Page 10 of Nightingale (The Broken Kingdoms #1)

I t seemed as though opting out of the last evening was not up for debate. The King had sent a single-sentence letter with a parcel of clothes that she was meant to wear, making it clear that she had no choice in the matter.

See you tonight.

After an hour of wanting to pull her now-short hair out, throw herself out the window, add a few holes to her mattress or a Carylimian royal, Vrea donned the ribbon-clad gown. It was the simplest out of all her previous raiments, and the strands of velvet ran down the bodice, down the skirt. There was a temptation to rip one of the longer, thicker ones off and sneak into the Golden Prince’s room to pay him back for his more than kind words. She pushed it aside, knowing full well that if she even attempted to locate his chambers, she wouldn’t be making it out of there alive.

Vrea wanted to at least test out her growing plan before surrendering to suicide. So she sat in her vanity chair, slumped and waited for her companion.

They came on time tonight.

And even if Rian was supposed to be her escort for the evening, it wasn’t Rian who showed up at her door at the right time. The knocks were softer and less sure than the previous ones. She hadn’t even heard the click of boots on stone as someone neared. Which was why when she opened the door, she was shocked to see Castil standing there with both arms behind his back.

He reminded her of a block of ice.

The Prince was resplendent in varying shades of red that made him look as though he’d bathed in blood, with his long hair down his spine and a crown of braids around the back decorated with garnet pins. He flicked his cool gaze to her, quickly scanning her attire from head to toe. She wasn’t sure if he’d selected the pale blue gown for her but the gauze was refreshing in comparison to the thick leather of the past evening.

“I did try to get you excluded from tonight after Rian’s hallway escapades but my father would not budge from tradition.” He greeted her without so much as offering her an elbow to guide her down the stairs.

Not that she would have taken it.

Perhaps he knew that.

“I’m sure you tried your hardest.” Vrea brushed past him, her small heels tapping along in hasty steps. The ribbons fluttered with her, frolicking in the air like spring butterflies searching for flowers.

She was more than ready to get this last night over and done with, returning to her solitary confinement without the bothersome costumes and unnecessary attention. Back to the quiet of her own mind, the inner workings that kept her sane accompanied by the droll drone of city life below Hawksmoor Keep. At least until she could work out all the kinks and escape.

Castil wasn’t ruffled by her clipped tone, catching up easily enough without so much as breaking a sweat. “Are you?”

She ignored it and asked a question of her own. “Where were you last night?” It was strange of him to vanish into thin air like that, when all he lived for was taunting her relentlessly, haunting her nightmares.

“You sound like you almost missed me.” His voice was flat, uncaring.

“I didn’t.”

Castil let out a low noise from the depths of his tall throat.

Annoyance darted into her at the sound of it. “If you had been there then that mess with Rian in the hall would never have happened.” She would never thank him for saving her from making a gigantic mistake but there it was, a hint of gratitude for barging in.

“Calling me your saviour, Princess?” He remarked as they continued down the hall, his lip curling up.

“Never, White Knight. You’re the very reason I was caught at all.” She flung his title at him and his features cooled, all sense of mirth vanished. Good. She enjoyed wiping the smirk from his face. Her next thought, however, wiped her prideful grin from her face. “Am I to be placed on Rian’s side tonight or your own since you’re fond of switching up the nightly companions.”

The very last thing she wanted was to see the redheaded heir, to be perched like a lark in a gilded cage.

Castil swept down the stairs, no long coat to be seen. Only the crimson tunic that allowed a small portion of his svelte chest to show, hairless by the glimpse she stole. His boots were black, but there was no surprise there and the belt blended into the scarlet pants. Blood united him, in a morbid, pale way.

Perhaps he wanted to hide the fading scars on his arm.

Her mind kept dragging back to them.

Castil opened a door and walked through first, allowing her to follow before shutting it promptly. Again, no sound followed and it struck her as odd. Though, now that Vrea thought about it, he was often quiet in his approaches as well as manners.

“Can you stomach sitting by my side tonight, or will you lose your appetite?” He sourly susurrated as they rounded the corner. Her heels pinched her toes, the backs snapping at her tendons and she wanted to toss them out the nearest window. “If you have to hurl the contents of your stomach up, point in Rian’s direction at least.”

“I’d rather throw up on you .”

“I’m sure.” He muttered.

After the display from his brother last night and the words slung as if she weren’t even there, even Castil was better than Rian at the moment. It was a clenching feeling in her gut that she despised, but one she didn’t ignore, as she said, “I can manage without dousing you in vomit for tonight.”

“How kind.” He curtly pushed out and they appeared in the main hall where the party had already begun. “I assure you that I won’t take it for granted.”

Vrea surveyed the hall and counted each guard as they stood straight-backed at attention in each curved alcove that lined the entire chamber. More than the previous night, which meant that the King had at least done something after his son’s actions. She might have searched for another pen to record the additions, had she not instantly felt Castil’s undivided attention on her lean shoulders. They were bare, the dress sweeping over her chest and falling down her biceps.

“Don’t even think about it.” He warned in a soft voice usually reserved for lovers in the night, mid-tangle. One that shocked her straight to her core, since she’d never heard that sort of resonance from him previously.

