I might have crossed the border into a different realm, but I knew I would never escape him.
The same silent male who’d taken me to the communal springs beneath the palace delivered breakfast to my room. It was a small affair of citrus fruits, lemon and honey tea, water, and buttered bread. I ate it all despite hunger being a distant thought shrouded by too many others.
The male returned not an hour later to take the tray.
The palace was awake, yet there was no sound save for that drifting in through the lone glassless window. I sat on the edge of the bed, admiring the never-ending grid of stone and wood beyond the formidable palace wall.
“Thank you,” I said to the servant, still staring at Baneberry’s royal city of Bellebon.
I sensed the male pause. Then his steps, as light as a feather over the stone, neared.
He stood next to the circular window, his lime-green gaze meeting mine as he cocked his head. Bold, I knew, without even knowing wholly as to why, that he would linger and dare try to communicate with me.
He gestured to me, then to the window. To the north, I realized after a moment of frowning at his slender hands. “Hellebore?” I whispered.
He nodded. Unsure how to ask me what he clearly seemed desperate to know, his features creased. He scrubbed his hands over his cheeks and hair.
I smiled with uncertainty, saying low, “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me. I’m sorry.”
He stepped forward as if he’d touch me.
I froze, and so did he. Lips pinched between his teeth, he then motioned toward my face. He was asking permission to touch me.
That he’d asked earned him a nod of acceptance.
My hands clasped tight in my lap as he set loose a relieved smile and stood before me. Softly, he made a motion of brushing over my cheek, his fingers nearing my eyes. They closed, and as his fingertips traced my eyelids…
Gasping, I took his wrist. “Delen.”
The servant’s eyes flared, his hand falling. He glanced warily to the closed door and stepped back. He didn’t seem to breathe, inflating with tension as he nodded.
“He was a beautician here, too,” I surmised, as he must have years of experience with such skill and pride in his craft.
The white-haired male nodded again, slowly, as his eyes filled. I studied them, and the rigidness to his jaw, the height of his refined cheekbones. “Your brother?”
Another nod.
I stood, took his hand and squeezed. “He is well, if that’s what you’re asking.” For I knew Delen was, no matter what atrocities Florian continued to commit.
Relief loosened his shoulders, and he squeezed my hand in return as he placed his other hand over his heart.
I wanted to tell him more—that Delen worked in Hellebore and that he glowed with good health despite it. Something held me back. As if the servant knew, indecision flickered in his wet gaze and made him swallow.
He shook his head, indicating I should indeed say no more. Then he shocked me by bowing deeply and placing a light kiss to my knuckles.
I watched his thin and towering form head to the door with my breakfast tray, wondering if perhaps I’d been the only stupid creature on this entire continent who hadn’t feared the king of the north.
Not until it was too late.
Molkan arrived moments after I’d donned a weightless lemon dress. Intentionally loose around my torso, the luxurious cotton flared into pleats at my hips. The material whispered against my knees, my bare toes curling over the cool stone as I finished with the three large buttons at my chest.
The king of Baneberry knocked once before entering, then paused in the doorway as I fussed with the oddly unfitted bodice that felt more like a tunic. When I’d returned from the springs, the dress, a wooden comb, and a small brush for my teeth had been left upon the trunk by the window.
I’d only had the chance to use the latter before deciding I could no longer stand feeling the crimson gown I’d worn in Hellebore upon my skin.
Molkan cleared his throat and ripped his studious gaze from me. “Take a walk with me, Tullia.”
It was not a request, and I doubted I would have spared a thought to denying him anyway.
We walked in stiff silence, even as the king who’d sired me kept his hands clasped behind his back in a relaxed manner. I felt out of place in my soiled slippers. He wore no shoes, his linen pants similar to what Florian would wear to bed and his tunic a cream rayon.
The halls were shaded between windows, all of them arched and cracked by time. We meandered through three before the sun brightened a wide set of stairs. Potted ferns sat astride the top of each balustrade, and roses choked the thick sandstone rails, thorns awaiting to prick the skin.
Beneath the stairs was an enclosed terrace patterned with dark and bright sandstone in the shape of diamonds. The palace gates loomed large straight ahead with guard towers on either side. We veered right, leaving the terrace and heading toward hedges that bordered blossoming gardens.
The silence grew warmer than the spring sun as we walked the perimeter of the palace grounds.
Before I could find the courage to break it, Molkan did. “You’ve undoubtedly experienced harrowing horrors at Florian’s hands due to his hatred of me. But if you’re willing, then I would like to tell you my side of the story.”
Horrors was not the word I would have chosen to describe my time with Florian.
I did not say that, but I did feel the need to inform him, “I wasn’t captured.” Slimy and sharp, shame crawled through me. Unable to be masked, it stained my words, making them low. “I went to Hellebore with him willingly, not knowing his true plans.”
Molkan’s steps slowed, as did mine, his eyes traveling the expansive surroundings of his royal home. A home that should have been mine. A home that could perhaps still be mine. “And how long before you realized you’d ventured into a viper’s nest?” he asked.
My cheeks flushed, and not due to the sun.
Molkan deduced enough from my silence. A touch of pity that only made me feel worse lined his voice. “You are young, and though you were born here, you are not at all familiar with the deception and trickery of your own ilk.”
I refrained from saying I was more than familiar now.
We reached the shade of a large apple tree. Molkan plucked one from it, inspecting the glossy red fruit before he passed it to me.
I thanked him, my fingers rubbing over the smooth skin of the apple as he nodded once and we walked on.
“Your mother was my first love,” he said, hands again tucked behind his back and his eyes fastened on the workers who tended a vegetable garden along the wall in the distance. “But she was not my only.”
I paused in bringing the apple to my lips and lowered it.
“Corina’s father was a filthy rich merchant and a dear friend to my own father. Years before they were both lost to the sea during one of their annual adventures across the Amethyst, they’d made plans for Corina and me to marry.”
A smile carried his words. “We dragged our feet, of course. We’d been friends our whole lives, and though we loved one another far more than any friend should, we did not encounter any sign of the Mother-blessed bond. Which worried us, and for a good reason.”
My mind skipped forward, guessing where this tragedy was headed.
“But when our fathers died, well…” Molkan lifted his shoulders, his eyes still glued to the gardens while I tried not to trip while gazing at his bearded profile. “We decided it was time. Corina’s father’s fortune was hers, but not until she married could she rightfully claim his vast estate along the coastline of the Elixir Sea.” A smirk sparked his eyes. “Her father always got what he desired, and it seemed not even death would stop him.”