Page 13 of Nightingale (The Broken Kingdoms #1)

R ian knew she’d always been a smart little thing. Even from day one of her cruel capture, and the way she’d fought against it every step of the way. That day, she’d taken out three guards alongside her on her way to the cells, with the end of a sword pommel brought down upon her head in order to secure her and drag her into the chamber.

Throughout the first two years of her imprisonment, she’d fought. Fists slammed against the door in any vain attempt to break it down, kicks to the thick panelled windows in hopes of breaking the glass that would never shatter. The balcony had been locked for the first two years of her stint, in order to keep her hopes low in her chances of escape. It had only been opened within the last half of the third year because she’d calmed down to a cool fury that was obvious in the expressions she wore like fine gowns and beaded crowns.

But as Rian caught her before she could eat the stones on the ground, he saw it as plain as day. She would never stop fighting, never stop trying to win.

It was clear in her narrowed expression, in the cool green eyes that almost leaned towards grey and the way she held herself. He’d been assessing her for three years now, wondering and waiting for her to escape, to make some sort of plan that led to her inevitable capture.

Honestly, he was surprised it took this long.

His elder brother, Castil, had predicted around three years but he’d visited her often for a different reason. Rian hadn’t ever gone himself, but he listened to the stories that came from visiting her. The ones that his other siblings laughed at, mocking her predicament and the way that their father kept shoving her in those ridiculous gowns that she never suited. Castil never laughed, but he never spoke up about it either.

Considering that he was the one providing the tales, Rian suspected he didn’t have much of an opinion on it since they both knew what their other siblings were like.

Hard and savage, just like their father.

Only a few of them looked even remotely similar, as Castil and he shared a similar eye colour. Handed down from their father, but Rian’s tended to favour dark blue than grey, like as his brother’s did.

Where Rian’s hair was short and auburn, Castil’s was long and a blond so light that it was almost white, with strands of pale gold strung about it. Rian’s skin was rich and golden, resembling the sun even.

Castil’s was the moon itself.

Even their other siblings commented how they were polar opposites from each other in their looks, laughing about the women that produced them.

But that’s how it had always been.

Their father never had a wife until this last half decade. He’d been siring sons and daughters left and right as they all engaged in the competition for the crown. Because they were allowed to murder and maim each other in attempts to move up in the line of succession.

It was one thing the Moordians stole from the Greenvasses, and happily so. His father claimed it was to root out the weak ones and leave the strong behind, to show who could have the iron-clad stomach that was needed in order to rule Carylim.

Out of all of his siblings, at least the ones that were left, only Castil, himself and one other could even claim that. Because they’d been the only ones to kill.

A slip of a blade in the night as the brother directly above him, Raj, attempted to kill him instead. Something that he’d been made fun of, after the panic of taking a life settled in him hard. A kill, no matter who, when or why, was always shocking to the system. But now, he could kill again if he needed to.

Rian hadn’t tried to put any of his family down since that night, allowing the others to take care of that for him. With the war that they’d all fought in at some point and the murderous rivalry between blood, enough was enough. He didn’t like killing his own family like some of the others relished.

Truthfully, Castil was the only one who agreed with him, even if he’d taken out the most out of all. The White Knight , slashed his steel claws in order to retain that regal sense of pride and honour that would eventually allow him to sit on the throne. If any of them were going to take it, was going to outlive them all, then it was going to be Castil. He was smart, cunning, and clever. He lurked in the shadows and listened to all the secrets that servants spilt as they passed by. As they didn’t expect to see the fourth son of Carylim spying.

He loved to keep his ears open and his eyes planted on unsuspecting things as if danger could be found in everything. Hence why he’d often journeyed to Vrea’s locked chambers, visiting and learning all of her secrets in order to better understand her.

What started out as a way to gather intel, turned into a spinning wheel of stories and mockery from the rest of their family.

From the information that Castil told about Vrea, an idea had formed inside Rian’s head since the revel. One that he hadn’t quite expected to play out just yet, but she was here now and there was no ability to rewind time and begging all over again.

“Hello again, Vrea. I’m curious to know who let you out of your cage.” He still held her firm and he could see the hissing cat that she was steadfastly becoming.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know me better.” She snapped like a wild dog, rabid and fierce. “I know every single one of you, as you do my family. Don’t insult me by pretending otherwise.”

His eyebrows quirked up as delight rolled around inside of him. He’d heard the rumours that she was a spark in a cannon, and she most certainly lived up to it each and every time he encountered her. “My apologies, Princess .”

“Are you going to kill me now?” Vrea glanced down at his sword at his hip, as if she wanted him to draw it out and lop off her head with it.

It would be a shame if he had to, honestly.

She was pretty, more than pretty.

