18

So Many Faces

Small flickers of light peek in through the curtains, hinting morning was near, yet it did nothing to force an ounce of movement. Worried my whereabouts would be noted if I left the room, I remain on my side, curling into myself with my knees tucked close.

My thoughts wander over everything that almost happened, including everything Jerrick said prior to his harsh departure. I fell deep down into my thought's own Oblivion, hating the sense of rejection. I was left wanting from Jerrick's touch, desperately trying to remember Niko. Instead, I was teased and starved from Jerrick pinching my nipple and kissing my neck.

But that wasn't what kept me up all night.

No, it was what he said that had forced the world to stop.

Why did he say curse with such hatred?

He couldn't think that his magic is a curse like me. Could he?

A lifting latch sweeps away the thought, and my heart leaps at him returning, of seeking answers from him.

Yet I am let down when Dorit's form fills the doorway.

She wears a day gown dyed deep blue, with the seams lined in a pale blue, and her hair is in thick plaits, taming the enviable waves. She rests her hip against the doorway, her arms folding in concern.

"Are you alright, Tove?"

The pity in her voice should make me upset, but it only increases my guilt over ruining everything last night. I was nervous, confused, and angry. But I can't seem to shake the dooming thought of Jerrick breaking his word.

My heart sinks at the thought, realizing I did not even last a day in this arrangement before ruining my chances of helping Axidoria. I can't fight the emotions taking over me.

I break, turning away from Dorit when she catches the first tear falling.

Her touch on my shoulder pulls me to face her, pity lining her features. She wraps her arms around me, holding me as I tremble.

I work through each tremor, erring on the side of caution so my magic won't awaken.

The normal overpowering scent of roses suffocates me, and I am thankful for the inhale of fresh air when she helps me stand. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"He just… left," I confess, careful of sharing more than I need to.

Anything I say can always be reported back to him.

Dorit presses her lips together, as if she, too, is unsure of what to make of his actions. "Let's get you to your chambers, alright?"

I nod and hold her hand, too exhausted from thinking. I want to leave this room and the memory of failure behind.

Dorit keeps me close. While she might be trying to console me, I can't help the suspicious thought of her being near is a way of keeping figurative chains around me.

When we make it to my chambers, the small comfort eases my racing worries.

"Do you want me to check your wound?" Dorit asks.

I nod, knowing it needed to be checked sooner rather than later.

"Let's see if we can get away with having the bandage off from now on," she says as I remove my dress, allowing her to lift the bandage.

She touches me close to the healing area, and I flinch at the contact of her fingertips. "Did I hurt you?"

I shake my head. "No. Your hands are cold. They startled me is all."

She hums, resuming her examination of my back, peeling away the bandage more. "I think you should be good to not wear the bandage. Try moving your shoulder around. Let's check the stitching to see if it bleeds."

I proceed to shrug, rotating my arm carefully, and a slight tug pulls the stitching on my back.

She nods in satisfaction. "Yeah, let's do without the bandage." Dorit turns, grabbing a day gown for me to wear today.

The black gown is modest, with long sleeves and grooves on the sides for pockets. I move tentatively as she helps slip the dress over my body.

Reclining in the chair, I seek a brush for my hair. I lower my head as I work through the knots, annoyed my arm is exhausted so quickly.

My lady-in-waiting steps up, opening her hand for the brush, and I surrender it.

Dorit takes over, detangling my silver locks. Her features brighten as she explains how she came under Jerrick's employment.

I learn her parents are a baker and a florist, and she is the oldest of her siblings.

She helps make ends meet for her family as well as encouraging Jerrick and Jonas to favor them, always giving her mother business whenever there are celebrations. Her father, though, missed the opportunity to work in the castle.

"He didn't want to work for the Mikkelsons?" I ask, my brows pinching in confusion.

"Oh, don't worry, my dad might be the best baker in Yadir, but Cordelia and Ophelia are younger and more flexible cooks for the castle. My father was glad he didn't have to sell his shop," she reassures me. "Speaking of, let's go meet Cordelia and Ophelia. Oh, you will love them, Tove. They are an absolutely adorable couple!"

I beam at the thought of food but grab Dorit's hand. My thoughts seek some reassurance that I have not failed my kingdom yet.

"Will Jerrick go back on his word?" My lip quivers, trying desperately not to fall apart.

Niko and Betina are back at home, and I am betraying my family by abandoning their graves. The thought of that hurts.

"Jonas won't let that happen," Dorit says.

"How do you know?"

She returns to brushing my hair, styling it into a neat plait.

I study her reflection in the mirror as she says, "Because Jonas helps the king more than I think he realizes. He won't let the prospect of trade go to waste over something petty and stupid Jerrick did, and he, most certainly, will not let Jerrick fall back on his word to you."

