CHAPTER 31: THIRTY ONE

The lock clicks softly and a winning smile spreads across my lips.

Music thunders through the floors, the stone trembling with drums and strings, with the echoes of stomping feet. Laughter rings out, high and shrill, chasing the perfume of spiced wine and roasted meats that drift up even here. There is a drunken joy in the air.

It is, after all, a night I thought existed only in fairytales and dreams. And only the most perfect distraction.

Sam and Nath abandoned their watch by my door hours ago, the revelry below much too hard to resist. They all but left one guard, Orlo, with the strict warning; "Do not speak to the prisoner. Do not look away from him for even a second. If he escapes, your life will be forfeit."

However, as the music grew louder, the tapping of Orlo’s feet felt more urgent. I’d feigned sleep, slouching over books I couldn’t read and I could almost hear his thoughts as he watched me through the bars.

"It’ll just be for a few minutes. They’ll never know. Why do they get to attend the Selection and I do not?"

I push the barred door slowly, wincing at the loud creak. My heart kicks hard in my chest as I slip into the hall. Empty. Blessedly empty.

Drawing the bejeweled butter knife I’d stolen from the King’s chambers earlier, I thread stealthily down dimly lit hallways, torches burning low in their scones and casting shadows on the walls.

The music leads me down the winding stair. Louder, brighter, warmer. When I reach the great hall, the noise crashes over me all at once.

The castle is overflowing. Nobles in brocade and velvet raise jeweled goblets, spilling wine as they laugh. Maidens twirl in gowns of emerald and gold, skirts flaring like blossoms in the torchlight. Courtiers crowd together, whispering, speculating which powerful house the King will honor with his choice. Some dance, some toast, others sit tight with sharpened smiles, hungry for their family’s chance to rise.

I stare with a sense of detachment at the vanity of it all. The gold that lines their clothings. The precious stones that flicker every now and then. The obscene wealth wasted on pretense, like there wasn’t more to the world than a stupid showcase. Like people weren’t burying their dead. Like the war didn’t happen.

Or maybe this is the point of it all. To distract the people from death. To bring joy to Ebonheart after a terrible loss.

My lips curl with disgust, hands clenched tight around the knife, but I force myself to move. I may never get another chance like this. I may not be able to flee, but there are others I can grant the chance to.

Those below, in the dungeons, waiting to be used as target practice for a spoiled, entitled, moody King.

No one notices me slip along the wall, just another shadow darting past. Trying to find my way around the ruckus without being discovered by the guards is harder than I’d imagined it should be. After a while of walking and I walk beside a woman in a yellow dress, blushing hard at the comments of a young lord she’s taken in by, I know I’m lost.

Did the stairwell in the third wing lead to the dungeons? Or was it the first?

Hell. I should have been paying more attention than day.

Anxiety grips at my skin as the crowd begins to move, taking me along with them. Trying to elbow my way past is futile as I am knocked down a peg and nearly trampled over by excited gossips with enough powder plastered on their faces to trigger a sneeze from me.

"It’s time!" a voice squeals.

"You think Soraya Vaelthorn might present?"

"It hardly matters. These alliances are premeditated, choices made based off of strength. And the most powerful house after Draemont is Blackspire. It is an inevitable match. Lilith is the most likely choice."

"I wouldn’t be so sure. King Lucien has never been a predictable one and it’d not be the first time he laughs in the face of the Council and pulls something completely unexpected."

A snort. "Or perhaps, Princess Evadne might suffice? They’ve been thick as thieves since they were children."

"They’re cousins, Elara!"

"When has that ever stopped us before? You do not think the first King’s children bedded each other to breed and multiply?"

I think I’m going to be sick.

The gigantic red doors of the Great Hall welcomes us like angel wings. There is a crowd of thousands, but the Hall is built large enough to encompass an entire city. My heart gets trapped in my throat as I note the guards lining the walls. There are dozens of them. I look up. Archers line the ceilings as well. A security protocol for this amount of guests.

I can’t be here.

I force a twist, trying to head back through the way I came, but my face slams into a broad chest. My eyes water at the pain in my nose as I clutch it.