Most of her siblings bore the terra-cotta skin that she had, with the medium shade of brown that fell just a couple inches from her chin. Her eyes were uptilted and her nose was perky. Even the curve of her symmetrical face was pleasing, with a bit of roundness at her apple cheeks. She was thin and toned as all members of the Greenvass household were, and not short but not tall by any means.

“Would you like me to?” Rian earnestly offered.

“What kind of question is that?” Vrea struggled to get out of his gloved grasp but to no avail. “No, of course not but that’s just the way of things isn’t it?”

“Just because it’s the way of things, doesn’t mean it has to be done.” Rian marched her forward until she hit the wall, an oomphf following at the impact as her spine met stone. “Aren’t you tired of our families attacking each other in the middle of the night?”

She paused her writhing, blinking up at him.

“You’re trying to trick me.”

“I assure you, Princess, I’m not.” He covered her mouth a second later, using his body as a shield as two men passed by, spears clutched in their hands.

She glared up at him with anger as bright and dangerous as the sliver of the moon that currently rested in the sky.

The guards dipped their chins towards him and he returned it, glad for once that he was the largest out of all his siblings when it came to sheer body mass. Castil may have been taller than he was, but Rian had more packed on.

Rian let her go with a wary finger pressed to his mouth in an urge for her to either stay silent or be quiet if she had to say anything. “Look, you’re never going to make it out of here alive. Not now that they know you’re missing and will be on high alert. And if they don’t already know, then it’s only a matter of time.”

“And?” Vrea questioned with a bite.

“And,” He went on, “I can help you.”

“What makes you think that I’d ever trust a fucking Moordian? Especially after the last time with you?”

Her language amused him.

He didn’t know many girls who cursed.

“What makes you think I’d ever trust a gods-damned Greenvass?” Rian retorted with a huff. “Nothing. But I have something you want and you have something I want.”

Her face schooled into a picture of neutrality but he could make out the fine line of tempting curiosity beneath it.

Rian stepped back, removing his grasp from her to allow her to come to her own decision. “I want to end this stupid feud between our houses. I’m tired of sending my brothers out there to die and have no one return. I’m tired of all of this fighting and having an endless battle, raging outside every single day.”

Truth.

She would need the truth, and nothing but it, in order for this to work at all. For it to all be over and peace could finally follow.

“And you think what, returning me to Niroula will do that?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Do you know what we do to Carylimian royals who show up on our doorstep?”

He did.

Because his youngest sister Daria had managed to cross into their territory in an attempt to ask for peace, for a treaty to be drawn between both Niroula and Carylim and failed to return. And when she did finally come home, the collar had still been around her neck, even if it had been severed. The bruises were still visible through the sheer gown she’d been forced to wear, and her hair had been shorn to her scalp.

A slave of Niroula.

That’s what she’d been turned into.

That’s how she’d died.

“We put collars around you and make you serve us for two years, before debating if we should send you back home in pieces, or at all,” Vrea explained as if he didn’t already know this.

But his family wasn’t any better either.

They didn’t let two years pass before killing them. Most times. For some reason, Vrea was an exception to that law, as one of his siblings had gone to their father and begged him to save her life. Pleaded with the King of Carylim to keep her alive instead and use her as a hostage whilst the war raged on.

But a couple of her siblings had crossed over into Carylim and paid the ultimate price for it. Strung up for days in the blistering sun, while Brioc peeled their flesh off their bones in individual strips, and fed it to the hounds who salivated at the scent of blood. The ones that were unleashed after three days and three nights of screaming and bloodletting.

Then it would be quiet.

It was horrible and brutal, but it was the way that things were done.

For both families.

“Then I’ll gladly allow it if it means a chance with them.” Rian cooly responded. “But either way, regardless of what I might face in a month’s time, you’re not getting out of here without my help.”

She looked as if she were thinking it over as if there were any other options that she had been blind to until now, and he knew that she wouldn’t find any. Hence why her face turned upwards towards his with a touch of disdain, a dash of hatred and an ounce of regret.

“If you turn on me, if you try anything whilst we’re travelling, if you even so much as think about killing me, rest assured that I will always be ten steps ahead of you the entire time. And if I catch you, then I won’t just slap a collar around your thick neck, but I’ll make sure that you die excruciatingly.” Vrea held a slight growl in it, toying with her warning.

“I’ve no issue with that. As long as you take heed of your own cautious warning.” He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his blade, turning it as he motioned for her to walk down the hallway. “But first let’s get you out of that hideous dress. Pink really doesn’t suit you. Even if you are a Princess.”

She stuck her middle finger in his face and grumpily picked up a pace towards his room. His room, which she’d been caught trying to sneak into in the first place. His room, because she’d been trying to kill him all along.

Rian understood the irony of it, and it wasn’t lost on him. Vrea Greenvass had tried to kill him and failed, spending three years in a locked chamber because of it. And now, she would need his help if she wanted to break free of Hawksmoor Keep and make it home.

He might enjoy this a little.