It is an impossible notion. I know that. It is just King Dolian’s brand of torture—adding to my physical afflictions by turning this into mental warfare. I know that too. I keep my disdain for the king plastered on my face throughout the rest of the day. As he walks me from room to room in the residence, my arm forcibly linked with his, I ignore the worm he’s so carelessly dropped in the garden of my mind. At least there is enjoyment to be had in the mounting frustration I sense from him when he expects me to react as if this grand tour is something I’m excited about. As if I should be. But later, when I’m once more alone in my room and staring out at the ocean blanketed in orange and pink light from sunset, I can’t help but let my thoughts wander back to the Mage Kingdom. No part of me worries that I am not missed, but what if Dolian is right and something else is wrong?
The council had been so insistent on Nox not marrying me that if they knew the lengths he’d go to get me back, would they retaliate against Sadryn and Alexandria? Despite the impossibility of it all,someonefrom the Mage Kingdom is working with King Dolian, as if evidenced by me beinghere. Perhaps they are still there, intent on hurting Nox and his family in other ways now that I’m gone.
Chewing my bottom lip raw, I lean down on the window sill and close my eyes against the waning sunlight. I hate that King Dolian thinks so little of Nox—that he doubted our love for each other. But even more, Ihatethe tiny seedling of doubtthat rises to the surface and asks,what if he’s right? That isn’t Nox speaking. That isn’t even my own conscience. It’s simply my fears being molded by the king’s words.
I blow out a frustrated breath and wince, my fingers tightening on the windowsill. Nox and I aren’t the only players in this game amongst powerful men, and I can’t be foolish enough to assume that it starts and ends with only us.
Autumn woods and a hint of spice linger in the air, a smile curling at my lips because of who that scent belongs to. “Nox,” I whisper. Warmth cradles me from all sides, the weight of his arm draping over my body a comfort. The urge to open my eyes tugs at my lids, but I fight it off, instead settling into the way I feel safe here. I know that this is only a dream, but I’ll take any connection to Nox that I can feel and so for a long while, I don’t try to call out again or move or do anything that might disrupt this perfect place where there is no pain or anxiousness or heartbreak. There is onlyhim.
The weight of his arm on top of me grows heavier and as I take my next inhale, a stabbing pain flares to life over my left hip. It’s brief, there and gone within the length of a breath, but I part my lips to call his name again, hoping it will tether me here. Except that the word is thick on my tongue. Sadness flares when I try and fail again to call for him, the command to not speak Nox’s name suddenly affecting me in the dream. My heartbeat kicks up its rhythm, but even with the way it beats in my chest, something weaves around the sound to my ears. Something that sounds likehumming. I strain my ears to hear it, even as I fight to cling on to this dream for a little longer. But Nox’s warmth begins to seep away and though I can only form his name in my mind, I call out for him. Again and again, to noavail. When reality begins to creep in, I squeeze my eyes shut and search for those old pockets of numbness. But I can’t find them.
My head throbs, the pulsing of my heart a steady rhythm in both temples while an acidic taste taunts the back of my throat. My eyelids are heavy as I pry them open, surprised to find that it is still nighttime, the stars sparkling brightly outside the window across from the foot of my bed. My heart sinks at the recognition of the room.
I shift my gaze to the ceiling above, blowing out a shaky breath as I try to gain some sense of equilibrium. Goosebumps bloom over my arms and legs, the sensation of static electricity—like that of an impending storm—washing over me and making me shiver. Or maybe it’s the chill in the air and the realization that I must have kicked my comforter off at some point in the night. Groaning at my disorientation, I attempt to roll onto my side only to find that I can’t.
“You’ll find that moving will be quite difficult.” I gasp at the unknown voice, cold dread settling over me as my eyes dart to every shadowy corner in the room. Through the small bit of silver moonlight, a figure emerges and stalks to the side of the bed, his menacing glare sending a shot of fear directly into my stomach.Simon.
I wait for the king to show himself, angry that my sweet dream was taken over by yet another nightmare. But the reveal never comes, and I can’t decide if that is better or worse as I stare at his advisor. My fingers twitch at my side, something dark and oppressive pressing at my chest and placing an invisible hand over my lips, sealing in the questions that bubble up to the surface. I’m paralyzed in the dark, and based on the look Simon wears, heknowsit.
Simon smirks and walks to the corner of the bed, lifting some sort of tray that rattles with items. “You know, whenHis Majesty told me that you escaped from your tower with a guard, I must admit a part of me was relieved.” Setting the tray on the night table to my right, he picks up a small bottle, the room too dark for me to make it out. “You see, King Dolian has many strengths. He is willing to do the things that others won’t to ensure that his kingdom stays safe. Compromise is a weakness, Lady Rhea, and one that the king does not possess. Except”—he lifts his gaze from the bottle between his thumb and pointer finger—“when it comes to you. Despite your abhorrent distaste for our great king, he keeps giving you grace.”
