“They wouldn’t join the Rebellion in droves if we didn’t—”
“Enough.”
“Look at Volca! A land of formidable firewielders, yet they treat nonwielders with dignity and—”
“I saidenough!” His angry shout cracks through the room like a whip. “They are beneath us, Mayah.” His tone is flat. Final. “It’s well past time you learned that.”
My voice is quiet, defeated. “But, Mama…”
“Your mother is dead.”
Without another word, he sweeps from the room, leaving the weight of his words—and his silence—behind.
The door shuts.
I don’t move.
The chill in the room has nothing to do with the ice walls.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. I go through the motions as servants put the finishing touches on my ceremonial dress—an ice blue gown studded with crystals and lined with fur along the collar and sleeves.
“Would you like to see the Grand Hall, Princess?” one of the servants asks me, a middle-aged woman with streaks of white in her dark hair.
The Grand Hall is where Crown Prince Faramir will accept me as his betrothed, sealing both my fate and my kingdom’s.
I shake my head.
The woman’s hands still, lingering on the fabric of my gown.
“I’m sorry, Princess.” A lump forms in my throat as her pitying gaze meets mine in the mirror. She squeezes my hand, her eyes glistening. “When … when he comes to your bed, just do as he says, Princess. It will be easier.”
I nod numbly, but inside I’m screaming.
How many women before me were told the same thing?
How many will come after?
She says nothing more as she hems a few threads that had unraveled.
When she finishes, I undress in silence.
I try not to let it suffocate me.
I’ve barely settled into my bed, heavy fur blanket tugged up to my chin, when the door creaks open.
I don’t need light to know it’s him.
Daak slips in like he always does, a quiet presence in the dark. His silhouette crosses the room, and the mattress dips beneath his weight. I shift, making space, and he gathers me against his chest like he always has.
His scent washes over me—fresh snow and spruce—and for a moment, I let myself forget what tomorrow holds.
“I’m so sorry, Mayah,” he whispers into my hair, his voice cracked and raw. It fissures something in my chest.
“I know,” I breathe. My heart aches. It hurts how much I find comfort in him. In this. In pretending, just for tonight, that nothing will change.
But everything will.
“I wish things were different,” he murmurs, stroking soothing patterns down my spine. “That I’d met you in another life. One where you weren’t a princess. One where I wasn’t bound to your father.”
