Page 3 of Bound in Violet Ink
The anticipation of his reply haunts me in ways that have me questioning whether I should bother reading the letter if he writes again.This is no longer something rebellious to piss off Silas, the man who claims he has a right to me since he took me in all those years ago.
I’m obsessing .
As I pace in my towered room, the one that’s simultaneously my escape and my confinement, I step on the hem of the simple blue dress that my lady’s maid helped put on.
Staring at the fabric, I’m lost in a sea of decisions that thrash against my identity crisis.
But I also feel pretty in this mockery of an outfit, and I hate myself for it. I always have.
Is that why I like writing to Kane? Because it will make Silas angry? That seems so inelegantly simple. I’ve lived through many seasons of emotions and revelations… surely I am beyond such behavior?
A knock comes to the door, and I jerk my head up.
“My lady, it’s Ginger,” says a muffled voice through the door.
“Come in,” I reply with a clipped tone.
My lady’s maid enters, her black hair tightly wound in a bun so perfect, there’s not a single rogue strand. I’ve known her for nearly five years now, her fingers masterful at fixing any and all fabrics. She bows her head. “The High Lord requests you.”
The annoyance at his request grinds against me differently while I’m on edge, waiting for Kane’s reply. “What is this about?”
“He didn’t say, my lady.”
Sighing through flared nostrils, I know his summons can’t be avoided. “Yes, fine.”
Ginger’s soft green eyes smile at me; she takes pity on the situation I find myself in. Genuine sympathy, too. So many in this castle take issue with my attitude, as if I’m a pet that needs to behave. But Ginger understands.
I still feel like a woman who has yet to experience her first bleed. No agency. Treated delicately. Despite my ability to endure, to be beaten and forced to heal myself. Over and over.
I need out of this tower, my heart ravaging me with temptation to break out of this damn place. Maybe it’s desperation that calls to me, because I know my time is limited before Silas forces my hand—leaving here, under my own circumstances, is something I’m willing to die for.
Maybe that’s what Kane means to me.
Standing outside the High Lord’s study, I’m transfixed on the gilded doorknob. Silas is currently speaking with another as I measure my breathing measured trying to prepare for any conversation.
After tucking a loose strand of ebony black hair into one of my many pins, my gaze drops down to the floor, my ribs restricted by the tight fabric.
There’s an edge I can’t shake, as if I’ve been over-sharpened and continuously cutting on accident.
Does someone like Kane live in a place like this when not in the Carrows?
Does he wait for people to enter his space? Command a certain authority?
Where would I fit in a world where Kane ruled?
Become a commoner? Would they mock and abuse me for being connected to Silas?
I’m so rarely afforded a glimpse at a world beyond here, forever stuck in exploring what’s beyond these walls through my imagination.
Most of why I know is gathered through conversations and books.
The door creaks open, pulling my attention from my thoughts. It’s a Lord to a neighboring province, one that owes allegiance to Silas. I study his comely face, a Seelie male with a pointed nose and eyes so lidded he always looks half-asleep. Someone I was poised to marry once.
“Oh, Victoria ,” he drawls out, his manners forcing him to conceal the depths of his judgement.
“ Lovely to see you, too, Brom,” I say with an annoyingly pleasant smile.
“I hear you’re as unwed as ever,” he chides, the door shutting completely behind him.
“Never been happier.” I maintain my smile.
His thin lips curl into a sneer as he walks away, a placid guard standing against a wall coming to life in pursuit of his Lord.
Turning back to the door I dread entering, I extend my hand to grip the knob, inhaling with purpose before pushing open the heavy door.
Pristine gardens are framed like a painting within giant windows, the woods lining everything like a living fence.
I love the forest views down here versus looking at them from above.
It’s so nice to feel among the world, not towering over it like someone who doesn’t belong.
My heart races when I spot Silas standing behind his desk, his back to me. Burgundy fabric clings to his lean body. His short blonde hair is greased back, a style I’ve come to loathe just for the association alone.
