Page 4 of Nightingale (The Broken Kingdoms #1)
“A
bsolutely not.” She denied as she took in the sheer fabric that would leave nothing to the imagination. It was a single bolt of fabric that fell off one shoulder of the mannequin and trailed down the hips, which would leave her sides utterly exposed. The front hem was slanted, with two golden belts that crossed at the waist and a low slit in between the chest section that would make it impossible to hide anything.
“No?” Brioc propped his foot up against the wall and folded his arm into the other. “I’m afraid I must insist.”
It was demeaning, offensive and downright gaudy that the Moordians wanted to drag her out of the room for four nights of dancing, drinking and dining and show her off like she was a mere trinket of value and not a prisoner of war. One night for each Prince, one night to be led around on their arm and placed beside them at dinner. The King allowed his sons to control everything from the food to her outfit, to the way the event was styled for their night of glamour and glitz.
Vrea glared incredulously at him. “There is no way that you’d be able to force me outside in that thing. I’d rather stay here and rot in my chambers than be paraded around like a common whore.”
Because there was a doubt in her mind that the dress would even fit her either. She was small, that much was true, but the bolts of cranberry fabric were even smaller. And with her darker complexion, things were easier to see. Things that she wasn’t too fond of any of the Moordians being able to see.
He snickered and covered his mouth as he lowered his black hair at her. “I assure you, women of the night wear far less. Besides, you won’t be paraded around. Just shown off a little bit for our entertainment. I think coming out of your cell, no matter how pretty it may be, even for a night might be beneficial for you. You can eat and drink whatever you’d like from the edible display, and enjoy the fine music and great company. I can’t imagine how lonely it’s been for you in here, all by yourself.”
Except she hadn’t been by herself.
Castil kept coming over the years.
For some, unexplained reason.
“I won’t do it.” She sat down and crossed one leg over the other, glowering up at him as he tried to stare her down in a vain attempt to convince her. “You can’t make me.”
“It’s going to happen, Princess.” He cheerfully insisted as his spine fell into a comfortable slant, the tight vest creasing over his muscled shoulders. “One way or another, you will be dressed in that gown and attached to my hip all night long. Tomorrow, Regulus will have his chance and I assure you that I’m harmless compared to him.”
“Or what?” She dared to push as anger was slowly simmering and rising in a steam of temper that only heated her up even more.
He smirked and a shiver tore through her.
“Or, you can go in nothing . You were there last year on the anniversary of your capture, you’ll be there this year. Just like you’ll be there next year, and the year after that.”
Vrea had nothing to say to that, turning her chin away from him until she could lock her sight on something other than his hulking form. Brioc was by far the largest out of the four sons, with a height that only surpassed his brother, Castil by two inches or so. But his arms were as large as tree trunks and his brain was somewhat smaller.
He was harmless, that much she could admit because of his preference when it came to who he took to bed. The last event that she’d been forced to join him in, had resulted in Castil silently escorting her back to her room as Brioc tangled up with another male and disappeared for most of the night.
Suddenly, Vrea didn’t mind tonight so much.
It was a good way to get a hold of the changes around the castle, to study the guards’ rotation and see where the King posted them. Perhaps she could slip out of their sight and Kingdom on the last night after she’d had a couple of evenings to study, plan and plot.
She swung her head back towards him and mustered all of her fury into her look. His smile widened until the bottom of his pearly white teeth were visible, which she took as a sign that it worked. Giving in too easily wouldn’t do anything but make her look suspicious.
“I want to be free to roam wherever I wish in between the events.” Vrea countered as if it was something she could bargain on at all. She knew damned well that nothing would result from it, but at least it wouldn’t come across as suspicious that she outright agreed after putting up a fight in the first place.
His response was exactly as she imagined it would be. “No.” He said curtly. “You know why.”
“What if I have… supervision?” She suggested with a sly curl of her tone, one that she’d learned in the art of the bedroom that usually got her partners to agree.
The word was sour like goat’s milk gone bad and she hated it, but if it meant that she could freely walk the halls of the palace, then it was worth it.
“Supervision?” Brioc’s expression changed into a portrait of consideration that might have ignited an ember of hope within her. “I highly doubt you’d like any of the Princes by your side, twenty-four-seven. You already hate us and that’s based on the limited communication and sights we afford you. I can only imagine what having one of us by your side for every hour would do in regards to your loathing.”
She scowled, “I wasn’t thinking about a son of Carylim, but a daughter instead.”
“You mean Orla.”
The last living daughter of Carylim, and one that Vrea had never met once in her life. Even at the events that they pulled her out of her room for, she’d been absent. Though she’d seen that they were strictly for the men of Carylim, not everyone was invited. That much was clear by the style of revel the King threw for his soldiers and sons, by the company of scantily clad women that tagged along and danced seductively around the room whilst the conversation and wine flowed freely.
“I do.” She confirmed.
“I suppose I can run the plan by my father tonight, and check with her to see if that’s something she’d be considering. But I make no promises on anything.” Brioc made sure that she understood that if he asked, it may not be approved. It was only a chance, but she was more than happy to take it if it allowed her to see more of Hawksmoor’s layout and sentry schedules.
Things could drastically change in three years, after all.
“Fine.”
“Fine.” He grinned and fell into a low, well-performed bow at his waist as one of his arms slipped out to the side. “I look forward to your radiant appearance tonight, Princess.”
Vrea still hated the dress.
The fabric was at least as soft as a sheep’s wool, freshly sheared and the colour did marvellous things to her fawn skin. The golden belts accentuated her lithe figure splendidly but it was still something she didn’t like to have on display for anyone to see. The slippers she’d stuck on each foot could barely be considered shoes, since they covered the underside of her foot and then rose up on twisting ribbons of amber until they disappeared beneath the sheath of her gown.
Gold had been dusted along her eyelids, her cheekbones, and a matching red lip stain had been carefully applied with mashed rose petals and honey. The servants had swept her hair up into a curled style, the front strands hanging loose in her face as they’d placed a diadem with a single pearl on her head.
A prisoner Princess, that’s what she was.
And that’s what they made her look like.
There were thin bangles on her wrists and three rings on each hand, alternating fingers. A long necklace dipped down the front of her with three pearls that clattered against the chained belts.
She understood why they dressed her like this.
Vrea had been bred for war, honed into a weapon and pounded into a deadly thing like a sword on a blacksmith’s anvil. For once, they wanted to make sure that she was at a disadvantage. There was nowhere that she could conceal a weapon on her figure, not with how much skin was on display. And even if she somehow got her hands on one, the range of mobility was limited thanks to the amount of jewellery they clad her in.
A rap of knuckles sounded on her door.
It opened a second later and the Prince Regent entered, similarly dressed in a garnet tunic that showed off his toned torso, with a weft of blue fabric tossed over his shoulder. Suddenly Vrea wondered if the design hadn’t been meant to show her off, but his favourite parts of himself instead.
He wore the clothes well.
“You look splendid.” Brioc extended his bicep for her to take and she timidly accepted it. “We’re going to have a wonderful time together, Vrea.”
She highly doubted that.