Page 5 of Nightingale (The Broken Kingdoms #1)

V rea couldn’t recall much from the first night.

Or the second.

Everything had gone by in a decadent blur of boring, bland things and she could only drag small things out of her memory.

Castil’s occasional, bored scan of her with a disapproving glare of her clothes as if he found her to be distasteful. She could agree with him there. Rian on the other hand, kept smirking at her for the first hour of the evening, observing every curve to the point where she had a hard time focusing on anything other than the way his blue eyes dipped to her breasts, the thinness of the panel obvious.

Brioc had been true to his word and asked his father for her limited freedom, which he’d unsurprisingly turned down without a second to even consider it thoroughly. He’d apologised to her in return and the rest of the evening had been sat in a stewing silence. In turn, Brioc had spent most of it speaking with the handsome ambassador’s son who had been placed directly beside him.

It gave her enough of a view to see the wandering hands that followed underneath the lace tablecloth and the hardness of both men as they continued their promiscuous activities. She tried her best to ignore it, even if the show provoked a little fire of her own in her core.

It had been years.

With no one to warm her bed.

Vrea took her own pleasure sometimes, in the middle of the night when she was desperate enough. Doing that sort of activity here of all places, turned her arousal into a seedy displeasure that usually doused said fire. Then the occasional nights when even that couldn’t put it out, she allowed a rest. It provided her a bit of a respite, even if she longed for something more. But that was an issue that couldn’t be solved until she was free of this place.

She wouldn’t dare sleep with Brioc, mostly because he held no interest in her sort. He’d told her she was lovely and complimented her often enough that she believed him, but he found beauty in a different way than most men did. Which was why the compliments seemed genuine, instead of the slimy sentiments that some of the guards tried to send her way in order to remove her gown. Brioc wasn’t bad to look at with his ochre eyes that were harsh, and his short black hair that he kept mostly cropped to his skull. His skin was darker, perhaps the darkest out of all of them save for Rian.

His younger brother was a few shades darker than Castil, and it was clear that they all came from different mothers.

Regulus was the very last choice, and she would rather die than let him touch her anywhere. He was known far and wide for his promiscuity, for the amount of women that often left his chambers and the men that soon entered afterwards. It seemed as though the second Prince could never get enough of sex, and didn’t want to. His shoulder-length golden hair varied into the brown side whenever winter came about, darkening it to a shade that was often likened to nutmeg. Even his green eyes were darker, nearing olive.

That left Castil and Rian.

The dusk and the dawn, the moon and the sun in comparison to each other.

Castil was pale, lapidary in his sharp features and silent ways. His hair nearly reached his tall waist with the long, white-blond length of it and his icy grey eyes were observing, as if they saw everything. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her entire life, including his youngest sibling who wasn’t far behind him. He rarely spoke at these events and if he did, it was something quiet and clever. It was obvious to Vrea that his father detested him the most out of all his children, though the reason wasn’t in plain sight.

Rian was a scoundrel.

He often lazily rested incorrectly in his chairs and drank goblet after goblet of wine and water, countering the effects of the previous. Each Prince had brought their own bottle to enjoy as if they never trusted each other to pour them a glass without conflict or poison. He laughed and ate and engaged in silly discussions with those around him. For the first night, he’d slicked his red hair back in a style that didn’t suit him. His warm-toned skin had been brushed with a similar powder to her own and he sent a sly wink in her direction as she’d been seated beside him on her other side. For the first hour, he was brazen, bold with his appreciation.

For the other five hours, he didn’t exchange a single sentence with her, or even look at her again.

It bothered her, for some reason.

She shoved it down and stomped on it for extra measure, scolding herself for even remotely caring about a stupid Moordian Prince.

Rian spent most of the second night on the end of the table, with a girl who he’d perched on his lap. A pretty thing with ebony skin and a shimmering head that had been painted with silver whorls to show off every side of it. Even her arms had been similarly decorated to match the white silk that clung to her body like morning dew to a leaf.

Seats were assigned and changed each evening, allowing multiple people to have all sorts of intelligent contributions.

The gorgeous girl had licked up his ear and he’d let out a soft sound that Vrea could hear from her spot three down as Regulus draped his arm around her , toying with the green organza that made her look like a tree. Her hair had been brushed out and styled into loose curls woven with mossy strands and faux leaves. Once more gold adorned her in the form of a circlet that held emeralds, a bracelet with sapphires and a tight choker with chocolate topazes.

The second Prince wasn’t good at keeping his hands to himself, something that Rian noticed within three hours of the start and swiftly put an end to. Regulus had been asked to join him and the pretty girl in the study and hadn’t returned, but Rian had. He didn’t so much as spare her a glance before settling back down and tossing his arm over the seat.