I contemplate that information, tucking it away. Maybe I can work more with Jonas then, and sending resources to Axidoria will help for Niko's plan.

"Dorit, would it be possible to arrange a meeting with Jonas?"

Her features brighten as she squeezes my shoulders. "He is one of your subjects now. That can easily be arranged."

I flash a grin, the Makers answering my wishes and prayers for once.

When she steps back, I spare a glance at the reflection in the mirror. My skin looks ghostly and dull, my features dark and brittle.

The chair scoots away from the vanity, preventing me from staring further into the monster I am.

"Now let's eat," Dorit chimes.

The stone arched doorway into the kitchens is darkened in color from the rest of the gray stones in the castle. Constant smoke and ash permeate out and down the hall, no doubt due to the fire always running in the kitchen. A hint of metal hangs in the air as we enter the large room.

A tall, curvy woman hovers over a slab of meat, cutting through bone and marrow, separating it for multiple meals. With each plate of ingredients, she moves to a new area of her workstation. I get a view of her strong jawline tinged with sweat, and the small baby-haired wisps escape her chestnut hair, plaited into a bun she wears at her nape.

Beyond the copper smell, rosemary and thyme accompany the yeast in full force as another woman's petite frame removes bread from one of the stone hearths. A wide grin expands across her face as she places the pot on the workstation, dusting her hands on her apron and wiping sweat from her brow. Flour sprinkles on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, which, somehow, accentuates the hundreds of freckles gracing her warm skin.

The woman's bright green eyes meet mine, and she lights up at the sight of Dorit and me. "Dorit! We weren't expecting you until dinner!" the cook sings, but the clang of a knife falling on the table has us all startling toward the taller woman.

The blonde cook glances between us. Realization flashes in their eyes, and they both break into a deep curtsy.

"Your Majesty," they say in unison.

Dorit gives me a knowing look as the two cooks remain lowered.

I speak up, "Please, please, there is no need for curtsies."

The two women look up, hesitating. They glance at Dorit, who adds, "She is nice, I promise."

Dorit's words should not have so much effect on me, but they do. I smile my gratitude at her kindness as the two women brush off their cooking aprons.

The blonde cook steps forward, taking my hand and beaming. "I am Cordelia, Your Majesty. It is an honor to serve you."

I extend my gratitude. "If you should ever feel comfortable, you may call me Tove."

Cordelia's features soften as if sunlight itself would illuminate around her.

The other cook approaches, and I greet her before she can introduce herself. "You must be Ophelia. Please know the offer is the same for you as well."

She nods, looking breathless and full of anxiety.

Glancing at Dorit, I say to them, "Dorit has said wonderful things about your food that I can attest to myself since my arrival. I wanted to meet and personally thank you for providing such delicious meals."

They grin, Ophelia resting her hand at the small of Cordelia's back. Pure love shines between them, and they are so precious my heart wants to burst.

Ophelia faces me and Dorit. "Would you like to have some of the rolls we made?"

"Do you also have wine?" Dorit asks, and I salivate at the thought.

Cordelia snickers. "When do we not?"

Dorit claps quickly, reaching for the basket of rolls as Ophelia fetches cups and refreshment.

A small dining table is on the opposite side of the kitchen, and after I take two rolls, I join the women.

The liquid hitting each glass fills the void, and I quietly take a few bites, trying to mask my distaste for Palaena's bitter alcohol. Nostalgia for sweet wine has me focusing more on food, listening to the three women converse with one another about fellow staff members, bustling news from the market in town, zoning in and out when their discussions drift to gossip.

My eyebrow lifts in question when they talk about the staff members who ran away when Jerrick and I first arrived.

Not remembering my arrival in Palaena, I almost choke on my bread when Dorit says, "I heard that Jerrick threatened anyone who mentioned or questioned his arrival back home."

"He threatened his own people?" I ask, and Dorit nods.

My brows pinch in confusion as to how she heard this information.

"One of the stable hands was ordered to tell every staff member of the king's order," Cordelia adds.

Ophelia agrees as if the order remains fresh.

No wonder they looked afraid of me and filled with worry when I showed up in the kitchens. Here I thought it was due to my magic's reputation, but part of me senses their worries were based on what their own king threatened to do.

"Wh-What did he say?" I ask with trepidation, wondering how dangerous Jerrick could be.

A thrill flashes in Dorit's eyes, as if this is a ghost story rather than a possible end to her own life. "He said, ‘If any staff member speaks ill of our new guest, I will end their life quicker than they will know their next heartbeat.' I've never seen him so tense!"

Shock still widens my eyes at the thought of a ruler intentionally killing his people.

Dorit attempts to brush off my own fears. "Relax, the king won't kill anyone."

I tilt my head, knowing very well he killed one of my priests in Axidoria. Dorit was there when he admitted it. So why is she dismissing his demand and claiming it to be a bluff?

