Page 3

Everly

T he walk was endless. Each step further into the icy labyrinth of the palace felt like one step closer to the gallows.

Would it have been easier if the Visionary had named me as a traitor instead of a bride? At least then, death would have been quick, instead of following me around like an indecisive reaper.

Maybe that would be what killed me in the end, the panic and fear that would slowly eat away at my sanity because there was nothing I could do but wait.

I swallowed the bitter thought as the guards led me to a room, shutting the door behind me with a soft click.

My heart thudded in my ears. It was too loud. Too fast. And without the king to bluster for, or his guards to babysit me, the cracks were beginning to show.

There was no warmth in the enormous room, nothing to stop my shivers or lend a shred of comfort.

Just towering ceilings and a laughably small fire and endless shades of white.

The walls were cream, the floors were white marble, and the armchairs were a shade lighter than beige.

There was, at least, a rug— silvery bearskin, of course—but nothing else at all that lent itself to warmth.

A crystal chandelier hung overhead, sparkling like the icy pieces of the Nivhallow heiress as they slid across the floor.

I squeezed my eyes shut, only to picture my body in her place. How did the king execute Hollows? With mercy, as he has the second traitor? Or would he make it painful?

I wrenched my eyelids back open.

Breathe. In. Out.

It wasn’t helping. Tremors racked along my spine, spreading to my whole body. I stumbled closer to the fire, nails biting fiercely into my palms. Still, my chest seized, sending a stab of pain straight through to my back until it felt like it was cracking right down the middle.

No. No. No.

I sank to my knees on the bearskin rug in front of the flames, running my fingers over the pale tufts of fur like it might tether me to something real, something solid. Something that wouldn’t fracture under pressure.

I was so focused on calming my breath, my body, that I hardly registered the click of the door. It was dangerous, letting myself be caught unawares, but then again, wasn’t all of my life dangerous right now?

I sucked in a breath. Before I could turn to investigate, a familiar scent washed over me. Snowdrops and honey.

Wynnie .

I hadn’t thought the King would let her come. Perhaps he thought it was the only way I would pull myself together .

“Breathe, Little Sister.” Her arms came around me, so much warmer than the worthless fireplace. “I’m here now.”

All I wanted to do was collapse into her arms and let her comfort me the way she used to pull me from my nightmares, back when they were based on memories instead of my current reality.

But her arms were trembling.

Wynnie had never been afraid of anything. It was enough to pull me out of my panic, and I lifted my head to study her delicate features.

Though I had seen her less than an hour ago, it felt like a lifetime. Her face was several shades paler than its usual bronze hue, her dusting of freckles standing out sharply in contrast. Even her lively white-blonde curls seemed oddly subdued.

I forced a wan imitation of a smile, for her sake. “I’m not dead yet.”

“You will be if you marry him,” she whispered back, denial hardening the crystal blue eyes that were a mirror of mine.

Her entire being exuded the same fierce defense she had held for me from the day I stumbled into my father’s estate, bleeding and barefoot and half alive.

After the male who sired me had coldly introduced me as her sister, she had pulled me to the fireplace and thrown a blanket over my shoulders, calling for a bowl of soup.

“My name is Noerwyn. But you can call me Wynnie. Papa says my mother used to call me that, and we’re family now.”

“Your mother?” I asked, looking around warily. I couldn’t imagine she would be happy to see me.

“She died,” she said simply. “Did your mother die, too? Is that why you’re here now?”

“I…” I started to tell her I didn’t know before realizing how complicated that story would be to tell. How exhausted I was, in every single way. “Yes. She’s dead, too.”

It was probably true, anyway.

“At least we have each other now.” Wynnie’s eyes had glowed with resolve as she hooked her pinkie around mine.

That had been true until it wasn’t. Until she was taken from me too, sold into a marriage on the other side of the kingdom, but at least she was here now.

Of course, that was its own kind of problem if I was discovered.

“I don’t have a choice,” I reminded her, looking pointedly around. “Just promise me that you’ll leave before the ceremony. I don’t know…how it works, if it needs mana from me…but you can’t be here if that happens.”

Her husband was a hermit, and my father would be eager to get back to his ladies of the night, so she wouldn’t face resistance from them.

But of course, she shook her head. “Like hells, Evy.”

Shards , I had known she would be difficult, but I needed her to go. I needed her safe.

“Don’t make this harder on me.” It was a low blow, using her concern to make her leave, but it was the only thing guaranteed to work.

Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t argue again. She only took my hands in hers, pausing when her fingers slid across the fresh wounds on my palms. Gently, she flipped my hands over, her expression falling as she took in my latest assault on them.

She used her gown to wipe away the small droplets of blood before pulling a small jar from her pocket.

“I tried a new blend,” she said of the balm. “I’m hoping it might help with the scars, but for now, it’s at least good for fresh wounds.”

I nodded. The only true healers within the Seelie lands were from Spring Court, but Wynnie had taken up herbalism when we were children, for the everyday injuries we couldn’t afford to ignore.

She carefully applied the salve to the half moon cuts, just as she had so many times before. Her expression hardened as she set the jar between us on the floor.

“There has to be something we can do,” Wynnie shook her head, dislodging several wayward curls. “Anything is better than?—”

She cut off abruptly when the door clicked open. A female in a maid’s uniform shuffled in. She wore a haughty, disapproving expression on her pale features. In her arms was a silver box and a shimmering garment she held out with the sort of reverence I usually reserved for chocolate soufflé.

“The king wishes you to be adorned properly, ” she said with a sniff, casting a disdainful glance over me.

