I give the servants one last glance. I wish I could help them, but I can’t even help myself at this point.
Reluctantly, I take Damian’s hand to step out of the carriage. The man who had been speaking to him is now visible, and it takes everything I have to face him bravely.
This is it. There’s no turning back now.
I force my chin a little higher, refusing to play the part of a startled animal facing the den of a hungry beast. This king cannot be worse than anything I have faced in my life already.
A beast he may be.
But I am a far cry from being anyone’s prey.
Chapter 2
“Lady Zaina.” The man's voice is more unnerving than the imposing castle in front of us. “Welcome to Castle Alfhild.”
He is covered from head-to-toe in black and grey, and his hands are gloved under his dark, hooded cloak. But what stands out most is the mask he wears with dark rounded lenses over the spaces for his eyes, punctuated in the middle by a long, sharp beak. A silver wolf’s head is stitched into the side.
Do all of the servants here wear masks, or is this a personal quirk?
I give a small dip of my head.
“I apologize again for this necessity,” the man says.
Somewhere through the formal tone and the hissing syllables in his voice, I can detect sincerity, but that could mean nothing. I’ve heard Damian apologize in that same tone right before he takes a man’s life.
It does pique my curiosity, though. Why would it be a necessity for a bride to have not a single friend at her own wedding?
Another group of servants joins us. Those with more feminine forms under their black and gray clothing wear veils, too thick for me to make out their features. The men all wear the beaked masks.
A northern wedding custom? Or something else?
Damian hands off my trunks to them with more force than necessary.
“I’ll miss you.” He winks.
His words creep up my spine as surely as the mountain air does.
Then he returns to the carriage, and I am almost relieved before I remember what faces me on the other side of the imposing doors.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, at last. My name is Leif, and I am at your service.” The man offers his arm, and I hesitantly reach up my hand to wrap around it.
At nearly five-and-a-half feet, I am considered tall for my people, but these servants make me look like a child. Leif is no exception. His proffered elbow nearly reaches my shoulder.
Taking a deep breath, I put one frozen foot in front of the other.
The doors open with a groan, and Leif leads the way. The other servants aren’t far behind, but they veer off to take my trunks to another part of the castle.
Earlier, I had thought of this place as a prison, and it’s an apt description for the dark stone walls we wind our way through. I try to focus on the rooms we pass, making mental notes of the places I see and every possible exit, anything to differentiate these castle walls from the dungeons I grew so familiar with at the château.
A small breeze whistles past, and I shiver, more from the memories it stirs than the cold.
Endless nights in a darkness so thick, it was more like a physical blindfold. The shadows would close in around me, suffocating me, shutting me off from reality.
Why are there no windows here?
The hallways are lit by sconces on the wall, and it’s too similar to the walkways down to the dungeons. I half expect to hear the clinking of my own chains, the scurrying of creatures staying just out of sight.
How many times had Madame dragged me down there on a whim? To teach me a lesson. To make me stronger.
She always had a reason.
During the wan light of day, I would stare at the sea water trickling in through the cracks and wonder if it would keep coming in, faster and faster until it covered over me and I surrendered myself to an inevitable watery grave.
That’s what happened to most of her enemies. Why not me?
“Are you all right, Mistress?” Leif’s voice startles me from my thoughts. He’s studying me through his mask, like a creature from my nightmares.
“Yes, very well. Thank you,” I say quickly.
His head turns to the side for a moment, as if he’s carefully interpreting each word, before he nods and continues leading us forward.
My damp slippers slap against black stone floors as I shuffle along the fur rugs, following Leif to the enormous entry room. For all its size, it’s unnaturally still and airless. A massive fireplace sits on the far wall, but it is devoid of flames.
If the castle is reflective of the king, it becomes clearer why he has had to import his bride. Even the halls are ominously empty, the only sound the weight of Leif’s left foot gently scraping along the floor as he walks.
“Nearly there now,” he says over his shoulder. “We’re just taking a quick shortcut.”
He leads me through a large door to the outside once more, and I brace myself for the biting cold. I don’t complain, though, because at least there is light here…and air.
Still, I bundle my cloak tighter around my bare midriff and wonder if perhaps I was wrong before about drowning.
If instead, this world will be my frozen tomb.
Leif opens another door at the end of the walkway leading back indoors, and I force myself to follow him to the dark interior.
“Nearly where?” I ask when he makes no move either to the right or the left.
A naïve part of me is hoping he will say we’re nearly to my rooms, but that doesn’t seem likely.
Instead, he gestures to the door directly across the hall and it feels as if my heart has stopped beating. I hear the music drifting from behind the wall before he can answer.
“The ceremony, of course.” His expressionless mask tilts to the side as if he’s confused by my question.
Of course.
When I had been told to wear my bridal gown, I had expected the marriage to happen today, but not before I had a moment to use the privy or collect my thoughts, or, even more ludicrous, to meet my groom.
Nothing for it now. I plaster a bland smile on my face and head for the door. Leif’s gloved hand reaches out to stop me.
“Your cloak, My Lady.” He holds out his other hand.
I suppress a sigh. I’m not in a hurry to be any colder, but I can’t very well walk down the aisle with my cloak on.
Handing it over, I give myself ten more seconds to breathe, straightening the ruby dangling on my forehead and smoothing out my silk headscarf. Once I’m finished, Leif nods his beaked head and opens the door to the ceremony.
The candlelit aisle is lined with rows of pews, at least twenty on each side, but only a handful of those are occupied. Though the guests are dressed in rich velvets and furs, they, too, conceal their faces with coverings similar to those of the servants. The only differences are that the haunting masks of the men are overlaid with fine silks, and the ladies’ veils are embellished with thick layers of intricate lace.
The abundance of short swords and axes, even among the women, makes me grateful for the knives I have hidden on my person. At least I’m not going into this completely defenseless, even if it feels that way.
Finally, I force my eyes to follow the path of the aisle to the man who has kept his entire kingdom away from the rest of the world.
I suck in a breath.
With everything I have seen in what feels like an obscenely long twenty-two years, I had begun to believe that astonishment — just like hope — is an emotion I am no longer capable of.