Page 8

T hat nightmare felt so real. If I close my eyes, I can picture the faces of the King and Queen of Mendacia, as well as the subtle glow emanating from them. I can recall the nausea that stirred when I whirled through a great, vast nothing.

I sink back into the plush embrace of my bed and pull the blanket up to my chin. It smells of roses and spring air, sweeter than I remember. Gods, this bed is soft. If you gathered all of the lightest and fluffiest clouds and packed them all together, they would seem hard in comparison. And this is strange, but there are dark curtains wrapped around my bed’s canopy, blocking the sunlight. How did that happen?

I shake off the tender remains of sleep, and…

Oh, no.

This isn’t my room. This isn’t my bed. Was that dream… real? Am I actually in the Palace of Light?

No, no, no, no, no…

Pressing two fingers to my forehead, I notice swelling on the left side, just above my brow. The library, the invisibles, the fainting. In the palace. In front of the king and queen. It was all real, every last gods-forsaken second of it.

I have to get out of here. I have to get my bearings. But what time is it? I am surrounded by perfect darkness apart from the tiniest sliver of sunlight peeking in through a crack in the curtains. I don’t have any idea what might await me in the daylight.

The only way to find out is to face it head-on, unprepared as I may be. My pulse makes a mad dash as I ready myself to open the curtains. Then I grab fistfuls of the heavy fabric, thick as mud, and force myself to take deep, slow breaths. After a few repetitions that do little to help my nerves, I cleave the two sides open and then shriek louder than a conco caught in a trap.

A man is sitting in the corner, no more than three feet away from the bed.

Who in the name of the gods is that? Our eyes meet, and before I can determine who the stranger might be, I quickly close the curtains and hold them together with an iron grip.

He claps his hands once, and the curtains wrench from my grip and fly wide open in response. His eyes waste no time dragging over my body, a wicked smile forming as he does. Despite wearing both a nightgown and a cloak, I suddenly feel stark naked.

“Who are you?” I ask while my mind races to plot out an escape. What can I grab to defend myself? These pillows would be useless unless he has a fatal allergy to feathers. He’s blocking the path to the door, but maybe if I sprint fast enough…

“Well, you may call me whatever you like,” he says with far too much amusement. “Most call me Prince Allwyn Delusia or Your Royal Highness. Special friends call me Olly. You, however, may call me your sweet, stunning, and irresistible fiancé.”

Fiancé.

Oh, gods, that part was real, too.

His smoldering brown eyes narrow as he sits back and waits for the fawning to commence. But there’s something about his blatant arrogance and pride that convinces my brain to throw any sort of politeness and respect out the window. I can’t bring myself to call him Prince Allwyn Delusia or Your Royal Highness, even if that impertinence could get me killed. And so I say with a sneer, “Olly, it is.”

“Are we friends, then?” He dodges my sarcasm with ease, and a dimple in his cheek curves inward with amusement.

“Far from it.” I tuck my arms closer to my chest, trying to hide as much of myself as possible. “If you wanted to be my friend, then maybe you could have had the decency to wait outside of my bedroom, rather than accosting me here.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“I’m glad to see that you’re enjoying this.”

He cocks his head to the side, appearing to enjoy the challenge. He looks like a perfect combination of his parents, bearing both the beauty of his mother and the cunning of his father. He’s more casual, though. The hem of his tunic hangs over his trousers without looking sloppy, and he lacks the stiffness and rigidity that his parents held. And, unlike his parents, his light brown skin is as dull as the rest of us, with no glowing aura in sight.

He doesn’t respond, but his smile confirms his enjoyment all the same.

“So, Olly, how does it feel to be betrothed to a woman who hardly knew of your existence until…” I pause, realizing that I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Has it been minutes? Hours? Days?

“Until two hours ago,” he tells me. “I heard that you had quite the reaction. You know, I thought you would be delighted to discover that you are a princess-to-be. Many people would sell their souls to take your place.” Every word he says is another jab, another taunt. And, much to my dismay, I feel every blow landing just as hard as he intended.

“Lucky for those people, I’d sell my place for less than the cost of their souls.”

“Is that so?”