Castil had swiftly informed her that his brother had been happily occupied with another young lady, one that would have been more appreciative of his advantages and that he wouldn’t be returning for the rest of the night. He’d offered to lead her back to her room, insisting that she didn’t have to stay if she didn’t wish.

Vrea took him up on that, allowing him to lead her from the hall. They’d stayed quiet and she couldn’t have been happier about it. Out of all of the heirs of Carylim, Castil was the worst. He may not have been as cruel as Brioc could be, or as forceful as Regulus but he had his own reasons.

Surprise slammed into her as Castil tugged her arm aside, guiding her into a hidden alcove instead of the corridor that would lead her to the locked chamber that she’d come to call a version of home for the past three years. Memories flashed through her mind of when he’d cornered her, the guards hot on her heels. It wasn’t too far from where he’d pinned her to the ground, but the air felt the same.

“What are you doing?” He threw the question at her before she could abruptly interrogate why he’d brought her here.

“What do you mean?” Vrea played dumb, as if he could see straight through her very center and unfold the plan she’d been working towards.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Vrea.”

“I don’t want to play with you at all .”

“Then answer my question.” Castil nearly barked. There was an edge to it, a dam that held back a waterfall of vexing emotions. She couldn’t quite figure them out and better yet, Vrea didn’t care to unweave whatever conflict he was struggling with.

“I’d rather die.” She bit back, cool in her resolve to frustrate him until he preferably threw himself out the nearest window. “But since you won’t allow me to do that, by my will or anothers, then not speaking to you will suffice.”

His jaw flexed. “Fine. Be that way.”

She thought he might have left it alone had he not opened his mouth and started speaking once more.

“You’ve clearly been studying the guards and how often their shift changes. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the pen you’ve been secretly marking your arm with.” Castil snapped and reached for her wrist and dragged it up between them. She tried to yank it away but to no avail, as he held firm, pinching her in a way that nearly hurt. “Don’t think me to be as naive as my siblings, getting lost in their drinks and relaxing.”

“I wouldn’t even put you in the same category as your siblings.” She spat out as he shoved her slit sleeve down and revealed the tallies she’d applied after counting each minute and watching for repositioning, for repetition. “None of them seemed to even look in my direction, let alone keep an eye out for something.”

That was pride that warmed her skin as he inclined his head in her direction, admitting that it had been clever on her part.

“And that is their mistake. They may dress you in jewel tones for you to sparkle and gleam like a decoration, but you are far more dangerous than that.” He brought his thumb to his mouth, licked it and then sluggishly dragged it through the tallies, smudging the ink until she couldn’t make a single one out.

Disgust roiled through her.

“Even gems can cut if their edges are sharp enough.” She crooned back at him. “And don’t touch me.”

“They’re fools. It’s easy to see when you’re so obvious about the marks on your arm. Want to start drawing them on your face next?” Castil dropped her wrist as if it no longer interested him. As if he realised it wasn’t an arm but a disgusting morsel of rotten food instead, no longer wanting to be near it. He plucked the pen out of her belt, where she’d hidden it.

“If you’re so desperate to talk about marks along our skin, let’s discuss yours from the other night, shall we?” Vrea yanked his left arm to her, unbuttoning the puffy sleeve before he could stop her, his eyes widened in horror as he realised what she was trying to do. She got a swift look at a blanket of scars all along his lower arm, terror shooting into her gut at the amount of marks carved into him.

She estimated around twenty-three, including the freshest one that had barely scarred over.

“Castil, wha-”

“Don’t.” His jaw twitched as he hauled it away, hastily fastening the button back into place as if that could erase the damage she’d seen. Then the agony vanished as if it had never been there in the first place, as if she’d imagined it. Replaced by a shield of arrogance that she knew far too well.

Wrath took over.

His lip twitched. “Here you are, preaching not to touch you and then you go and do the exact same thing. A little hypocritical, aren’t we?”

“At least you included yourself. ” Vrea brushed off any flicker of terror that she’d briefly placed towards him, allowing her annoyance and anger to keep her burning bright.

“I’m surprised that even my father seemed lost to pretty distractions, and that I was the only one who even thought to keep my sight on you for the entire four nights.” He pressed her to continue walking down the hall and up the staircase as he prowled behind like a hound on the hunt. He took two steps at a time because of the easy length of his legs, whereas she had to hop up each one individually.

“Well, I guess lucky you, since your evening is tomorrow. You won’t have to try so hard since I’ll be shoved at your side, against my will.” She gestured down at herself in emphasis. “Are you going to dress me in see-through gowns and heavy gems to prevent any sign of escape?”

