I smile. “I have my escape, too—the forest on the outskirts of Daramveer. There’s a clearing I run to when I need to get away. It’s always calmed me.”
I spin on my heels, continuing down the narrow stairway, calling over my shoulder, “You aren’t horrible at conversation. You should just relax more.”
“Don’t forget about our date,” he yells after me.
“I could never forget about you, Nastronde.”
I continue down the hall, a new feeling flickering in my chest—trust. For the first time in a while, I hope it doesn’t fade.
As I approach my room, guards stand outside. My mood instantly falters. Their attention snaps to me, and my steps echo down the hall.
“What do they want?” I wonder aloud.
“Good afternoon, Princess,” one of the guards says. “Your father instructed us to continue watching over you as the trials grow more dangerous and your brother’s murderer is still on the loose.”
Rage burns within me. “My father doesn’t give a damn about me—only his own gain. Go find something else to do.”
Footsteps echo as Thatcher strides toward us, the twins following. “Now, Briar. I don’t think it’s wise to speak of the king that way. It isn’t a good look for the princess to use such foul language. It detracts from your beauty, sweetheart.”
I storm toward him, shadows swelling around me. For a second, the twins’ eyes widen at my challenging demeanor. “You don’t like it when I curse?Fuck off, Thatcher. You walk around this castle like it’s yours, but you’re sadly mistaken. I know what you did, and don’t think for a second you’ll get away with it.”
Surprise flashes across his face, quickly masked by a casual calm. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to, but I didn’t come to start a fight. I came to ask you to attend tonight’s festivities with me. We should be seen together. After all, you’ll be my wife soon.”
My head snaps back. “What are you talking about?”
He looks toward my door. “Oh, I see you haven’t been in your room yet. More details should be inside,” he whispers. “Think about my offer. If you think about speaking of what you know, I’ll make sure you end up like your brother.”
He walks past me, nudging my shoulder. The twins follow, laughing to themselves.
A note lies under my door as I enter the room:
Please join the Blackbyrne family in honoring the competitors as the trials approach their halfway mark. Let us celebrate this glorious time with drinking and dancing.
The thought of being in a room full of people uninterested in my well-being leaves a burning sensation in my throat. A few hours remain until I must fake a smile.
I approach my wardrobe, surrounded by various gowns from Rose’s travels to Eddris. A dark onyx dress captures my attention. Crafted with emerald crystals that twist up the front, it feels as if it were designed by the Great Wiitch herself. The dress fits flawlessly—the shoulders draping to showcase my sharp collarbones.
For the first time in a while, I look at my reflection without flinching. I see a strong woman. My hair shines, my muscles peek through in all the right places, and my skin has an olive glow thanks to the grueling training.
I apply a thin line of black across my eyes, dust a hint of pink on my cheekbones, and add matching emerald earrings in my ears before stepping out of my room.
The dim hallways feel unsettling, but I glide toward the celebration.
“I’m getting tired of your antics, Princess,” a rough voice whispers in my ear as Thatcher steps from the shadows, slamming me against the wall. His grip sends a sharp pain down my arms. A shriek escapes as my vision blurs.
“I know what you were implying earlier, and now I need to know just how much you saw that night.” Shadows coil from his hands, one snaking up to choke me.
“Get the fuck off me,” I rasp, struggling to get free.
“Are you okay, Briar?” Nolan asks, stepping around the corner with Rohhit.
“I’m fine, Nolan. Thank you. Just dealing with some unnecessary irritations. Thatcher is one for the dramatics.”
“We were coming to assist you to the celebration. You look stunning tonight.” Rohhit steps forward.
I smile weakly, trying to ignore the lingering anger that burns in my chest. The red handprints on my arms from Thatcher’s grip are a painful reminder of the encounter, but I won’t let it show. I won’t let him win. Rohhit takes my arm and walks beside me as we continue down the hallway toward the throne room, while Nolan trails behind us, giving us space. There’s something about him that feels both familiar and strange. “Thank you for that, by the way. I could have handled myself, but it wouldn’t have been so easy.”
Rohhit smirks. “I want to ask many questions, but I won’t pry. Talk to me when you are ready. If he touches you again, it won’t go that easily for him.” His golden hair radiates in the candlelight, and his dark eyes are haunting but inviting.
