“You dare bring Isla into this.” Vemon fills Ulrik’s voice. “You speak of her again, and there will be serious consequences.”
“Just because you refuse to speak of mother doesn’t mean she didn’t exist.”
I expect sorrow at the mention of her loss, but I only feel ire. It is a low blow, but I want to convey my point to him. She’s been gone for so long, but the wounds have not healed—I’m unsure if they ever will.
“This is your duty. You get to be a queen, Raelys.” He dismisses my point. “You ungrateful child.”
CHAPTER SIX
The journeyfrom Cathros to Avelisar will take a total of ten days. I’m inside a small carriage, my body bouncing as we drive over rocks and other rubble on the road from the ongoing war. My home has long since disappeared over the horizon. I’m not used to traveling, and the dust kicked up by the wheels makes me sneeze.
On the second day, I finished readingThe Warlord Chronicles. By the fourth, I’m practicing ways to use my dagger in case I need to protect myself. On the seventh day, I’m lying flat on the carriage floor with a bottle of wine in my grip, wondering if this journey will ever end.
Every time I look out the carriage window, the view remains unchanged. There is nothing but dreadfully dull grass in every direction, the barren fields empty as the silence around me. I take another sip of wine, attempting to stave off the chill of the rapidly approaching winter.
If this is what life outside the castle walls is, it is as dull as counting the stones on my bedchamber ceiling. I had hoped to feel a sense of excitement and intrigue when I departedCathros, but instead, I feel like a forgotten parchment blowing in the breeze. This can’t be what true freedom is like.
The carriage thumps suddenly, rocking it from side to side. I sit upright quickly, brushing the stray hairs from my face. The carriage door flings open, surprising me. Someone nimbly steps inside while we are moving, sliding gracefully onto the bench across from me as they invade my space.
“Hello, Princess,” he says, closing the door.
I lift the bottle of wine to my lips and take another drink, narrowing my gaze at the man before me. I study his features carefully: black hair, gray eyes, and olive skin. He resembles Wrath’s brother. Something slightly masks his features, his pointed ears concealed beneath a helmet. He wears Avelisar’s armor and crest, blending in perfectly with the rest of Olav’s royal guard.
I couldn’t remember his name. “Benjamin…?” I guess, unbothered if I got it wrong.
“Barnham,” he corrects.
“That’s right.” I pick myself up off the carriage floor and sit on the bench across from him. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”
“You’re drunk.”
“You would be too if you were stuck in a carriage for ten days.” I point an accusatory finger at him. “I trust things are going according to plan?”
“They are.”
“Good.” I nod, taking another sip.
“Is there a specific point when you’d like us to engage?”
“Preferably before I have to say my vows.” I grimace at the dreadful thought.
“Understood.” Barnham nods, opening the door to my carriage and stepping out. The door slams with a heavy thunk, returning me to dreadful isolation.
As we finally approach Avelisar, I am struck by how far it is from a sight of grandeur. In fact, it looks quite downtrodden. The castle’s so-called ‘impenetrable walls’ show signs of wear and age, with several cracks forming in the stone. Is this kingdom really secure? I pondered it for a moment before realizing it wouldn’t matter for much longer.
As we approach, I expect to find streets or towns surrounding the kingdom—similar to Cathros—teeming with life. I see nothing of the sort. The gate opens, allowing the carriages to enter Avelisar.
I reach for the handle, but the door flies open on its own. The carriage driver holds out a hand to help me. I take a careful look at his features. He resembles the Elvarran named Stanik from the castle garden, but I am not entirely sure.
Several unfamiliar people swarm around me in the courtyard. Many offer greetings and blessings, hands outstretched in my direction. Some even stroke my hair, and I recoil instinctively. Others take my hand, sending panic up my arm wrapped in magic. I rip my right hand away and yank down my sleeve as I tuck my arms to my body.
“Welcome, Highness!”
“May the gods bless you!”
“Follow me. I’ll escort you to your room!”
I ignore all of them, scanning the courtyard. Where are the Elvarrans? Why don’t I recognize any of them? I can’t identify a single face, and a faint unease coils beneath my ribs.
