Mother’s soft, melodic voice carried on,“Like a sigh, it falls from high, drifting slowly through the sky…”
Hope drained from me. It was no use.
I let the disappointment carve itself into my memory, taking root in my mind. My arms went limp, and my legs turned to lead as the guards pulled me from the cottage and across the snow-covered ground.
Their silver boots crushed the soft snow, and my feet left a trail ofshallow tunnels as they dragged me toward the carriage. The sky was darkening, and the wind bit at my face. I fought to hold back the tears, but they came anyway.
In that moment, everything shifted. My life changed in the span of seconds. A third guard stepped forward and opened the carriage door. My feet felt like stone, unwilling to move, and I shook my head, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. The guard beside me grew impatient, hauled me off the ground, and shoved me into the carriage.
I hit the floor with a hard thud, tears slipping down my face as muffled sobs shook through me. When the door slammed shut behind me, it sealed my fate. I stayed curled on the floor, time dragging endlessly as the wheels turned, carrying me farther from my home.
Soon, my eyelids grew heavy, and I drifted into a restless sleep. I lost all sense of time, lying there on the carriage floor, until a sudden jolt snapped me awake. I blinked hard, my eyes swollen and my throat raw from crying. As I tried to clear the fog from my mind, I noticed a pair of leather boots.
I froze.
I sat up sharply, breath catching as I realized a man was seated across from me on the cushioned bench. With a startled cry, I scrambled back, clutching the opposite bench in the narrow space.
My heart stopped as his amber eyes met mine.
I knew those eyes.
I had seen them before, when I’d collided with the carriage in the market.
Those eyes belonged to my captor.
As we passed through the kingdom’s gates, the prince of the realm murmured, “Welcome to Castle Hyrall, Odessa.”
1
I was calledcountless things during my time at Hyrall, each one passed with judgment and offered without invitation: whore, harlot, siren, seductress,maneater.
Those names were meant to wound. And at first, they did.
A year had passed since I was called to serve the heir. At just twenty, I was taken from my home to fulfill the Crown’s bidding. In the early days, I found myself longing to have been called to Hyrall for poetry or music, perhaps even dancing. But I was from the outskirts of Brier Len, a pauper, destitute and unworthy of the gentler female talents.
As many others did, I often wondered why the prince plucked me from the withering woods and placed me in his tower of stone.
In time, I came to realize that a greedy hand never rests.
Today marked one year since I became consort to the heir. One year since I last saw my family or walked freely in Brier Len. For a moment, I lost myself in the memory of how the snow had blanketed the ground outside my home that day.
For as long as I can remember, I was drawn to snowfall,how it floated down with whimsy, settling softly into mounds below. I could watch it for chimes, as if I were a spectator before a performance.
Snow was once a comfort. Now, I’ve grown as cold and unfeeling as it.
That snowfall marked the day Hyrall’s guards forced their way through our door. They delivered a letter sealed with the royal crest and announced my conscription to serve the heir.
From that moment on, the heir became my keeper, and I became his consort.
That was the day I made a vow, cold and certain, that he would regret ever taking me from Brier Len.
The soundof a key turning in the lock pulled me from my thoughts. I turned toward the noise and saw a young steward enter my chamber. He carried a wax-sealed scroll with a crimson tassel dangling from it. Without a word, he walked past me and set the scroll beside my bed. He fixed his gaze on the stone floor, head lowered. Then he turned, locked the door behind him with a firmclunk, and left.
Once again, I was alone in my chamber.
There was a time I tried to speak with the stewards who brought the scrolls, but I quickly learned it was useless. No matter how persistent I became, they never acknowledged me.
I rose in silence and walked to the bedside. The fabric of my dress swept softly across the polished stone as I moved. I picked up the scroll, the parchment thin in my hand. The crimson tassel stirred something sour in me, and I stared at it vacantly.