“Think about what?” She feigned ignorance.

His gaze slid over to her, “We’re not playing this foolish game again.”

“What game?” Vrea’s lashes tickled her cheeks. “The one where I pretend to hate you?” She gasped dramatically, covering her mouth with her hand. Then the act was instantly dropped. “Oh wait, that’s real.”

Castil’s mouth moved upwards, and she swore she caught a barely-there twinkle in his eyes. Then it was gone, making her believe that she must have imagined it. He was good at that; at gaslighting her with his own emotions.

She realised a second later that he’d never answered her interrogation about his whereabouts last night.

“Indeed.” He said, and then explained what he’d meant. “My father promised to be more… alert tonight. He’ll be looking for things out of place, and you searching for the guards schedule will most definitely attract his focus.”

“I wasn’t.” Vrea halted her scan, returning her gaze to the long table which had once again been decked out in so much food, that she knew most of it would go to waste.

“No?” He asked with a hint of a challenge. “Do I need to spin you into another hidden area and search you for another pen? I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty, after all. Some here might consider there to be nothing filthier than a Niroulian, let alone a Greenvass.”

Her head roared in hatred as she demanded to know, “Someone being you? ”

He snorted, “I never said that I shared that particular opinion.”

“You don’t need to. I see it written all over your face each time you so much as glance in my direction.”

“ Do you?” Castil angled his head to get a better look at her, showering her with the exact expression that she spoke of. “Shall I touch you and see if you’re correct in your original assumption? Tell me where you want my fingers and let’s see if I manage to lose the contents of my stomach.”

Her blood chilled, her throat turned to sand and her stomach twisted at the idea of his hands roving over her in the same manner as Rian’s.

“I said I won’t take another pen tonight,” Vrea snapped, “It’s not like I have anywhere I could hide anything on me anyways. No need to get your hands filthy. ”

Castil emitted a scoff that turned the ice in her bones to a slow, vapid fire. “I’m sure that you of all people could come up with a smart hiding place for a simple writing instrument. But I’ll take your word for it.”

Brioc was already seated with a goblet that looked out of place- which meant that he supplied it for himself, and was deep in conversation with Regulus about something heated. If the scalding glares were any indication. Regulus bolted upright, cursed at his brother and stormed off.

A lively event, then.

The King was at the very tip of the table to no surprise, and his intrusive gaze landed on them. It lingered, far longer than she liked but she didn’t let him see how much it bothered her. Instead, she held it, lifting her chin high as he flicked his view to the left, towards his fourth son. A wily grin appeared, just the barest of smirks before he pulled away and engaged in a new topic with a counsellor seated to his right.

As she turned to see what the Prince would do next, she found Castil practically steaming with annoyance at the display. His white-blond eyebrows were scrunched down, his eyes crinkled with irritation and his jaw was firmly clenched as if he were biting his tongue from saying anything. Vrea couldn’t tell if it was because of his siblings or his father, but whichever it had been, set him off.

It was the first time she’d ever seen him… bothered. By anything. Even when he’d brought her back to her rooms last night, he was the stiff man she’d come to know over the three years. This was something else entirely, something that perked up her interest and told her to pay attention.

“Let’s avoid the table.” He said as he noted her curious assessment of him, sweeping her down the three stairs with a guided hand to her lower back. Nothing past that and yet it still felt claiming, in a bizarre way. “I have a feeling that no matter what is discussed, it won’t be pleasant.”

“And you think anything about tonight will be?”

“No one is going to try to bed you.”

“Least of all you?” Vrea mocked his curt tone from last night and found herself immensely pleased with the half-growl that echoed from his long throat.

“Least of all me.” He answered.

“I suppose that is pleasant.”

“I’m sure.” The man scoffed again, the tips of his teeth appearing as he led her past the table, past Brioc’s inquisitorial stare and onto the dance floor where a couple of the soldiers had paired with ladies of the court. He didn’t give her the chance to argue as he took her hand in his, the other around her waist and drew her close. There was barely an inch of space between them and she ignored him as the music struck up. The harp whined, the cello moaned and the flute whistled a merry tune.

It wasn’t a fast dance, nor was it slow.

But it was all absurdly slow as she danced with him.

Castil took the lead and she had no choice but to follow his fast motions, moving like silk in the wind as he spun her around and around. Their feet tapped in patterns of four and she found herself compelled to find each individual note of the song as they danced. Strange to find herself in this sort of predicament but for once she relaxed and allowed herself to be lost to the music.

In the last three years, she hadn’t been allowed to dance. Was this… a sort of freedom? A rare glimpse into a life she missed?

Vrea found anything and everything to look at but his face, the intensity of his eyes as he watched her succumb to the song. A woman began to sing and her heart lurched, wishing to trade places with her.

As if he could read her mind, Castil said in a soft tone, “Your voice is far superior to hers.”

“Is it really a competition if one side doesn’t really sing for an audience?” She questioned, locking gazes with him at last. “She’s very good. She hits the high arches without a struggle to be found, the lows sound natural and her medium resonance is quite pleasing to listen to. Even her flow is natural, you can’t hear any of the breaths she takes.”

