Chapter 1
Valeria
“If you want to survive, you’ll learn to obey him.” My father’s words sounded like an incantation, not loving advice to his daughter in preparation for her wedding day.
I stared outside, feeling dazed and distant, watching the snowflakes dissolve on the carriage window as I pressed my finger to the ice-cold glass, dragging a line through the steam where my breath condensed on the beveled pane.
The snow was falling harder now, and the sound of the horses’ hooves was growing more muted as we wound our way down into Greengallow Valley.
The light in the carriage was on that cusp of shifting from the stark blue of winter afternoon to the sinister shadows of frigid dusk. I wished I could throw the carriage door open and run, but I knew I wouldn’t—I was in a dove gray silk ball gown, and horribly tight buttoned shoes made from a matching impractical silk. The heavy quilted velvet cape I wore might protect me for a while, but not for long. My fate was sealed and the carriage rumbled on.
I had been dreading this day for months. Today I was to meet my fiancée; reminding me of the impending loss of my freedom, the end of my own life.
My dreams of marrying for love, as my parents had done. Of living happily, raising children. Mapping the stars in the sky. Traveling to far off exotic lands on the search for all sorts of adventure. All of that was gone.
The end of everything had arrived. And I felt as cold inside as the air outside.
“Valeria,” my father snapped, whacking his cane on the carriage floor to get my attention. “You hear me? You’ll learn to obey him. In everything.”
I sucked in a freezing breath and turned to face my father. His cheeks were ruddy with too many years of hard living—drinking, smoking, and gambling. God, the gambling.
What a ruin my life had become because of his gambling. If it hadn’t been for all his losses, I wouldn’t be in this position at all.
“I will never forgive you for this,” I hissed.
I ground my teeth together as I stared at him. What I wouldn’t give to slap his chubby, red cheek. I clenched my fist, and my white, calf-leather glove stretched over my knuckles with a squeak.
He kept his eyes on mine as I finished. “Paying off your debts with me. Like some brood mare.”
Now it was my father’s turn to look away.
I knew he felt guilty about it all; he wasn’t a monster at heart. I knew that every time I reminded him of what he’d done, it stung him deeply.
Finally, he was going to face a consequence for his actions. One that would continue to confront him, day after day. A living, breathing reminder of what he had done to himself, to our family, and to me.
“You’re a princess, Valeria Valentine. Time to start acting like one,” my father said. “You come from noble stock.” He pecked at his chest with a chubby finger. He wore no rings because he had lost them all over the years. So easy to gamble away five hundred years of family history on a losing hand. “An arranged marriage was always your fate—it’ll be a good match, for you and for the Greengallows.”
“Save your excuses. You did this for yourself. To save your hide. If you hadn’t had me to marry off to Petre Greengallow, they’d have killed you. You know it and I know it. But instead, I get to call this godforsaken family of criminals my in-laws. Well done,” I snarled, and turned away again.
I snatched my purse from the seat beside me and carefully opened the clasp so as not to break the small, delicate hinges. Like everything in my life, my little purse only gave the appearance of wealth. But look closely and you’d see the frayed silk and the missing beads.
We were titled and land rich yet cash poor, as the saying went. Despite everything, my father was still a prince. His family disowned him when he married my mother against their wishes, ironically, for love as she was the daughter of an unwed scullery maid that worked in their manor.
Such a scandal it was. Especially when it was discovered, my mother was already with child when they ran away and were married in secret under the mid-night moon.
His family sent him away to the least loved castle in the harshest corner of the kingdom and forgot all about him, but they didn’t strip him of that damned title..
My “fine clothes” were mended; my “jewels” were glass; our “castle” housed more ravens than people; the “carriage” where I sat was so rickety a pumpkin would have probably been sturdier.
All I had was my title and it seemed that it had doomed me from the start.
From inside my purse, I fished my silver cigarette case, which was engraved with my mother’s insignia. She had given it to me as a gift on my eighteenth birthday, just a week ago. I took a clove cigarette from the case and struck a match.
The scent instantly calmed me. It reminded me of much better, happier days. Of making clove-studded oranges with my mom or poking them into a ham at Christmas.
“Filthy habit,” my father said. “I should never have let your mother encourage it. And the expense of them, when we have barely enough as it is!”
I took a long draw and exhaled in my father’s face. “Look who’s talking.”
He huffed at my disrespect, but let my sullied comment pass, knowing my foul mood was a direct result of his actions.
The carriage slowed to a stop and then rocked slightly as our driver climbed down. Crunching footsteps in the snow were followed by the squeak of a heavy metal gate being opened, and then the carriage rolled forward slowly again.
Peering out the window I could see on my side of the carriage, mere inches from the window, was an ivy-covered raw rock wall. On the other side, much further away, sprawled the Greengallow Estate. It sat on a stone outcrop with a sheer drop on my father’s side of the carriage.
With a childish sense of satisfaction, I watched him stiffen and lean away from the window.
What a coward.
He wasn’t afraid of losing every penny he had; he wasn’t afraid of risking the life of his own daughter to pay his debts, oh no. The only thing he was really and truly afraid of was heights. Positively petrified of them.
If poker were a rooftop game, my life would’ve turned out very differently.
I turned my attention more fully to the estate. The house was lit up brilliantly from inside, every window gleaming.
That, at least, was a welcome difference from our home, where we burned rush lights instead of real candles, and skittered down unheated hallways into the few rooms where we could afford to light fires to ward off the bone chilling Praquean winters.
The valley below the cliff was so immense that some of it was still in partial late afternoon light. Whipping from each corner of the imposing main house were flags with the Greengallow family crest, a sickle beneath the heavens, three stars within its curved blade representing the three sheaths of corn allegedly gifted to the first Greengallow by the king himself, many centuries ago.
I stubbed out my cigarette on the inside of my cigarette case and tucked it back in its place, to save it for later. The carriage driver assumed his place again and we started to descend further along the long drive toward the imposing structure ahead. The closer we came, the tighter the strap around my chest snugged until each breath was a struggle.
“Father,” I started, my voice softer in an attempt to put aside our differences for the moment. “Do you think he’s as bad as they say?”