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The mass of dried red covered the peach of the dress in long streaks that had pooled and spread, the lining of the cloak stained and stiff from the blood that had poured from me. It was only then that I realized how bright it was.
How much it was.
It looked as though I should have died.
“Princess,” one or two of the peasants said as I was dragged past them, their eyes still wide as they moved into a curtsy, their gaze lingering on the blood stains. On my face, which was surely as dirty and smeared as my dress, on my hands which were covered in it, on my boots that were layered with dirt. I may have been dressed like a princess, like the perfect doll that Mother wanted when this journey began; but I looked like a lone survivor from a massacre.
I saw it all in their eyes, the usual confusion of who I was, and how a princess could look this way, to an expression that was something like awe.
All at once, the line of people lowered into a curtsy as though they were the waves that crashed against the shore. Each and every one of them dropped to a knee as Silas tried to pull me forward. All but one.
The same man as before.
He stood, that tattered cape billowing to the ground as he stood. Staring. Eyes of two different shades of blue digging into me, one like ice, one like water.
Something in the histories of etiquette that lived in my mind told me that I should look away, but I couldn’t make myself do it. I couldn’t pull away from that stare, from the way the corner of his mouth was pulling up into a half smile, from the way those eyes poured into me as if I knew him. As if I had always known him.
Tobin. The name filled my head again, even though I knew it was wrong. It had to be wrong. Tobin was gone.
The pain in my arm vanished as I looked at him, replaced instead by the feeling of energy I had felt so often before. Except this was different. This felt as though everything was going to explode out of me.
No, as though whatever was in me was going to rush right to him, taking me with it. The tug centered in my chest and screamed through my bones. His smile vanished, his mouth parting as his eyes narrowed. He felt it too.
“Who–” My feet pulled me closer, my muscles winding as though I would simply take flight in my desperation to reach him.
What was wrong with me? Everything about this man screamed danger and yet I needed nothing more than to stand beside him.
“Come on,” Silas hissed and increased his pace, his hand tightening and yanking me down the quickly crowding walkway that led to the back of the temple and away from the man.
The snake’s grip was firm, his fingers hard against the still healing gash on my arm and I winced, hissing in pain as a few of the people closest to me gasped and mumbled in shock and worry. I turned to them, to tell them I was alright, that everything was all right, but I didn’t get more than a step in their direction before I was pulled further down the walkway, the man's hand painful as it pinched into the healing skin, the grip firm enough I swear the still tender wound on my arm ripped apart.
I would have slapped him and made up some perfect Princess story about how he shouldn't touch me, except I had seen his wicked joy when he left the Boy bleeding on the couch, when he had left me for the queen to slice apart. I doubted he would have any qualms about slapping me in retribution the second everyone’s back was turned.
Now was not the time, nor the place.
That would have to wait.
Silas pulled me down the path toward those wide doors that every wedding guest was being led into, sending my boots out from beneath me. I stumbled, nearly falling into the frosty stalks of grass I was being dragged through. By the time I stood, the cloaked man was gone.
Again.
What was he? A ghost? One moment he was there, and then the next gone as though I had imagined him. Perhaps I had imagined all of it. There was no warmth on my skin, only coldness as Silas finally pulled me into the wide open doors of the temple.
He did not decrease his pace, nor the pressure on my arm, he continued to drag me forward,
feet tripping over the smooth white stone that lined walls, floor, and ceiling of the long cavern.
The inside of the Temple was as blinding and billowing as the outside. Even though we walked on stone, peering down the endless hallway was akin to looking through the sky. It was as though we were walking on a cloud. I was surprised the floor did not give way to the texture of cotton and bubbles.
I looked back, half wondering if I would see that cloaked man again, but it was the same wedding party in all their finery, sneering in disgust at the dirt and blood that I was trailing behind me, the long streaks of color a stain against the white.
“Look what you’ve become,” an icy voice I knew all too well sneered as Mother stepped beside me, her nose wrinkled as she stared at the ground and the mess I was sure I was leaving behind. I didn’t give her the satisfaction of looking. I continued ahead, following Silas into the white. “This is why I say a Princess must be clean at all times, girl. Of course–”
“I am not a Princess,” I finished for her, twisting my face into the darkest scowl I could muster as I turned to her, careful not to let my steps falter.
Dalyah wore a dress so white she practically blended into the stone. Her pale skin, hair the color of a winter sun, and large glassy crown only completed the ensemble.
She looked like the Queen of ice and death.