"Watch where you’re going--Valerian?"

My head snaps up. "Leander?" My eyes widen as I take him in. The scar running down his bad eye looks less severe tonight. His copper hair is brushed back from his face, the dirty beard that had formed on his face freshly shaved off.

My gaze drops and my lips part in an assortment of emotions somewhere between shock and horror. He is in black armour, the sigil of a serpent embedded into his breast plate.

He is wearing Ebonheart armour.

"What--why--how..." My voice trails off as I try to make sense of it and come up with nothing.

"You can’t be here, Valerian," he says, looking left and right before grabbing my wrist and herding me towards goddess knows where.

"Me?!" I exclaim, snatching my wrist from him. "I shouldn’t be here? I was worried sick about you. I slipped out to get YOU out. And you’re here, wearing the enemy’s colours. Dining with them. You have betrayed Silvermoor--"

His large hand clamps down over my mouth, wide gaze darting left and right. "Shut the fuck up, Val. This really isn’t the time or place for this." He inclines dark eyes to the guards hiding in the vaulting. "We’ve been given orders to quell any disturbance and kill on sight, if necessary. The people in this gathering do not care if the King has staked his claim on you. If they perceive you a danger, they will call for blood. Keep yelling Silvermoor like a lackwit and see where that gets you."

"You? You’ve been given orders?" I ask the second he releases me. "Have they forced you into this? They blackmailed you with your family--"

"I asked to be made a soldier." Leander stands taller. "The King dueled me in the training yard, damn near crushed my bones, and just when I thought he might kill me, he made me a knight."

"Why?"

He shrugs. "I’d have to be deity to understand the way his mind works. But I didn’t do this because I was blackmailed. Or forced. I asked." He stares at his hands. "I’ve only ever known the way of the sword, Valerian. I’ve only ever known violence. I’d rather be his sword that rot amongst the bodies hanging off the walls, being fed to the crows. I’d rather be the sword to a Dark King who fights at the fore front of his army and dives into the deepened over and over again, to save the lives of soldiers who would gladly die for him, than fight for one that left me for dead."

"But your family--"

Bitterness flickers across his face. "I hated you, Valerian, not just because you didn’t know your place. You’ve never hidden what you were or pretended otherwise. I am more valuable to the Silverthorn family dead than alive. It is after all, why they sent me to die. Just like you, I am my father’s sin. A bastard. Seeing you not give a shit about it and live with a courage no Omega should have irritated the shit out of me. Because I thought...often... that I had to be something great to be acknowledged. Loved. Needed. You on the other hand..." He chuckles. "You didn’t give horse shit about any of that."

I swallow. "But you can’t possibly trust them--"

He claps a huge hand on my shoulder. "I don’t. I know I’ll always be one step away from an execution. But it isn’t them that I stay for. It is for myself. It’s the first thing I ever do for myself. I... like it here."

Again, it feels like my head is under water. The knife in my grasp suddenly feels like a useless weight. What do I fight for? What do I live for? What do I even like? Have I ever considered that in my life? Living for myself?

I laugh at the thought the moment it registers. There are people in this world who get to do that. Be selfish. Live without consequences. And then, there are people like me, who never had the luxury of living life on a whim.

The only thing I’ve ever done for me is kiss the wrong man.

Ironic, eh?

"And the rest of the prisoners? They’re being sold off--"

Leander’s eyes flash. "Do not speak on topics you know nothing of. Steam in your hatred all you want. Your feelings are valid, but don’t be a fucking blind fool. I have one eye and even I can see where the prisoners of war go. When you are prepared to bring your head out your ass, take a moment to look around you--"

A hush falls over the crowd, and a rich voice falls over the hall in a loud boom.

"Denizens of Ebonheart, gathered from every corner of the kingdom, you stand witness to the Tenth Selection, a night that will shape the throne and bind our future. Ladies of noble blood and fair lineage, you stand before the crown, not to be judged but honoured. Rejoice, for tonight, one among you shall ascend, seated beside our sovereign as consort and queen. May blessed Thandric grants you fortune."

Nervous silence beats through the hall.

The next voice belongs to King Lucien.

"Begin."