“I’m at Killian’s rooms,” I tell Anassa. “Are you still in the cell? Have Stark come get you, now, while the guards are here. They’re standing sentry so I doubt anyone will notice you’ve gone. See if Stark can get that collar off.”
“He’s on his way,” she responds. “We’ll come to you as soon as you summon us.”
Turning around, I start when I realize I’m not alone. There are two servant women here—an older one wearing a scowl, and a very young one who winces at me in fear.
“Let’s get this started then,” says the older woman.
They spend what might be hours fixing me up—stripping the bloodied uniform off my body, shoving me into Killian’s beautiful tub, scrubbing my body raw and washing my silver hair. When I’m clean enough by their measure, they then treat me like a doll. They dry my hair and arrange it beautifully, lotion my entire body. They put makeup on me and shove me into an elaborate gown in a beautiful shade of deep blue silk, lacing it so tightly that I can barely breathe.
Not a word from either of them, the entire time. And when I’ve met some level of acceptability, they leave. And I’m alone—waiting.
Killian’s chambers look different to me now.
I go and sit at the window seat, watching tiny flakes of snow land on the glinting roof beyond the glass and instantly melt oncontact. Curling my legs close, I hug them to my chest and let the delicate heels the servants gave me thud to the floor. The dress feels like it’s going to swallow me whole.
All around me there are silent reminders of what I’ve learned. I hate that I once looked around these rooms and found it beautiful. Comforting, even, because of the eternally burning hearth. And because ofhim, always standing there waiting for me with a knowing smile.
My skin crawls. It hasn’t stopped since Stark left my side.
I rub my arms and try to forget the touch of the servants’ hands fluttering over me. But I’m grateful that they’ve made me look like a beautiful object.
He wants a weak bride-to-be. Someone unquestioning. Someone he can control.
So I’ll give that to him.
The doorknob turns and I immediately draw my shoulders up, huddling into a ball like the cold is sinking into my bones and frostbite is setting in. Briefly, for only a second, my thoughts flit to Stark. It’s long enough for that simmering awareness to return, but the sound of the door opening jolts me from my thoughts.
I have to focus. Killian is a coiled viper.
“Meryn,” Killian breathes, shutting the door behind him. He’s still wearing his father’s sword—no,mysword—at his hip. His face floods with open emotion. Relief, concern, love.
It’s an intricate process, transforming my rage at the sight of him into vulnerability. I’ve done it before for other men. I’ve let them look at the tremble in my hands and assume it’s because I’m afraid, not because I’m imagining wrapping those hands around their throats.
But those men weren’t Killian. His engagement bracelet is still clamped on my wrist, glittering gold and red and black against the shimmer of silk blanketing my knees.
“You look beautiful, kitten,” he says, crossing to me.
The nickname almost makes me break my facade.Kitten. I see what he was doing, now. To the rest of the world, I was a fearsome alleycat, but to him… only a pathetic little kitten.
I reach up and sink my fingers into my hair, tugging slightly. As he reaches me, I let a more violent shiver wrack my body.
“Killian,” I croak, leaning into the role of mentally ill. “I think you’re right. I really thought…”
His face collapses as he settles next to me on the cushions. His fingers rest on my ankle, and his warm touch curdles my blood. I don’t let it get to me. I pretend it’s a snake twisted around my skin.
“I can’t believe I’m losing my mind like my mother,” I breathe, voice whispery.
That sickly feeling returns. My throat stings. I wish I’d never had to say those words. Mother wasn’t mad. Neither were all the women in my family before her. The visions, the voices… all of it was just our unfulfilled birthright screaming, clawing to the surface.
A fresh wave of grief hits me, sudden and jarring.
Killian sees it and reaches for me. I squeeze my eyes shut as his arms settle around me.
It’s all wrong. All of it, just like the room around us, is different now. His touch is still familiar, but when I feel it, I think of the way he looked at me as we stood over his father’s body. His feigned shock. His brief, triumphant smirk.
And I have to fight down bile.
Leaning into his embrace, I cling to his shoulders. Soon, his hand slips over my back, tangling with the perfectly curled ringlets of my hair. His fingers sink deep, guiding my head.