"You know this how?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Jonas."

I pinch my brows. As if naming the king's brother is enough to convince me that Jerrick is not a ruthless ruler.

She waves off my concern, remaining unbothered. "Jonas tells his partner Viggo everything, and Viggo tells me everything."

I laugh. "Deities, I never thought I would hear castle gossip."

Dorit's eyes twinkle with excitement, opening her mouth to tell me more.

I lift my hand to stop her. "I don't want to know anything else."

"Not even what they say about you?" she teases, thinking I want to know what people here think of me.

"Please, no. I can only imagine the worst."

The mood shifts around the four of us as I grip the stem of my goblet, bristling at the wretched nickname Snow Queen ringing in my ears and following me from Axidoria. There is no doubt word of my arrival in Palaena has already reached the entire kingdom, despite the king's threat.

Scornful, hateful gazes of people will follow me everywhere I go.

My powers and the dreaded winter threatening my kingdom as well as other kingdoms put everyone's lives at risk. I hate that the fate of controlling my abilities lies in the hands of my enemy.

Ophelia breaks my dark thoughts, seeking to raise my spirits. "Dorit has told us of your kindness, and we have seen it firsthand, Your Majesty. Along with your beauty."

I inwardly cringe at her compliment, turning from the compassion she offers.

The harsh truth of beauty is all but a lie. There is no beauty inside of me.

Only a monster.

I force out my thanks. "I appreciate your sweet words, Ophelia."

Cordelia adds, "I have no doubt in my mind everyone would love to celebrate your and the king's union."

I bristle at the word union, my failure of not seeing it through last night hitting me thicker than Dorit's perfume. Smiling tight and nodding, I try to hide how close I am to breaking.

I already lost it with Dorit, but she has been the only constant here.

I can't lose it with these two women right now.

Sweet Makers, I need to do something.

Glancing out the window, I feel as if time itself is slipping. I sag with exhaustion, my head partially swimming from the wine I've consumed.

Dorit picks up on my mood. "I think it might be time for Tove to return to her chambers. She has a lot to do since recovering." Dorit rests a hand on my arm, the touch warm and comforting, and I meet her gaze, grateful for her awareness of my demeanor in such a short time.

Ophelia and Cordelia push away from the table, taking the cups and basket of bread back toward their workstations.

"We should do this again, Tove." Cordelia lingers on the use of my name rather than my title, and my cheeks perk up.

Ophelia says, "We would love to get to know our queen more if she will allow us."

Dorit beams at her friends, a blanket of comfort wrapping itself around me in their presence.

While the Mikkelsons are the enemy, their people are not, and the ease of conversation between these women has me wishfully thinking I can make acquaintances here.

I rise, inclining my head to the women who have been themselves in my presence, save for when they first saw me. I hope their authenticity may continue with and without Dorit, should I ever be allowed a chance to visit without a chaperone.

"Thank you for allowing me into your work area, and thank you for the wine and rolls," I tell them.

Dorit and I head for the archway, but I peer back. "Rolls are my favorite, and the ones you've made each day, somehow, are better than the last day's."

Ophelia pats her partner's shoulder, Cordelia looking as if she could cry at my words.

Dorit escorts me to my rooms, agreeing to a tour of the castle and setting up meetings with Jonas and Jerrick. The mention of Jerrick makes my skin crawl, hating that, eventually, I will have to face him again.

But I cannot pinpoint whether it is because he is my enemy or because he left me alone last night. I choose not to dwell on the thought, letting my mind wander to trying to reach home again today, seeking Niko or Betina.

My lack of sleep from last night tugs at my eyes along with today's physical exertion. It's been the most exercise since my arrival, and Dorit catches on quickly, offering me her arm for support.

I sag with relief when we enter my chambers, passing my thanks to Dorit as she peels away the top sheet of my bed, lifting the thick sheets over my exhausted body.

She hums as the door slinks shut, leaving me alone once more.

Despite being tired, I scramble to peel the sheets off me, seeking Mother's mirror. I rub it thrice over, the ripples happening in quick succession.

I plead desperately for a figure to be on the other side of the reflection, and my heart fractures at the body laying across my bed. I cover my mouth as Betina twiddles with her fingers, unable to sit still, much like me.

Her mannerisms bring a nostalgic smile to my face.

"Betina?"

My voice breaks.

She jolts upright, finding the exact direction of where my voice came from, relief on her face.

"Tove!" she exclaims, the gleeful sound lingering as she jumps out of the bed and rushes to the vanity. "Oh, Sweet Makers, I am thrilled to see you!"

Unable to stop her concern, she blurts, "How are you? Are you okay? Are you hurt? What about your shoulder? I heard what happened. Are you—"

"Betina," I cut in, a laugh escaping at the naturalness of her presence.

She shrugs. "Sorry."