I resist the urge to throw a pillow at his head, though a few more barbs from him might cause that resistance to falter. “Would you be delighted to learn that your parents sold you to a foreign king, locked you in a village, and shielded you from any real human experience? Would you be dancing with joy to find out that your entire life is a lie? Does that sound just absolutely delightful?”

He swaggers forward and then sits on the bed next to me, placing a hand much too close to my thigh. He lowers his voice to a near whisper, “From what I hear, you were given a roof over your head, an allowance to keep you comfortable, and the freedom to spend your days in any manner you wish. While maybe not delightful , it doesn’t sound quite so terrible.”

An allowance that I was foolish enough to believe was my father’s pension. How could I have believed such a blatant lie?

“Of course, you know nothing about being trapped.”

His eyes darken as he leans even closer to say, “I know more about being trapped than you could ever imagine.”

The darkness brewing within him sends a chill down my spine. It’s enough to calm my bristling, if only for a moment. “You never answered my question earlier.”

“And what question would that be?”

“How do you feel about being forced into our arrangement ?” I inch back on the bed to create more space between us.

“Oh, I fought it tooth and nail,” he says through gritted teeth. Then he leans in closer, so close that I feel his breath on my ear, and whispers, “Though now that I look upon you, I deeply regret my dissent.”

A rush of heat bolts through me, warming my cheeks and stirring something within my center. I turn away sharply to hide my reaction, but it’s no use. He leans back on the bed, propping himself up with one elbow, clearly satisfied with himself.

Is this a game to him? Does he enjoy seeing me squirm? What does he get out of this?

“Get dressed.” He springs up from the bed, commanding me as if his word is law. “You’ll find your new wardrobe in the armoire. I’ll wait outside while you change.”

“And what if I don’t want to get dressed?” I refuse to take orders from this man, especially when he has me feeling so vulnerable and out of control.

“Oh, if you prefer to remain undressed, I would love nothing more than to take your honor right here and now, but I promised my mother that I would resist. I am under strict orders to be a perfect gentleman when I escort you around the palace.” His lazy seduction fails to mask the humor in his eyes, making me feel like nothing more than a joke to him.

“That is not what I meant! You are nothing more than an egotistical narcissist. I refuse to be commanded by you. I refuse to become your wife. I would rather fling myself from this window than share the same air you breathe for another moment!”

This whole thing must be a mistake. Surely, the king and queen chose the wrong girl. There’s nothing special about me, no great gift. And there’s no way that he and I could belong together. I cannot, will not, agree to spend the rest of my life with that fiend.

He looks me up and down, biting his lip. “You don’t have a choice, darling. You will do all of those things and much, much more. Now, I will wait outside while you dress. If you’re not in the hallway in five minutes, then I will have to retrieve you and dress you myself. And I won’t be gentle.”

I scoff as he shuts the door behind him.

Prince or not, this is exactly why I vowed never to submit to a man. How could my parents do this to me? How could they have expected me to be okay with this arrangement? I have to come up with an alternative, some way out of this.

Tonight, when everyone is sleeping, I could escape and return to Carcera.

But the chances of me making it back to such a remote village alone are slim to none, given that I have no survival skills, no supplies, and no idea how to get there. Even if I was able to navigate the land, what sort of home would await me? No friends. No family. I feel sure that my allowance would come to a swift end once I prove myself to no longer be useful.

Could I make enough to support myself? The tinctures I researched could add more to my income, but it would be a long time before I produced anything worthwhile.

Has anyone even noticed my absence? Tana, maybe. But how long would it take for her to visit again? A week? A month? It’s not like I’ve been welcoming to her. I fear that even if she noticed, she may be more concerned with spreading gossip about my whereabouts than with trying to find me. That familiar pang of loneliness clambers through me, ringing in my ears like an echoing reminder of my inadequacy.

Can I truly claim Carcera as my home if nobody even notices that I’m gone?

Not to mention, the Mad King could attack at any moment. Returning to Carcera could be a death sentence.

What other choice do I have, then? Should I run as far away as possible and live out the rest of my years alone in the woods? That may be more appealing than becoming the subservient wife of an entitled prince. But that leads me right back to the inevitable doom that would await me alone in the woods.

Oh, gods. I can feel the hope slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.