Breath rushes in and out of me as I try to move myself out of my prone position. But the heaviness of my limbs remains, and my struggling attempts do nothing but tug on the tender flesh at my hip.
“King Dolian was so distraught after your departure. I have known him for a long time, and not since the night you were born had I seen him so upset. I take my role as his advisor very seriously, and so, though it went against my better judgement, I helped him formulate a plan to get you back.” Our gazes hold. “Andthisis how you repay him for wanting to make you his queen?” Simon lets out an indignant huff. “I won’t tolerate you taking advantage of his generosity.”
I’m still dreaming. I have to be because surely, Simon is not talking about the same king I’ve come to know. The same king who would willfully beat me until I passed out from the abuse. The same one who looked at me not as his flesh and blood but as something to be conquered. Something toown.
“Magic is a powerful tool, but it is not the only one that the Continent has provided us. Herbs and plants can be just as valuable and more easily available to those not born of mage blood. Take, for example, the gelsemium plant. By appearance, it looks like nothing more than a beautiful, delicate flower. But when you break it down, crushing the petals and stem, itbecomes something more. Something better. That is what we are going to do with you, Lady Rhea. As you are now, you are nothing but a liability to His Majesty. His love for you prevents him from doing what is necessary. So the task falls to me. I will break you—forge you into something better—so that you can serve him in the way a good queen should.”
The threat settles between my ribs, a dagger of intention that stings as if it were real.
“You are under the influence of a gelsemium serum. A little swipe in your mouth while you slept is all it took to make you agreeable.” I recoil at the idea of him sticking his finger in my mouth. “I can see your indignation, and rest assured, I took no pleasure in touching you. What’s about to come next, however, well…” He lets his words linger ominously between us as he sets the bottle back down.
I watch from the corner of my eye as he uses one finger to caress whatever is on the tray next to the bottle. I can see glints of metal objects, but from my vantage point, I can’t make out what exactly they are.
Simon continues his perusing until something in his expression shifts, and he plucks an object off the tray. “While the gelsemium temporarily paralyzes the body, it doesn’t take away any of the senses. You can still experience them all.” The object in his hand glints in the moonlight, and a desperate noise gurgles in my throat at the sight of it. It’s a thin blade, unlike any I have ever seen before. He moves his hand down, wrist flicking with quick movement over my bare arm not covered by my nightgown. I yelp at the stinging slice of pain, glancing down to see an angry split to my skin as blood begins to well from the opening.
Wake up.
The king’s advisor smiles, tilting his head to the side as his gaze assesses me in a way that has me begging to crawl out of my own skin.
“I’ve a bit of a reputation in our kingdom, you know.”
There’s another flash of silver, and a second cut opens beneath the first. My hand twitches with the pain, and though, in my mind, I’m screaming, nothing but a cracked bit of noise actually moves past my lips.
“His Majesty trusts me to get information for him, and I am quite good at what I do.”
Slice. My vision goes hazy.Wake up.
“There is a certain kind of pleasure that can be found when someone is completely at my mercy. Though it’s been a long while since a mage was the one beneath my knife.” My cheeks grow wet as tears fall, the terror of being trapped here releasing itself by any means necessary. Simon takes no mercy, the drag of his blade becomes longer and more languid, the intensity of his focus on me growing as he watches blood pool and spill.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
With a long, exaggerated inhale—as if he can taste the iron scent that taints the air—Simon moves to the other side of the bed. “Now, Lady Rhea, let our evening together serve as a reminder that I am always watching you, and if you refuse to treat your king with the respect that is owed, then I will keep slicing you apart until you’re unrecognizable. Only then can you be remade.”
With my heart in my throat, its beat a riotous chorus that blends into my broken pleas, I endure Simon’s ministrations. Each cut is only on the surface of my skin, yet I feel the echo of them down to my bones. Time slips by in moments of conscious clarity in which agony wraps itself around me and in small seconds of reprieve when Simon moves to grab a differentinstrument. I had never realized just how many versions of torture there were to weather, and I wonder if perhaps that is what the summation of my life will be: How much can I endure? What is the imaginary line at which I claw until my nails break in order to escape it?
Darkness creeps in on my already cloudy vision, and though I can feel my blood cooling beneath my body, I make the choice to focus on the memories of the people I love instead. Though the voice of misery screams that there is no one coming for me, hope’s quieter song reminds me that I am no longer alone.