I take in the reality of her being here and that I'm talking to her. My heart fills with hope, knowing I am not as alone as I think. But when I study her, I notice the dark circles under her eyes.

"I think the more important question is, how are you?" I ask, gesturing to my under eye.

"Oh, that." She touches her face softly. "I've been in here, waiting for you to appear again. When Nikolaj told me, I slapped his arm, pissed that he got to speak to you without me present."

That earns a chuckle from me, and blood warms my face at the memory of when I last heard from Niko. "Sorry you missed me the first time. So much has happened, and I can't use this communication all the time."

"That's why Nikolaj told me to move in here until you come back. That way, I can be here when you call," she says, gesturing to her new bedchamber. "Now, please tell me what's going on?"

My face falls in defeat. I summon the courage to push through the most recent events with her.

Betina's expressions shift from sorrow to anger as I summarize everything. By the time I finish, she is quiet.

It takes a lot to make Betina quiet.

"Tove, you aren't coming home until summer?" she asks, her voice a soft whisper.

I know she worries for me and also our kingdom. I mask away my pain and defeat to console her.

"I just have to bide my time here. I don't want there to be a fight, but Niko feels this is the only way. And it is not too bad waiting here. I have met Prince Jonas, the king's brother, who seems kind, along with my lady-in-waiting, Dorit."

Betina's expression darkens, and I snicker. "Don't worry, Betina, you're still my favorite lady-in-waiting."

She hums before her features turn solemn. "What about your magic?"

I shrug, the stitching in my right shoulder pulling. "I am not sure. Everything is jumbled and scattered. I am supposed to be training with the king, but I don't know about that now, since he stormed out during our wedding night, mentioning a curse—"

"Wait, a curse!? What?"

I lift my hand. "I doubt it is even real. I honestly think he was trying to say anything to get away from me."

The realization of my words, the memory of his touch, and the intensity of Jerrick lingers in my mind. I hate that his attractiveness lures me with need.

I could try to reach Niko later and seek his company and find release with him, but the thought of violating my marital vows, no matter that they are with Jerrick, turns my stomach into knots. Morally, I don't want to even consider that again.

That doesn't even beg to touch on the punishment the Makers could bring if I violate my marital vows and the decree.

Guess I will be using my hands from here on out.

Betina pulls me from my thoughts. "Well, then, bide your time, earn their trust, and then wreak havoc on the bastards when you are able to hone your abilities."

"I don't want to hurt anyone, and I want there to be a peaceful solution," I say, and Betina scoffs.

I stop her train of thought. "But what I want isn't something I think can be achieved."

She sighs, plopping onto my chair in my old chambers. Betina studies me through her solemn chestnut eyes, her chest shrinking as she hunches on her knees.

"I can't believe there will be a battle."

I sink farther into the bed before offering her a nod of finality. When it comes to returning home to Axidoria and marrying Niko, I know Niko is right. A fight is the only choice.

We sit in silence, my mind dwelling over the potential outcome of a battle between Axidoria and Palaena and the possibility of the plan falling apart before I can make any headway.

The anxiety trills deep in my bones, forcing me to clench my jaw as I debate if the path I've started down is one the Makers know of already and are watching, waiting, to see how badly I will doom myself. Part of me wonders if they are planning the best time to enact the most wrath upon me.

But a glint of amber eyes smiling reminds me everything we are going to do will be worth it.

"Is there anything you want me to relay to Nikolaj?"

Betina's voice enters the void of my thoughts.

"The last time he and I spoke, I told him to communicate with King Bernard and Queen Verena. Make sure he follows through with that, and I'll see about trying to send supplies from Palaena in our upcoming trade discussions in hopes of getting Lord Ulrik to back off," I tell her.

She grimaces at the mention of Ulrik, telling me he, too, is a nuisance for Niko. "Thank the Makers you didn't marry him. Nikolaj is even talking about dragging him around with him when he calls the banners, just to keep an eye on him," she blurts.

Niko would, in fact, follow through.

I laugh lightheartedly. "Sweet Makers, there is no way I could have. I would've been suffocated by secondhand tobacco stench."

She howls, slapping her knee in amusement. She inches forward, wiping a tear from her eye.

"Fucking Deities, Tove, I miss you."

I voice my tear-filled goodbyes, hoping to speak with her soon, as my eyes grow heavy with the need to sleep. I drag my hand around the mirror once, breaking my connection to Axidoria. To Niko. To Betina. To my family.

The heavy weight of grief lingers in an ominous composition, a reminder of the graves I have not seen since coming here.

I seek their love, their advice, and them.

Rubbing my chest doesn't ease the ache of missing my family, and I choke on my own sobs, grabbing a pillow and pulling it close. The brittle pain of being alone and separated not only from Niko, but my family as well is what drags me back into my own Oblivion, night after night, nightmares never seeming to leave me.