No, I can’t give in to that feeling.

What other options are there? What would happen if I refused the arrangement outright? Could I reach a bargain with the king and queen? I could offer to be a gardener, a maid, or a servant in the palace instead of marrying their son. My supposed gift could still be useful in some other capacity, right? My value to them, whatever it may be, would still be at their disposal. I’ll offer myself as anything but a wife.

Maybe, just maybe, they might agree. I can broach the subject with them directly. Surely, they are capable of being reasonable, of understanding why I simply cannot uphold a bargain that was made without my consent.

Until then, I need to know if I am a prisoner here, or if I have some degree of agency. I tiptoe to the bedroom door, pleased to find it unlocked, and poke my head into the hallway. Olly is pacing back and forth with his head bowed. Each step is tense and heavy, maybe a little agitated. Maybe we are both animals trapped within the same cage. Our fates are tied in a ruthless knot that neither of us can untangle.

If that is true, then would he consider joining forces with me? Who knows how many loves he lost, knowing that I would one day come to take their place?

Together, maybe we can find freedom.

I can put on a smile and do my best to befriend this man, to make him trust me, so that he might help me plead my case. I softly close the door, making sure that he doesn’t hear.

I wait a moment to ensure he doesn’t come rushing over with more brassy lines.

The room is larger than I realized. The ceiling is tall and painted with a mural of a starry night sky. Little dots of silver splash across the edges and fade into the sandy stone walls. Why cover the bed with a canopy when you could slumber beneath a dream? It surely beats the lurking red eyes.

And on the opposite side, glass so clear it’s almost invisible extends across the length of the wall. I would think you could walk right through it if it weren’t for the two doors framed in white at the very center. My breath hitches when I take in the view beyond it. The sea is so close that I could jump right in. It seems to extend from the cliff out to the edge of the world. It’s more beautiful than any painting I’ve ever seen, like an endless reverie of teal and sparkling whites. The cool breeze sweeps past me like a salty kiss when the doors open. It blows through my hair and brushes against my skin, raising goosebumps all across my arms and legs.

I could stare at this view forever, I think. I probably would if it weren’t for the princeling pacing on the other side of this door.

He told me to get dressed, but I didn’t have time to grab anything before the invisibles plucked me from my bed. What did he mean when he mentioned a new wardrobe? I stroll over to the armoire and find a wealth of dresses tucked inside. It seems to have every color, fabric, and shape imaginable. Some thick and warm with furs and wool, others with more delicate lace or silk. Fabrics that I have seen but never touched. The diversity of seasons accounted for by these dresses assures me that they intend for me to stay put for quite some time.

I take the plainest of them all – a magenta dress with little embellishment. The bodice draws tight around my ribs, and I struggle to tie it, but eventually, it falls into place.

I catch a glimpse of my wild hair in the mirror and try to tame it with my fingers, but the long, wavy mess is too unruly. After only a minute of trying, I give up, reminding myself that I have to play nice with Olly, not impress him. Moose runs to me and barks his approval.

You can do this, Radya. Just be friendly , I remind myself, as if wishing friendliness into existence might make me more pleasant— deep breath .

When I open the bedroom door, Moose rushes out behind me, running straight toward Olly to sniff his legs. “His name is Moose,” I tell him.

Moose snaps and bares his teeth when Olly reaches his hand out to him. He laughs it off, but I can see the irritation brewing underneath his smile. “Maybe next time, huh? For now, Radya, would you do me the honor of accompanying me around the palace?”

I nod, accepting his outstretched hand, which he then weaves into the crook of his arm. Moose lets out one final growl before getting distracted by a passing fleck of dust. And off he goes, bounding down the corridor, apparently enjoying his new surroundings, if not their owner.

Olly walks in stride beside me, assuming a genteel manner that was previously absent. The change in tone makes me think that he, too, faced some internal resolve to play nice. “How do you like your bedroom?”

“It’s nice,” I say but then find the word lacking. “I had never seen the ocean before. I dreamed about it but never believed that I would see it myself.” A truthful admission to soften him to me.

“Was it what you imagined?”

“It’s better,” I say. My tally of truths is growing unbalanced against his, but I offer more anyway. “I can’t believe that I’ve been missing out on it all these years.”

