Page 15 of Bound By the Alien King

“Disappeared from the nunnery, at least,” her uncle amended, with an indulgent look at his only son. “In any case, she must be found.”

“We’ll root her out,” Lord Ilvar agreed. “We’ll send a search party house-to-house. The council ought to assemble and draw up an emergency plan in case she met an unfortunate end. In the meantime, escort Aster home, Herold.”

“We have no chaperone—” she started to protest, but one stern glance from her father shut her up.

“A poor-man’s betrothal would not be the worst happening, given the circumstance,” he remarked. Horror crept up Aster’s spine. He meant for Herold to take her home and untie her ribbons, just like that, no ceremony or kind words exchanged.

She wanted to scream. But she could not, did not, just submitted to Herold’s malicious grip and let herself be led out of the house and down the stone steps to the street.

He dropped her elbow the minute they were out of sight of his house. “You know, I don’t want to marry you, either,” he said with a hard edge to his voice, daring her to agree that he was right, that she didn’t want him as a husband. “I would have picked someone else if I had my choice.”

I loathe you, too. I’m grateful that you will not be the first to untie my ribbons. Someone far more worthy already ruined me. I will keep that truth in the darkness of my heart, but it will shine like the stars, glittering and eternal. The thing that makes a life with you bearable because you can never take it from me, no matter what you do.

Deep breath. “Thank you for your willingness to take me on.”

“You don’t need to be so miserable about it, then,” Herold grumbled. “Be pleasant and happy like the other brides.”

“Yes, cousin.” Pleasant might be a challenge, but happy she could manage. She would be happy for the nightmaids’ daughters, who would keep their wings. For their sons, who could stay with their mothers. She would be happy for Mithri and Zoran, who never forgot each other. For their king, Damir, who reunited his people.

He would remember her, and she was happy for that, too. So full of happiness, it felt like heartbreak.

“Are you crying now?”

“Yes, cousin. With happiness,” she added hastily.

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped as they reached her home. “I’m to be your husband, not some pesky brat tugging your skirts.”

His lower lip stuck out above his ruffled collar, pink and sulky. She saw him then, really saw him for what he was. A man barely out of boyhood, spoiled and coddled by his parents. He’d had as few choices in life as she had. The only power he held was over those smaller and weaker than him, and he exercised it in pinches and jabs, taking every scrap he could, even from those who had none to spare.

He would not stop. He would demand more and more until he broke her. She almost looked forward to that day because somehow, Damir would be there, as he’d promised, to help her.

“Why are you smiling?” Herold crabbed. “You’re making me feel foolish again, and I don’t like feeling foolish.”

“I was just thinking—” Aster began, scrambling for yet another lie, but he cut her off.

“Well, don’t.” She couldn’t tell if he meant smiling or thinking.

“Yes, cous—” Before she finished, he had his hand on her throat and slammed her back against her own front door, the rivets in it jamming painfully into her shoulder blades.

“I told you not to call me that,” he spat, his breath against her face humid and smelling of the fish he ate for breakfast.

“Herold?” Her mother’s voice. “Aster? Is it really you?”

Herold abruptly loosened his grip and turned his back to her, and Aster gasped, slumping enough to see her mother’s lace-trimmed parasol and the pink sprigged fabric of her favorite morning dress. She carried a small carpetbag and was clearly just returned from her sister’s.

“Lady Bowen.” Herold bowed.

“My darling. They said you’d come home, but I didn’t believe it until I saw you with my own eyes,” her mother sniffled. “I’ve been distraught without you; it was really very unkind of you to frighten me like that! Thank you for delivering her home, nephew. We’ll send word when it’s time for the betrothal.” She dismissed him with a polite wave of the lacy handkerchief she gripped and then used it to dab her eyes.

Herold sputtered, but he had no real grounds to argue, so he strode off, cursing the twins under his breath. He was sure to take it out on her later, but still, Aster felt light with relief.

“That boy,” Lady Bowen said, dropping the tearful act as soon as they were inside and the door was firmly latched behind them, “must never be allowed to touch you again.”

Aster flung her arms around her mother after she’d stowed her parasol. “I have to learn how to bear it.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Lady Bowen smoothed Aster’s hair like she had when she was a child. “You can’t marry him, sweetheart. You simply can’t. I don’t care about what your saltstained father says.” Aster gasped, having never heard that kind of language out of her mother’s mouth. Lady Bowen’s expression was grim as she barreled on. “I won’t let it happen. It’s one thing to acquiesce to a match that is less than ideal. A dull man or an ugly man. Manna save us, even a poor one. It’s another thing to let a monster at your ribbons!”

A sob tore out of Aster. Oh, to have her monster.