, the pain in my chest so profound, I don’t really hear.

I fought for you. I pursued you. I pledged my life to you .

“Why?” I finally manage. “I’ve never done anything to you.”

William leaned in. “Your father’s soldiers did plenty.”

Mute with horror, I shake my head. That wasn’t me.

“They burned my mother. Burned her alive. I still hear her screams. Your precious Celestian army, killed my seven-year-old sister.” His eyes are so flat, so mean, I almost don’t recognize him.

“Your soldiers. Your father. Your kingdom.” He pauses. “As its ruler, you must answer for the crimes of your military.”

Blank with shock, I stare at my husband. I still couldn’t quite fathom how this could be happening. He couldn’t possibly intend to… what exactly did he intend to do? Hold me prisoner?

“I can tell this is a surprise for you. But we need to get on with it.” William’s voice has changed—less performance, more command. Colder. Precise.

“Sir.” One of the men hesitates.

“Do it. I’m ready.”

Without warning, a fist strikes William squarely in the face. His nose breaks.

“Son of a bitch!” He leans over, clasping a hand over his nose. Blood streams from between his fingers.

After a moment, he straightens, lips twisted in a grimace. Spits blood on the floor. “Alright. Arm.”

One of his masked men steps forward, and I watch as he takes William’s shoulder, wrenches him off his feet, then slams him onto the floor. William pushes back, and the soldier snaps his wrist.

Easy. Practiced. Routine.

“Well done.” William lurches back to his feet.

“Now. Soren. Sword. ”

Soren? My gaze jerks up to one of the group. He is bigger than the rest, broad-shouldered.

Soren, as in, the captain of my father’s guard?

Without looking at me, he draws his blade. Plunges it, effortlessly, into William’s side. For the briefest of moments, I have hope. Soren will keep stabbing, because this is all a ruse. But there’s just the one stab, nothing more. Soren sheaths his sword.

William closes his eyes. Lowers his head and inhales noisily. Somehow, he remains standing.

“I said a shallow wound.” William presses his side, and his hand comes away crimson. “But well done, men.”

I shake my head, straining at the hands that hold me. “How much did he pay you?” I demand, my voice shrill. “What did he promise?”

William studies me, and his eyes darken. “Have your fun, but get rid of her. There should be no body, understand?”

Body. Get rid of her? Even as he said the words, I didn’t believe it. I wouldn’t have believed it, except for his blood, dripping and dripping onto our marble floor, staining it, steadily encroaching upon my bare feet.

To my left, again, is that familiar laugh… and fear screams through me.

“Goodbye, dear wife,” William murmurs, fisting my hair in his hand. His lips brush my forehead. Doting. Normal. Just like he had hours before.

“You go to hell!”

He laughs. “If there is one, I’m sure your father will save me a chair. ”

William presses his hand to his abdomen, face pale. “Take her away.” Before they can drag me from the room, he calls after them. “Feel free to enjoy her as much as I did.”