“So…” Silas begins, his arrogant voice grating against my ears. “Your last potential suitor has rejected you. It’s in that scroll on my desk. And I don’t mean the one that just left this room.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” I lie, not moving an inch as I wait to hear whatever brought me here.
He slowly turns to reveal his slightly aged face, the lines rather deep for a male nearing eighty summers; one of the reasons humans are subjects to the Fae, as we live long enough to bear witness to multiple generations. And as of the last five centuries, it’s been under Seelie Fae rule.
And Silas’s rank sits just below the Supreme Sovereign, his lands, and those that owe him allegiance, stretching like a border wall along Unseelie territory.
“You are lucky I don’t throw you in the Carrows for how useless you are to this family.” He sneers so maliciously that his fangs are on full display. “A complete waste of our resources. That’s all you’ve been.”
Poised and collected, I hate showing him that his opinions wound me. “I understand marriages can align lands, High Lord. But it’s difficult when I’ve never felt even remotely welcomed in this family. If I’m such a waste, then set me free.”
“It’s not a part of the deal,” He mumbles.
“And I need your worthless hand to secure marriage; to fortify for what’s coming.
My territory will be first attacked, so there’s no question if you’re going to help ensure I claim as many resources as possible.
It’s the least you owe us for all the decadent food, fine silks, and the lavish roof over your head. ”
The deal. Something he frequently references and never explains, and always says is why I’ve been given the life of a princess, even if treated like a prisoner.
The thought of Kane writing to me, of touching against a power that’s not this man in front of me, makes me feel like, for once, I might have an escape.
A real one. “Who gives a damn about whatever darkness is coming,” I say, Silas’s shoulder stiffening as I let out everything without caring about repercussions.
“You’re confused as to why I am so hard to marry off?
It’s because I am tired of living in this secrecy.
You hate me for a deal that’s been made on my life, yet don’t tell me what it is.
You never have. You hate that your wife took me in as her daughter. You?—”
“Do not bring her into any conversations.”
“Well, she’s a bit relevant since she’s why I’m here. The change is coming, no matter what we do, and it’s because of her that I’m stuck in this castle, ready to be utilized as a pawn for a family who doesn’t want me. Terrific life.”
His jaw trembles like he’s holding back a hundred words, languid eyelids rising as he stares across the room.
I was never told why they took me in, other than Dahlia refused to give me to another home. My main regret in life is not knowing a piece of history about my current situation, other than it’s part of some deal .
The High Master stiffly moves on, our interactions almost a rehearsed dance at this point. “I have one more suitor lined up, from?—”
“ No .”
Azure eyes flash my way, his posture stiffening as his voice carries loudly in the room. “You scared the last suitor off with your petulant behavior,” he complains through thin lips. “Talking of nothing but donkeys and how you are allergic to tomatoes.”
“Donkeys are useful,” I defend, trying desperately not to laugh.
To his credit, it must be hard finding someone for me—I have a habit of being paired with a man and immediately discovering the best way to annoy him.
The latest one loathed the sounds donkeys make, so I talked endlessly about them and how it’s my dream to have one as a pet, especially since they’re such efficient guards for livestock.
The allergy bit was because he made fun of a woman allergic to cow’s milk, and knowing that his lands are heavy producers of tomatoes, well, it would be quite annoying to have a wife with that affliction.
“He saw right through it and thought you were abhorrently mad.”
“Honestly, not a bad assessment on his end,” I mock, something invigorating me that used to lie dormant in fear.
Maybe I’ve been struck one too many times.
Or I’m writing to someone who would happily break this entire castle, and honestly, I want to help, even if it collapses over my own body.
“I doubt I have any true sanity remaining after living like a caged bird, healing her broken bones and wounds.”
He hotly moves away from his desk, fingers rolling like he’s ready to hit me in our usual exchange of hatred.
“You’re so fucking useless. And have no idea the horrors you have avoided.
You complain of being hit? We could so easily use sharpened steel.
But we don’t. All you do is complain about the luxury forced upon you, as you always say. ”
I grab my dress, holding it out as if it’s a display. “What luxury is this? It’s cold fabric that only offers warmth stolen from my own body?—”