“I suppose that’s one of the more tragic consequences of being confined to Carcera for most of your life,” he frowns. “Swim with me?”

Excitement buzzes in my ear. Even if this is all a ploy to help me escape this arrangement, who says I can’t enjoy it for a few minutes? I don’t know how to swim, but I’d like to learn. Gods, I’d be happy simply dipping my toes into the water. My stomach lets out an angry growl, and I’m reminded that I haven’t eaten since yesterday. “Could we eat first?”

“Anything for you, Radya.” He pulls me along beside him. As we walk at a slow, leisurely pace, he points out different hallways and artwork, although none of his explanations stick in my brain. It all becomes a jumbled blur, but I nod anyway. Strangely, the back of my neck tingled with the sensation of being watched and followed me to the dining room.

The memory of this morning returns all too quickly. Here, not too long ago, I learned that my entire life was a lie. My parents. My village. My freedom.

Oh, gods.

“I figured you would like some sustenance before our tour begins.” Olly pulls out a chair for me at the end of the long banquet table and then rounds the corner to sit across from me. “Glad to see that I already know you so well.”

I clumsily take my seat, still shaken by the memories whirling through my head.

Four servants enter the room, each carrying trays covered by silver cloches. They place them down in front of us and lift the lids to reveal sandwiches at least three inches thick, sugary pastries, cured meats, cubed cheeses, carrots, potatoes, and a few items that I don’t recognize. There is even more here than earlier. It seems wasteful, especially after I fainted before eating a single bite of breakfast. Do any of these leftovers go back to the community?

My stomach growls to disrupt that thought, begging me to indulge, and I start piling food on my plate like it might be my last meal. Starting with a pastry the size of my hand, I gobble it down in only four bites. Then I sip on a smoking hot cup of coffee, which one of the servants poured while I ate. I hardly mind when it burns my tongue.

Olly snickers, snapping my attention back to him. I stop at once, suddenly feeling self-conscious. I didn’t grow up in the palace and surely wasn’t taught etiquette. That fact weighs heavily on me now as Olly fails to hide his amusement.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he chuckles.

“Very well, then. I won’t.” I don’t want him to see that he got under my skin, so I grab a block of cheese and take a bite so large that it bulges in my cheek.

He laughs again, but it’s tempered this time. He softens, appearing to chew on words like he’s struggling with what to say. “You know, our situations may be different, but I’m stuck in this position just like you. I have no other choice, never have.” His jaw clenches tight enough to flex each chiseled line. “I’d like it if we could get along.”

Even though he’s a prick, we are bound by the same rope. Each one of us tied to the choices of our parents. “You’re right. You didn’t choose this, and neither did I.”

“But here we are.” He leans back in his chair, and I sense a degree of resignation in his voice. Of course, he’s had much longer to arrive at the point of acceptance than me. “We’re both destined to follow orders eternally, or at least until I become the one to give the orders.”

This confirms my suspicion and gives me hope that we might forge a path out together. “Let’s start with being friends. How about that?”

“Friends first. Husband and wife, and oh-so passionate lovers later. Got it.” He winks at me, shattering that hope as quickly as it came.

“Are you capable of being friends without being insufferable?”

“Ouch, Radya. You wound me.” He grabs his chest, feigning a wound to the heart. “But tell me, does honesty make me insufferable?”

“Well, here I am proposing that we make the most of our unfortunate situation, and you mock me in response. That’s what makes you insufferable.” The voice in the back of my mind reminds me again that I am doing the exact opposite of what I set out to do. Befriend him. Recruit his help in pleading my case to his parents. That’s my goal, and I can’t lose sight of it.

“It wasn’t mocking. It was just a light-hearted joke. Friends can’t joke with each other?”

Gods, if I could just wipe that condescending smile off of his face…

“Friends can get to know each other first before talking about arranged marriages, or undressing, or bedding,” I say through gritted teeth.

Remember the goal, Radya. Play nice.

“Bedding? Who mentioned bedding?” He tilts his head back with laughter. “And, by the way, who says bedding?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Your exact words were actually ‘take my honor,’ which is far worse if you ask me.” I can feel my blood pressure rising.

