Page 4 of Bound in Violet Ink

His voice is rapt with ire, and I dart my gaze to the floor, nostrils flaring since I know that look in his eyes, and I don’t want to be hit again .

“If you only knew the life you would have lived if it weren’t for my wife!

Any life as the wife to any lord is a luxury, you selfish cunt.

” He moves near, and I take a step back to the door, refusing to look up.

“You ruin this last one, Victoria, and I will bind your hands in marriage to Lord Faust. He won’t care that you’re not willing.

And I doubt he’ll let you heal yourself as I do.

He’s made from the same fabric as the Unseelie, but I could absolutely use his army.

The only reason I haven’t chucked you at his feet is because Dahlia would have hated it, but I’m this close—” he nearly pinches his fingers together “—to not caring anymore.”

My lips part, his words ice on my skin as I slowly raise my glare at Silas. “Faust is an old, disgusting man who would do horrible things to me. There’s a reason she would hate to know I went to him.”

His laugh is laced bitterly with rage, and I hate the shape of his teeth. “Better hope your next suitor likes you, then.”

I almost call Silas a bastard, or throw a glare right into the eyes I despise the most. Instead, I quietly leave, just as he wants.

Just as I want. My compliance has nothing to do with obedience.

My deepest desire to flee is so loud that I’ll play whatever part he needs, as long as it buys me his blind eye.

Because I’m done.

I will find a way out.

He says I can’t leave his grounds, but would he follow me to Kane?

Perhaps this is how the Unseelie High Lord collects his followers, humans and fae alike, who are worn down by a system so polluted with corruption that eating anything from its soil would be consuming poison.

We flock to him. To a new life, no matter the cost.

No matter the damn cost.

If there’s no letter when I get back, then I’m writing a new one.

Once I traverse the grand halls, pass the stained glass and climb an annoying number of stairs—panting heavily by the time I reach the top—I close the door to my tower suite and lock it, hurrying over to my table as if to prove to myself it’s not all in my head, that escaping isn’t futile.

Underneath my blank parchment—an envelope.

No.

He wrote me?

Truly?

My pounding heart shifts in its rhythm as I stare at the sealed thing, the wax missing any emblem. It must have been delivered by Ginger while I was gone.

He wrote me again.

For a while, I simply stare until my eyes burn, not wanting to ruin such a moment.

This could be the last correspondence I ever receive from Kane, meaning this opportunity I cling madly to will cease to end.

Right now, it’s a lending hand when I’m so tired of climbing my way out, but reaching up to take it could reveal the hand will forever disappear.

I don’t want it to.

Once I can’t stand the anticipation any longer, I open the letter that’s made of lesser quality parchment, and something more than papyrus hits my senses.

I immediately smell him .

My eyes widen, his intoxicating musk so faint. It takes me back to when I saw him in person, his scent permeating the crowd. I assumed it was because of his rank, that perhaps the Unseelie simply had that effect on us Seelie, like a cat smelling out a dog. What would I do if he were in the room?—

The thought flashes my eyes open, and I put the letter down so hastily it nearly slides off my desk.

What am I doing? Kane is an Unseelie . How can I be feeling anything more than animosity, or desperation to escape, toward him?

The Unseelie want every last one of my kind dismantled and ripped from our homes.

Including Kane. And I’m not daft. I know if he were to break out of the Carrows, he’d likely not take me.

What am I going to do? Plead as I hold up these letters as if they will act as a shield?

He’s bored in there.

My reality and deluded heart will not stop warring with each other, like two caged birds squawking about details that don’t matter, because they’re still locked behind bars, breathing in stale air rather than the petrichor.

And I don’t even know him! Or, even worse, all I do know are the heinous rumors of what he does to his enemies. He carries a heavy reputation, and even I know not to make a deal with him I’m not willing to uphold. He is just like Faust in that manner.

Why did I even start writing to him in the first place?

But as I pull away, something snags my heart like barbed wire.

I have to read the letter. I must . It’s something I’ve started, and it’s honestly the only thing in my life that gives me any anticipation I don’t fear.

Opening it up, the unfolding of paper so loud in a room that seems eternally quiet, even the faintest detail of knowing what his handwriting looks like does something to me.

Victoria,

I wonder if it’s even worth telling you to stay away again.

Do you feel lost? Is that why you write me?

What do you hope to gain by contacting me? I am quite an unreachable man, and yet you have done so, even within these walls.

Perhaps you should question why an Unseelie like me would want to speak with the daughter of a Seelie High Lord. Why I ignore nearly all those who seek me out, but I spend the time to write you.

Tell me of your guesses, little flower.

I am not aware for how long I stare at this letter.

Many things course through my body, and yet I keep looking at ‘ little flower ’.

What does that mean?

Sliding into my chair to write him back, a thousand feelings collide in my chest in a complicated maelstrom, and I let my response flow freely, consequences be damned. Once finished, I fold the note and rub it along my neck—three times, for good measure. I know he must have done the same to his.

For what reason? I don’t know.

I simply do not know.

And yet, I recklessly indulge before crying until the sun crests behind the trees to beckon the night.