Whether it was because I was huddled on the floor or because I was a bastard trying to marry her king in a hand-me-down gown, I wasn’t sure.

Wynnie got to her feet, tugging me to mine as well. She dropped my hand, the tips of her fingers turning from light brown to icy blue with a warning of her mana. I stepped in front of her before she could make good on the unspoken threat, hoping the maid didn’t notice.

An arched silver eyebrow indicated otherwise.

“If the king had his own dress in mind, why did he insist we all show up prepared for a wedding?” I tried and failed to keep the bite from my tone, recalling the endless hours my sister had spent stitching during a bumpy sledge ride, tailoring the dress to my more pronounced curves and shorter stature.

“It is not for us to question his majesty,” she huffed. “But I suspect it to be an individual decision.”

I heard the crackle of ice forming behind me, and I took a deep breath, hoping my sister would subconsciously do the same. Not that I didn’t echo her sentiments, but it was one thing for me to make my own feelings known.

As she had said, my life was forfeit the moment I was chosen as Queen. I sure as hells wasn’t going to let my sister risk hers, though.

In any event, a downward glance reminded me of the soot on my gown from the fireplace, and I didn’t even want to consider what the back must look like after it had made such dramatic contact with the ice earlier. Or the body parts on it.

Still, every part of me rebelled at wearing something at the icy bastard’s insistence.

Would this be our marriage? Him imposing his will on me for the rest of our lives?

Then again, there was unlikely to be a rest of our lives. At least if I was discovered, I could hope that it was before our wedding night.

Panic started to rise in my chest again, but an icy hand came over mine. My sister was still furious on my behalf, but she didn’t let that stop her from comforting me.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try it on,” I gritted out.

The maid moved forward, but my sister blocked her path.

“Thank you, but your assistance is neither desired nor required.” Her voice was cold enough to rival my future…husband.

“The king himself has asked me to attend his bride,” the female shot back, her chest puffed up with importance.

“Then feel free to attend her from over there, or leave to take it up with the king himself .” Wynnie called her bluff, imitating her high-handed tone with the last three words.

As much as I wanted her to be careful, I was also just grateful she was here. I didn’t like people to see my scars. Or the dagger conveniently sheathed at my thigh, for that matter, which was an entirely different sort of problem.

Seelie didn’t carry weapons made of steel. They didn’t need to because they could protect themselves with their mana, forming weapons with it or hurling their power at their will. Hollows not so much…

“Everly, grab your things,” Wynnie ordered, waiting only a single heartbeat before using her own mana to tug the garment toward us on a stream of air.

It was a familiar game we played as children, just often enough to keep the estate staff from growing overly suspicious.

The maid released the gown reluctantly, her face chalky with fury as she stalked to a chair in the corner of the room while we ducked behind the dressing curtain.

“Where are Yorrick and Father anyway?” I asked my sister, trying to distract us both from the glowering presence and the general weight of my impending demise.

She made a face as she draped my gown over the divider and rested the box on the dresser. “Oh, I left the old goats outside,” she muttered while deftly undoing my laces.

She had never forgiven my father for forbidding me to attend her wedding, nor her husband for supporting that decision.

It made me unreasonably sad, taking off the dress she had painstakingly altered for me over the past two days—while the males had been sullen about the fabric slipping over into their side of the sledge, of course.

“I would have liked to have gotten married in your gown,” I told her with a small smile, watching the lace pool on the floor. “Harbinger of marital doom or not.”

Not that I ever believed I would marry at all. Even in the unlikely event someone was willing to marry a bastard, the risk of exposure would have been too great.

Still, it would have been a comfort today. I heard her swallow.

“You still can,” she said under her breath. “I’m sure we could get it cleaned up. Or, you know, there might be other options.”

She still wanted to believe I could just say no and walk away, evidence that she hadn’t spent nearly enough time at court to witness the things I had today. I didn't want to tell her, to worry her more than she already was, so I only shook my head, silently unstrapping the sheath to my dagger.

It was even harder to part with than the dress, my last fragile hope of protection, what little it would do against the king.

If these were the queen’s suites, at least I would be back at some point...assuming I made it through the ceremony at all. I stashed it in the small cabinet, and Wynnie coughed to cover the sound of it closing.

Then I raised my hands for the new gown, accepting the inevitability. Like everything else in my life, this marriage wasn’t optional, and neither was my outfit.

The dress settled around my shoulders, somehow confining though the fabric was lighter than spun silk. It hugged my body like a glove—frostwyrm silk, worth more than every piece of opulent furniture in the room combined. Utterly wasted on the day that would ruin my life, or end it.

Wynnie tied the laces before opening the silver box to find more diamonds than I had ever seen in my life. Earrings, bracelets, a necklace, and, even worse, a crown.

It was common for courtiers to wear decorative circlets, but this was different. Heavier, both with the weight of the sparkling gemstones that clung to each arch and for what it represented.

Once she was finished pinning the crown into my braids and helping with the jewelry, she tilted me toward a long mirror to see the results.

I didn’t want to see any of it. Not the gown, or the artful way she’d braided my hair this morning, or the diamond necklace that coiled around my neck like an ever-tightening noose. And I especially didn’t want to see the crown.

All I wanted was to wake up from this nightmare.

I balled my hands into fists, and she gently covered them with her own, putting her head on my shoulder. “There is always hope, Evy. Don’t let him take that from you.”

Hope. I wanted to believe that, too, but she hadn’t felt the power that spilled over in the throne room. I looked to the mirror at last, just long enough for my crystal blue eyes to meet hers.

“I wish that were true, Wynnie, but there is no defying the Frostgrave King.”