“Okay, I get it. I apologize for wanting to rip your clothes off and consummate the proposed marriage then and there. See, I can apologize. A respectable trait in a husband, some might say.”

“You’re missing the point!” Already regretting the idea of befriending this man, even for my own gain, I grab a small carrot from the tray in front of me and chuck it at his face. The tiny vegetable twirls through the air before landing just above his perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

Silence follows and his jaw drops, eyes bulging wide in disbelief. A second later, he whips his head back and howls with laughter, nearly falling out of his seat. “Did you just throw a carrot at me?”

“Keep laughing and I might throw some of this gook,” I threaten, pointing to the dark bubbling porridge between us.

“Oh, please do.” I start to lunge toward the bowl, but he interjects. “I should remind you, however, that I can use magic, and you can’t. I could throw this entire spread at your head with the snap of my fingers.”

“If what your parents said is true, then I am also gifted. In fact, I believe that they called my gift so great that the gods only grant it once in a millennium.” Though they did tell me something of the sort, I don’t know that they were referring to magic. At this point, they have more magic than me just by having any at all.

“Have you ever actually produced any magic? Shown an inkling of power? Tested the limits?”

I slump down into my seat, hating that he called my bluff.

“Well, let’s try it, shall we? Focus your mind on throwing another carrot at my head. If you can make that carrot move, I will bow at your feet and praise you as the most powerful being to ever exist. I won’t even penalize you for your aim.”

Oh, gods, I should have seen this coming. Now I have to try, even if I’m forced to storm out of this room in embarrassment.

Breathe, Radya .

I stare at the carrot, focusing on it with all of my might, but it remains motionless.

I picture the carrot launching into the air and landing squarely on his forehead.

Nothing.

Whack , something strikes my head and lodges into my hair. Shocked, I pluck the object from my hair and find a cube of cheese. This man just threw cheese at me.

“Come on, make the carrot move, or I’ll be forced to double my strikes,” he taunts.

Focus, Radya . Come on.

I empty my head of all extraneous thoughts, focusing only on the carrots.

Bam , another morsel of cheese hits my chest, landing in my cleavage. The challenge heightens my determination, only now I feel compelled to shift my focus toward the pie. I visualize the pie, which has a dollop of cream on top, floating just above his head and falling onto him, ruining his white shirt and leaving a residue so sticky that it will take weeks of scrubbing to remove.

Plunk . Another piece of cheese lodges itself into my cleavage, which now seems to be the target. I refuse to look at the self-satisfied grin that’s sure to be on his face right now. Instead, I focus my attention even harder, training my mind on how good it would feel to see him covered in pie. I imagine only the whites of his eyes visible beneath the thick coating of cream. I focus and focus… and just as I near my breaking point, the pie flies through the air and falls flat on top of him.

With cream covering every inch of his head, he lifts a finger to his cheek, scooping the filling off and then licking his finger clean. “If you remember correctly, I said carrot. Since this is, in fact, a pie and not a carrot, you forfeit your right to claim victory and will not receive your prize.”

Stubborn ass.

Despite his declaration, pride surges through me. “Oops,” I say, giggling like a child.

I can’t believe that I did it. I moved an entire pie using magic! With the sweet taste of victory on my lips, I can’t help but smile.

Magic. I have magic. What else am I capable of?

“You’re welcome to lick it off, darling,” Olly says, pulling my attention back to his cream-covered face.

“In your dreams,” I sneer playfully. Nothing could tear me down from this high.

He laughs and nearly chokes on the cream. One of the servants arrives by his side with a towel, flashing me a look of displeasure, which I assume is for the mess that he will have to clean later. I mouth the word ‘sorry’ to him and then scramble toward a napkin.

Olly wipes the pie off of his face and returns his attention to me. “Well, this turn of events does mean that we will have to postpone the rest of our palace tour for the time being, as I now require a bath.” He raises an eyebrow suggestively. “Though if you would like to make amends, you’re welcome to come help me scrub away the mess.”

I scoff at his remark, but I am still beaming on the inside.

The pie moved through the air at my command. I willed it to happen, fully believing that it would, and then my wish was granted.

How remarkable.