“You are better.” He shrugged, lowering her as the notes dropped with them. The caress turned her veins to lead, the way it shifted into something warmer, fiery, hot.

She let his compliment sail by.

Castil lifted her back up slowly, hands tucked firmly on her thin waist and lifted her up, twirling in a half circle before setting her back down. The ribbons on her skirt wrapped about them both, and even she had to admit that the gown suited her, this event.

The flute took over, the harp falling back as a melancholic aria started and Castil danced with grace alongside it. Warfare was not the only thing he was well-trained in, then.

They remained quiet for the rest of the song and she was tempted to tear her hand from his and insist that they sit at the table in blissful silence. Until Rian walked in. Castil followed her line of sight, inhaling and exhaling deeply. When he returned to her, he scanned her face, finding something there that she wasn’t entirely sure of.

“Another dance would piss him off.” He suggested and Vrea heard the biting sarcasm that he held back. She didn’t know why, since she engaged in several forked duels with him when it came to retorts.

“Make it two.” Vrea grinned and his features lit up with astounded delight. She wasn’t a big fan of dancing with him, but her anger with Rian took over at the moment and she was willing to put her hatred for Castil aside if it meant shoving one large finger towards the Golden Heir.

“As you wish, Nightingale.” Castil purred and an ember of loathing returned.

She scowled as he turned her enough that her expression wouldn’t be seen by anyone other than him, and relaxed it once she faced Rian. The next song began and it was slower, which was even better. Castil flipped her around with feline skill, her back meshed flat against his chest. Within the way that space barely seeped through, she could sense his heart and the way it raced.

If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was nervous.

“Take a look.” He murmured in her ear and she tried to fight the shivers it caused. “It’s working.”

Vrea angled her chin west, finding the tiniest glimpse of the youngest Prince. His skin nearly matched his hair as he slumped into a chair across from them, perfectly in view of their bodies working together. Satisfaction curled into her, delicious revenge for the cruel things he’d said.

“Hmm,” She hummed in delight, finding the scent of bergamot and lemon dancing in the air as they twirled again. It was enjoyable, more than she expected considering who it came from.

“Only hmm?” He pushed, locking their fingers together and allowing her to step out of his grasp in time with the flowing harmony of the cello and the drum. A soft trumpet blared as well.

“I said hmm,” The Princess snapped quietly so that it was only shared between the two of them. “Because he seems to have lost interest quickly.”

Castil tracked his brother, repeating her noise but with a disappointed resonance. “I see.”

Rian had started speaking with one of the ladies sitting at the table, laughing in a rich sound that reminded her of chocolate. He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other in a casual way that informed them both that he didn’t care.

Her figure curled back into Castil’s, his arm draped across her throat like he might take a knife and slit it, watching the red trickle out. But only the cool feel of his fingers followed, a sensation that tickled her pride and her core. They left a moment later as his fingers did, trailing down her shoulder and finding her wrist as he delicately picked it up for the next move.

“He’s easily distracted.”

“I don’t blame him.” Vrea insisted as he flirted before her eyes with a pale beauty that had spun-gold locks that tumbled nearly to her backside. Her orange dress was revealing and thin, similar to the fashion of her first night.

Castil studied the woman and then dismissed her as if she were nothing but an annoying botherance. “She’ll find him bored come the morning.”

“I assume most of you do.”

“You can have your assumptions.”

“I will.” Annoyance darted through her as the song finished. She wasn’t very fond of starting another with him, even if she’d already agreed to one.

“Good.” He added with a bite that belonged to a beast. He dropped her hand, falling back a few steps.

Vrea met it with her own intensity. “Good.”

“Great.” Grey flared to quicksilver.

Even in his anger, he was stunning.

Castil was annoyed and she wanted to push it. Push him. So she said in a perfect reflection of his irritated tone, “Great.”

Something caught his attention and he gave his all to that instead of her. Then he was at her back once more, pushing her off the dance floor rather forcefully.

Vrea went to fight but he muttered, “Don’t. Just keep walking.”

There was strained panic in his voice like a violin. One that she unintentionally listened to as he led her up the three stairs and out of the main room. As his hand remained on her lower back and he hastily shoved her towards the stairs.

His father had held enough anger in his eyes that he could have burned them all there if he so much as wished it. The heated glances between Vrea and him must have set off warning bells because the King had subtly motioned for her to be escorted out. And considering the acts that the King was quite fond of when it came to people who pissed him off, Castil didn’t take it for granted.

She was fuming at him, but she was alive.

That was all he cared about.

And as Castil found her chambers, he was more than happy that it was the last night that she’d be taken out and played. Because for a solid minute there as they danced, she’d been enjoying herself. Relaxed, even if it was with him. Their banter had been playful, nearly on the verge of something else. And he knew without a shadow of a doubt, that that was what had triggered his father.

She was a prisoner, not their guest.

She wasn’t supposed to enjoy herself.

He wasn’t supposed to like her.

Castil shoved his hatred down and opened the door to her rooms. “Till next time, Nightingale.”