It wasn’t lost on me, the irony of my wedding bindings becoming my bandage, or how I knew this marriage would bring me and the royal family nothing but pain. I could accept that. Pain was a close friend. We got along just fine.
Straightening my shoulders, I looked across to the mirror on the far wall, my curiosity piqued as I wanted to see myself on my wedding day. Lifting my veil, I saw my black hair, flowing loose down my back; eyes so light they looked silver but when angered turned dark. My unsmiling lips were soft and full. They puckered as I recalled the prince’s words. “I hope to never look upon your face.”
Pity, for I was beautiful.
A cough came from behind a stone column in the hallway.
“Who’s there? Show yourself,” I ordered.
Now that my magic had lit the hallways, I saw the rustle of a pink skirt move as a young child peeked around the column. Wide, fear-filled blue eyes looked back at me and didn’t move. I waited for the child to decide if she would run or stay.
“They say you are a witch.” Her voice was filled with distrust as she stepped out from behind the column but didn’t come closer. “I think you’re a monster.” The tow-headed child stuck her tongue out and turned to run down the hall. Her retreating footsteps mirrored those of hundreds of other children from my village—although the ones from my village usually tossed rotten vegetables and dirt clods at me before scurrying off. There, I was a lowly orphan of Eville’s tower who was used to being desecrated by rotting refuse. But today, minutes after marrying one of the princes of the seven kingdoms and becoming a princess, I would again be pelted with rotting hate-filled words.
Pressing my lips together, I ignored the child, like I had ignored the others before her. I didn’t blame them for their hatred; they didn’t know better. I blamed the adults. Their minds were turned against the daughters of Eville since birth by their ill-informed parents. It was our mantle; their discord fueled us, taught us to ignore empathy and compassion and focus on our dark arts.
Holding my head high, I ignored the sounds of revelry and music coming from the ballroom, squelched the feelings of injustice and desire to dance, and headed toward my designated rooms. A servant had shown them to me a few hours earlier. I couldn’t recall the servant’s name, but I was impressed by the wide open room with the pale floral rugs and table by a fireplace. Two overstuffed sitting chairs surrounded a bookcase filled with books beside a window that overlooked the garden and woods beyond. I had my own private bathroom with marble bath and vanity. A king-sized four-poster bed covered with white down bedding sat next to a hidden door in the wall, disguised except for the silver handle.
I tried to open the door, but it was locked from the other side. “Where does this room lead to?”
“That is His Highness—uh, I mean your husband’s rooms,” the servant said.
“Oh?” I replied, unable to keep the blush from my cheeks.
Now that I was once again in my bedroom, I gazed at the locked door, knowing the prince was probably storming around on the other side. He made it clear that he would never grow to love me, his mind poisoned against my family, so he would never step foot into my rooms. I swallowed and bit back the taste of bitterness that crept into my mouth as I looked at my fancy prison.
Here, in these rooms, I would grow old and die unloved.
Chapter Two
He’s trying to starve me to death. My stomach growled noisily, and no matter the amount of tossing and turning I engaged in, I couldn’t make it stop. Once I stepped off the carriage with my mother, and after our meeting with the king, I was rushed into the side rooms and poked, pricked, and measured by the tailor as they quickly altered a white lace dress to fit me. Then I was banished from my own wedding feast, and no one even thought to bring me a plate of food. It didn’t take much to understand that this was probably based on the prince’s orders.
Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I pressed against it, trying to concentrate on getting through the night and making it till morning. A loud grumble of protest from my body was the answer.
“I can’t take it!” I snapped aloud and threw off the bedding. There was no way I could get back into my wedding dress by myself with how many buttons there were on the back—even though most of them had been ripped off, as I was left to undress myself. So that left me pulling out the same traveling dress I had worn here. Slipping the deep blue dress over my chemise, I dressed hurriedly. I wasn’t planning on being out of my room long, only as much time as it took to get a plate of food and then return to my prison.
Opening the door, I peeked into the hallway. There wasn’t anyone stationed outside guarding me; they were more than likely enjoying my own wedding feast. Tiptoeing down the hall, I listened at each turn and followed the sounds of music until I came to the foyer, then passed through to the ballroom.
Staying in the shadows, I observed how splendidly it was decorated. Great marble pillars lined the hall, flowers and vines adorning them. A head table had an array of succulent food and roses. The chandeliers sparkled, casting a warm glow around the room filled with people dancing, eating, and joyously celebrating. My mother was predictably absent. She would have left as soon as they married us to go back and attend to my sisters. The king’s and queen’s thrones on the opposite side of the room sat empty, visibly showing their lack of approval for our nuptials. Though it didn’t matter that the bride wasn’t his intended—the nobles stayed to revel in the merrymaking and the coming week-long celebrations regardless.
Entranced by the music, I hung back in the shadows and watched jealously as bedecked ladies were spun around on the floor in a twirl of lace, their jewels catching the candlelight. The music was heavenly, played by the fingers of supreme artists. Closing my eyes, I momentarily forgot the pang of hunger as I listened to the dulcimer and viola. I rested my hand upon my chest, feeling my heart beating in contentment, and I opened my eyes and smiled. Maybe I could find happiness here.
Skirting the room, I made my way over to a side table filled with food and glanced up at the head table, hoping to catch a look at Prince Xander in the flesh and not through a haze of thick veils. I wanted to get a glimpse of my husband. Two empty chairs with equally bare gilded plates dressed the table. It looked like he never even came to his own party either. I wondered where he had gone off to. Sighing, I cast a hungry look at the glazed duck, roasted vegetables, and various sides that were awaiting the bride and groom, but I dared not approach the head table.
Get food and get out, I told myself, then carefully maneuvered around the flowing ball gowns. Snatching a filled pastry from a moving tray, I retreated to a dark alcove and watched my wedding celebration from afar.
Taking another step back into the shadows, I snuck a bite of my pastry and sighed in pleasure at the filling of sausage, potatoes, and herbs. When I finished my treat and licked my fingers clean, I debated going back for another. It wasn’t until I made to step forward that I realized I wasn’t alone in the shadows.
A gentleman leaning against the wall, nursing a glass of wine, addressed me. “Have you come to spy on the witch?” He raised his glass to point toward the empty head table.
I glanced up into the heated eyes of one of the most striking men I had ever seen. His dark copper hair was slicked back, eyes a golden amber that flashed by the light of the chandelier, his chin angular and strong, his jacket cut bringing attention to his broad shoulders and slim waist. My heart raced as I took him in.