I nod, my eyes widening at his story. I had never met an Elvarran before, but people at the castle told me they had sharp fangs and claws to rip off human flesh. Others claimthey have tall, pointed ears. Some tales include magic that could manipulate the elements, bending air or earth to their will with ease.
“We also had to travel to Nythara,” Valentin continues.
“I thought the king of Nythara was dead?” I ask curiously, knowing that the kingdom crumbled long ago.
“Yes, however, we found some Elvarrans hiding out in the castle, using it as a viewpoint to spy on our movements,” he explains. “We killed those dastardly rats, every last one of them.”
“I see…” I glance sidelong at my brother, wondering how he survived countless battles. Many years at war made him a tenacious commander. “And what of Wrath’s Blade?”
“The Elvarran king?” Valentin laughs. “I’m starting to think he is a myth. Perhaps he fears Cathros’ royal army because he has yet to face me.”
No one knows the king of Khalessor’s namesake. People whisper in the halls the tale of Wrath’s Blade, the destroyer of peace. He is the one who attacked Nythara, starting the war between the seven kingdoms. They say if you meet his blade, you will not return home, as he is no stranger to bloodshed.
“Enough of that.” He gives me a playful nudge with his shoulder. “Tell me what you have been up to.”
I hesitate, glancing around for my governess. When I don’t spot her, I return my attention to him. “I spend most of my days in my lessons…” I tell him, a somber heaviness settling in.
Valentin scoffs. “Nonsense! What happened to my little sister who would wreak havoc in these halls? No horse racing? No sneaking into the kitchens to steal wine? What about that one time we started a fire in the main hall?”
My chest aches a little. I used to do all of those things with Valentin. Even if someone caught us, my father’s soft spot for my brother meant few consequences. I would never attemptsomething like that on my own now. The wildest thing I have done in recent months is lie with a lord's son pressed up against a bookshelf in the royal library.
I will spare him that story, though.
“I suppose things are different now…” My voice trails off, and memories of our childhood fill me. Every year, I grow more isolated within these walls without him, a prisoner in my own home.
“I’ll have a word with Father,” Valentin reassures me, handing me a glass of wine. “For now, we drink.”
“I’m going to need a few to get through tonight.” I take the glass and drink, savoring the full-bodied taste of sweet berries and oak.
“As do I.”
My brother and I were always competitive in the game of outdrinking the other, refilling glass after glass of wine. About four glasses in, Valentin shifts in his boots, wavering slightly.
“The wine we drink on the road is like piss.” He burps. “This is delicious.”
“Your tolerance seems to have lowered, brother,” I tease, knowing exactly how to get under his skin.
He scoffs. “Don’t be absurd, Rae. I am just getting started.” Valentin’s attention catches on someone across the room. “Stay here. I have to greet Lady Elizabeth.”
“Looking for an evening of tumbling in the sheets, brother?” I raise a curious brow.
“Shh…” he shushes me, leaning in close. “Yes,” he whispers before walking off.
I watch as Valentin attempts to flirt with Lady Elizabeth, who pointedly ignores his beguiling. Laughing, I turn to refill my glass of wine, staying in place until he returns so I can taunt him about the inevitable rejection. The world grows alittle hazy, allowing me to relax slightly and enjoy the merriment.
I feel a sharp gaze pierce me from across the room. I look over to see Governess Margaret Pennington glowering at me. Her structured, dark-brown dress is devoid of any frills, just like her. Not a single auburn hair is out of place from her tightly wound updo. Margaret lifts one finger in the air, pointing it at an imaginary glass of wine she’s holding before waggling her finger side to side to scold me silently.
I sigh.
Glancing down at the back of my hand, I see the dark purple and yellow splotches that mottle my skin. The bruises have not healed from Margaret’s last lesson. I debate whether the future punishment is worth continuing to drink, numbing the misery of my abuse. As always, Margaret gets her way, and I set down the glass.
If I failed to remember even a single lesson, she would strike me on my hands and wrists, each fresh wound adding to the scars that mar my skin. I spent days memorizing geography, architecture, and history. When Margaret didn’t drown me with reading assignments, it was pianoforte, etiquette, cross-stitch, dancing, and riding lessons.
The only time I am free from Margaret’s iron fist is when I sleep, but even then, she sometimes haunts my dreams. Some nights, I wake up with clenched fists and a thick layer of sweat. Her voice plagues my mind, dragging me back into her grasp until I do not know what is real and what is illusion.
“I am glad to see you are all enjoying yourselves tonight.” Ulrik’s voice carries throughout the space, drawing all the attention to him as he stands. “I have an announcement that will strengthen Cathros’s future and our fight against the Elvarrans!”
The room falls silent in anticipation.
