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I’d been this way for the last few hours, days, weeks? Impossible to know. A fog descended on my mind minutes after the guards dragged me away from the war wives and force-fed me acalming teathat Fiona brewed.
In the brief moments I could string together two thoughts, I understood exactly why Emiana hated her father.
Memories of a life not mine floated through my head the longer I sat at the window, unable to summon the will to run away. Most of them memories of a man who cared not a whit about his wife, and even less for his only child.
Raised by nannies and attendants. Requests to see and speak with her father were put through a dozen staff and advisors, only for those staff and advisors to relay the message that he was busy and didn’t have the time.
Whenever she acted out, spoke up, or tried to exercise the tiniest bit of freedom, King Salman ordered her minders to restrain and punish her—magically. Those bids for attention didn’t draw him out as she wished, so eventually Emiana stopped trying, and played the obedient, silent, out-of-the-way child that he wanted.
Raised in a bustling, grand palace surrounded by dozens of people ready and eager to do her will, and Princess Emiana was the loneliest person in Lyrica.
It was my misfortune to know this. Visions, feelings, and memories of Emiana’s broken childhood floated through the paved, empty path the tea made of my mind. I almost felt sympathy for her, if not for the other memories that floated through my head.
The marriage negotiations with the representative of the king of Wind and Wild. Like a certain other aloof, uncaring king, Shadowsoul hadn’t bothered to be present when he listed his demands for the union—from the twelve children I was to bear him to the highly detailed sexual acts I was expected to perform nightly.
That’s who she’s forcing me to marry in her place. If only I could get away. If there was some...
I lost track of the thought as a butterfly fluttered past the window. Delicate, purple wings with tiny spots dancing on theirtips. The pretty little thing brought a smile to my lips, chasing unpleasant thoughts away.
What was there to be angry about? It was a gorgeous day. The sun was shining. The flowers were blooming. I didn’t need to go anywhere. Everything I needed was right there at the window.
“Good morning, Princess.” Fiona was suddenly pulling me up and away from my garden. “Forgive me for disturbing you, but it’s time.”
I cocked my head. “Time?”
“Why, for the wedding, ma’am.”
Wedding.The word traveled through my head, incited panic, and screamed at my limbs to run through the open door.
I took a step toward it, then many more as Fiona led me the opposite way.
“Right this way, Princess. Your dress arrived from the weavers this morning. It’s radiant,” she gushed. “You’ll be an absolute vision. The most beautiful bride in a century.”
I could say nothing as she brought me into the bath and undressed me.
Protests rose hot on my lips. I’d been bathing myself since a few short years out of swaddling. I did not need their help.
My mouth formed the words, then a bucket of warm water tipped over my head, and my indignation was carried down the drain in a soapy stream.
They scrubbed, washed, rinsed, scented, and scrubbed again every inch of me—including my most intimate places. I was a doll in their hands. A silent, obedient doll. What the princess of Lyrica was supposed to be.
But I’m not a princess,a voice hissed. Was it mine?You are no one’s doll. You’re no one’s sacrifice. You’re a sister and a daughter, and you have people who need you to WAKE UP!
I jerked up, knocking a scrubbing brush from Fiona’s hand.
What was I doing? Fiona left me unguarded for hours? Days? However long, and I hadn’t tried to escape once. No wonder Emiana felt comfortable using magic to force her way. She’d been raised to believe it was normal to turn someone into your puppet.
“I... have to... go.”
“Oh, yes, you’re right, Princess,” Fiona said. “You have to go and have your breakfast. The king declared that you’ll be leaving the kingdom immediately after the ceremony. It’s fourteen days’ ride to your new home, and who knows what manner of rotting carcasses those beasts pass off as food.”
Murmurs of agreement and scorn passed through the too-filled bathroom. Not even for the sake of the faewoman about to be married off to the beast, would they hide their disdain of faeriken.
Fiona helped me out of the bath and to the dressing room. My mind was coming back in bits and pieces, but my strength wasn’t following. I couldn’t stop her sitting me before the vanity. Helpless, I watched the buzzing swarm of servants transform the famed beauty of Lyrica into a portrait of loveliness so blinding, I tried to hold on to the urge to look away.
Blemishes were banished from my cheeks. Powder paled my skin nearly translucent. Rouge darkened my lips to glittering, bloodred rubies. My hair was combed until it shone, twisted into a multitude of braids, then woven around my scalp like a crown.
While they transformed me, I planned.
