13. Rosalie

THIRTEEN

Ihave stopped counting the days I have been locked away here, and I have stopped thinking about the others.

All except Kayan.

And Alana.

I hope that, wherever they are, they are at least together. Is it strange that I hope that? Knowing their feelings for one another could quite possibly be reignited if they were to endure the kind of torture I have endured.

I look around my chambers. Of course, to the outside observer, this does not look like a prison. I have a large, comfortable bed, a wardrobe full of fine clothes, and a view of the lawns.

But fear and loathing hang in the air here. It is thick with them.

No one speaks to me except him, and I do not know if that is because he has commanded it to be that way or because they are simply too afraid.

I have tried to make friends with my maid – the Shadowkind woman who comes to dress me each morning. But she refuses to meet my eyes.

Once, she touched the cuff on my wrist. For a brief moment, hope bloomed in my chest and I thought perhaps she knew a way to take it off so I might escape. But maybe she was just curious.

She has never done it again, and still has not uttered a single word.

Not even when I am naked and she is shampooing my hair in the bath, or when she turns down the sheets at night. Not when I am crying, or shouting, or pleading.

I gave up a few weeks ago.

At least, I think it was a few weeks ago.

I have given up counting the days.

I glance over at the mirror, then stand and turn it around. On the back, I had begun to etch the number of nights I was kept here. I stopped counting when I reached forty.

I trace the markings with my neatly manicured nail, and sigh as I turn the mirror back around. To think, there was a time when I longed to be a Sunborne aristocrat. It began after a visit to the city for a parade. My mother took me, and I was instantly entranced by their beauty and their power.

Now, I have all the trappings I wanted. But they come at a price.

Thinking of my husband, bile rises in my throat.

I did not agree to the marriage, but apparently that does not matter when you are a Sunborne marrying a fae you have purchased at auction. He simply nodded when the priest asked him if he wanted me as his wife, and that was it.

A gold band was slipped onto my finger. And I was his. Officially.

Tonight, there is to be a feast. I have heard the servants muttering about it. They quiet when they know I am close by, so I have perfected the art of sticking to the shadows.

The garden is the best place for this. I can linger behind a hedge or fountain and catch snatches of what the gardeners are saying to one another.

This feast, in particular, is important because my husband is trying to impress the Sunborne who usually attend gatherings at the castle. I have heard talk of Lord Eldrion. Something about him losing some servants and cancelling the festivities that usually happen on a nightly basis in the citadel.

My husband clearly believes he can obtain favour with some important people by stepping in to fill the void.

The sound of my bedroom door opening makes me quickly pace away from the mirror and stand, hands clutched in front of me, head bowed. In case it is him.

I recognise the feet at once. It is not my husband but my maid.

I sigh and look up. But today, for the first time, she meets my eyes. She clears her throat. “My lady,” she says.

Her voice is shocking. Not because there is anything wrong with it, but because it has been so very silent within these walls for so long now.

“Your husband requests that you join him and his guests for the banquet tonight. They are not to know how you came to be his wife. If you are asked, you will reply, ‘I should let my dear husband tell you that story.’” She is speaking like she is reading from a script. Her words are stilted, and once again she is struggling to look at me.

“Will you not have a real conversation with me?” I duck my head to meet her eyes. “Please. Just one word of sincerity.”

I don’t know why I think it might work this time; every other time I’ve tried to talk to her, she has refused. She ignored my tears, why would she listen now?

“What do you want to talk about?” The question stuns me. I blink at her for a moment, then grin and rush forward, throwing my arms around her neck.

“I’d like to know your name.” I take her hands between mine and squeeze. “Please. Tell me your name.”

“Terra.” The maid dips her head into a nod. “My name is Terra. But now I have to go. I will return to dress you for tonight.”

As Terra leaves, my heart soars.

She has a name, and she gave it to me. Which means I have a chance – just a small chance – of getting her to be my friend.

I know how pathetic that sounds. But it is so lonely here.

I have never known a loneliness like it, and if I have to endure it much longer, it might just break me.

Trying not to think about the evening’s approaching events, instead I cross back to the dresser. From the drawer beneath the mirror, I take out a small piece of paper. It is a page ripped from a book that I was given when I first arrived. Next, I take the eyeliner that formed part of my makeup casket.

I look down at the sketch I started a few days ago. It is not quite right yet, but I will capture his likeness.

I close my eyes, summoning Kayan’s face to my mind. Then I open it and start to draw. When I have finished, I will draw Alana, too. Maybe even Samuel, although it has been so long since I thought of him, I’m not sure whether I’d be able to conjure his face anymore.

I bite my lower lip, trying to concentrate. But my eyes are blurring with tears.

I push the paper away, stand up, and go to the bed. I lie down, burying my face in the pillow, and begin to cry.

“Please, come and get me,” I whisper. I am not sure if I’m speaking to Alana or Kayan or both of them, but I know I need to pray to someone. “Please... don’t forget me. Don’t leave me here.”