Ebony nodded. “Yes, Master does not receive many visitors especially of the womanly kind.”
“How long ago did someone stay here?”
Ebony avoided eye contact and shoved the door open. “A long time ago.”
The space was grand, too lavish for a simple bedroom. A four-post bed stood in the center with sheets that yearned for someone to stay in its warm embrace. Velvet curtains draped a large window that looked out to a courtyard below of rows of lush roses and a maze.
Ebony went to the armoire in the corner of the room and pulled out a royal purple gown. The bodice wastrimmed with black lace and velvet, complemented by a touch of lace along the heart-shaped collar dipping farther than mine. The skirt was less full than some of the gowns I have worn, moth-eaten black tulle filling it out in a soft silhouette.
My heart skipped a beat. The thought of wearing it and revealing my thinning frame did not settle well.
“Supper will be shortly, so I’ll leave you to change and fetch you later, miss.”
I drifted down the bloodstained fabric and shook my head as Ebony stopped short, her dark gaze darkening.
“Is everything alright?”
I stifled the cough building in my throat, searching desperately for the handkerchief, only to come up empty. Nodding, I feigned a simple to the familiar tingle of needles. “Yes, just a bit tired. That’s all.”
She tilted her head, a long scar serrated against her neck as flesh moved while she muttered to herself, “Hmmm, that’s odd. I’ve never seen that with a living folk before.”
“Seen what?”
Her head snapped back up. “Oh, nothing at all. But are you alright? It must have been a hectic day.”
I nodded. “Yes, quite.” I frowned, brows knitted.
As much as I did not want to show the strange man my ailing body, I also did not want to wear the blood-soaked gown a moment longer. The gown was ruined—that much, I understood—and blood and dirt from the carriage clung to the sad pink. Yet it was theonly evidence I had of everything that has happened and of my old life.
You can still come home.
A bloodied cough turned into a gargled laugh as Miriam’s last words played over in my head. Ebony’s concerned gaze fixed on me as she placed a chilled hand to my back while I doubled over, blood spilling on my lips.
“Something funny, miss?”
I gave her a sly smile, scarlet illness evident to Ebony as the crude hilarity of my situation heightened. “I just remembered I am still in my wedding dress.”
Dearest Mother,
The country of Amaris is one of unusualnessthat I am unsure of since arriving here. The wolves howl late into the night and the mountains sing to the stars and moon on the cold winter’s night. There are many trees, tall and thick, that go on for miles in any direction you choose. Different from the scorching sand, mountains and blazing sun of home. I am still unsure as to the purpose on which you have sent me here. The king and queen have been gracious to me since arriving, offering kind words and astute attention to the different needs of myself and Nia to make us comfortable but those sitting on their court are another story.
It is clear that there is tension that my arrival has caused, especially with another woman whom Prince {REDACTED} had been previously betrothed to before the arrangement had been made. I am sure you do not wish to hear of such petty court drama, but there are concerns that I must convey. I hear the whispers among the court and the awful insults about my blood—our country—would do to the Crown. They speak of such violent action that we’d be better off dead. I am not sure why you sent me here, Mother, but I often fear in thedeepest part of the night that one of the—the people of the court—would see me off to my death.
Mother, I’m afraid and so alone here. To make matters worse, I have yet to meet the man that is to be my husband. He is a recluse. From what I have heard, he is often away from court. Yet when I inquired further as to what he does away from court, no one knew. I could be marrying someone who dallies in forbidden establishments or other seedy establishments.
The only reprieve I have here is the lush rose gardens that the grounds have. I often find myself wandering the maze, getting lost in the fragrance of crimson blossoms. There is a boy that I run into, sitting there hidden in the far back alcove of the maze. Always with a grim expression he wears—how can one be so grim in such a beautiful place, Mother. The next time I see him, I ought to explain that one cannot wear such an expression among exquisite blooms.
Perhaps I may find a friend here in the den of wolves.
With love,
Cecilia
I
Eight
The beast, who does not eat or drink in any human sense of the word, sat across the long oak table, twirling a glass between slender fingers.