“I guess you’ll just have to see, Nightingale.” He draped half of his hair over his chest, the flat plaits joined with small twists that had been painstakingly threaded with silver. It made the locks shimmer and shine, looking ethereal.

Not that he needed any help with that.

Why did the best villains always look sinfully good?

“Don’t call me that.” Vrea insisted as he tugged her towards the right hallway, closer to her locked chamber.

“What’s wrong, don’t like that you sound like a lark? And here I thought that would have been a compliment for you.” He rolled his light eyes, so blue-grey that they were almost molten steel and ice wrapped in two orbs. “Would you prefer Vre ?”

“Because I wouldn’t have sung at all if I had known that you were stalking around the corner, eavesdropping on me. And no . How about you use my real name?” She didn’t let him take hold of her elbow again, refusing to be led around the castle like a damned dog on a leash. No one would put a collar around her. Not if she could help it, not if she had anything to say about it.

Castil looked as if he wanted to put a collar around her , but if she had any say of it then she’d hopefully put a collar around one of the Moordian Princes. Preferably him, with how often he staggered into her rooms with some sort of obnoxious comment or disregarding statements.

Though the thought of Rian on his knees was incredibly tempting.

“You don’t have to escort me all the way back, I know the way, Castil.” Vrea complained, shirking out of his space as he went to take her in his grasp again. “I can walk back just fine.”

“And risk you leaping out of a window in a narrow chance for escape? Or flirting with an unsuspecting guard who doesn’t know who you are and tricking him into letting you out? Perhaps you’d break into a run and sprint the remaining distance of the castle, failing at the last second as my father orders the sentries at the top of the ramparts to shoot you down with the massive crossbows he has stationed up there.”

Those must have been new additions.

She hadn’t known about those.

He observed what must have been plain annoyance on her features, at the fact that she’d missed something.

“He added those when one of your brothers attempted to cross over in our territory two months ago and tried to free you,” Castil informed her with a tiny bit of what sounded like glib glee that made her want to punch him. She controlled the urge, for now. “As you are still here, he clearly failed.”

She tucked her barbed retort down.

“Your hair,” He muttered as he scanned her head, from side to side. “It’s too long.”

“Maybe, it’s because I haven’t had the chance to cut it.” She said through gritted teeth. “If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been stuck in a locked room for almost three years.”

“Have you now?” He asked jovially.

Fuck self-restraint.

Fuck him.

Maybe a swift punch was exactly what was needed here.

Trial and error.

Vrea went to send her curled fist into his stomach but he moved as quick as a night cat and dodged her blow. Fury was a fine thing, ripping up her throat with claws of vexation as he sidestepped another hit. He didn’t untuck his hands from behind his back as she tried again, failing. Just like the first time, he flowed like the water and air.

His hair swished with every fluid movement and whipped around him like a curtain of silk as he easily avoided colliding with her. It was beyond frustrating how he reacted to her like she was no more than an obnoxious fly on a hot day.

“Are you done yet?” He asked flatly, bored and it only made her want to hit him even more. But she curbed her anger and tucked it aside, lowering her arms and releasing her fingers from the clenched curl.

“For now.” She snarked, hating how he was. It wasn’t one particular thing, but him in his entirety.

“I look forward to your next attempt.” Castil saucily elicited, as if something was bothering him. She didn’t care enough to inquire about it, didn’t like him enough to dig deeper and solve the mystery that was him.

“Maybe this time you’ll stop flitting about like a horrible wasp and actually strike back.” Vrea said as they reached the doorway that led into her confined chambers.

“I highly doubt it. I don’t care if you are a pretty Princess or a prisoner of war, I don’t hit women. Regardless of if they hit me first or not.” He turned the handle and pushed it open, refusing to step foot over the threshold as if he were some creature that lurked in the shadows, requiring permission for entry.

“That surprises me.”

His arm left his side as he pointed inside. “It shouldn’t. But goodnight, Vrea . I’ll come around eight to join you for our night together.”

Her lips pursed as she struggled to find a sarcastic retort. “Any way I can ignore it all together and feign an illness? I’d much rather succumb to that than be forced to spend a night in your proximity.”

His rumbling laugh was light. “I could poison you, if you’d like.”

Vrea couldn’t help her smirk as she said, “You could poison yourself, instead. That would be a huge help.” She stepped inside, already more than ready to be rid of the dangling bits and excessive gems they planted on her. Servants would come in within the next ten minutes, summoned by Castil to get rid of anything that could be used as a weapon in her hands and leave her with the plain frock that she slept in.

“It wouldn’t work, I’m afraid.” Castil angled his head to the floor before spinning on his pointed heel and leaving her standing there by herself. “But please, I implore you to try.”