16. Rosalie

SIXTEEN

Rosalie

I sit at the ornate dressing table, staring blankly at my reflection. The woman looking back at me is a stranger – hollow-eyed, pale, sadness etched into every line of her face.

Is this really what I've become?

My fingers trace the edge of the drawer where I keep the torn pieces of Kayan's portrait. Even now, I can't bring myself to look at them. The pain is too raw, too fresh.

He is gone. The words echo in my mind, a cruel mantra that won't let me rest. Kayan is gone, and I never got to say goodbye.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the opulent bedroom that has become my gilded cage. Instead, I let my mind drift back to happier times, to the day Kayan first told me he loved me.

It was a warm summer afternoon, the kind where the air shimmers with heat. We were by the lake, our usual spot when we needed to escape the watchful eyes of the village. Kayan was skipping stones across the water's surface, each one jumping farther than the last.

"Show off," I teased, nudging him with my shoulder.

He turned to me, grinning that lopsided smile that always made my heart skip a beat. "Jealous of my superior stone-skipping skills?"

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide my smile. "Oh yes, I'm absolutely green with envy. However will I go on, knowing I can't skip a stone as far as the great Kayan?"

He laughed, the sound echoing across the water. Then, suddenly, his expression grew serious. He took my hand, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me.

"Rosalie," he said, his voice soft. "There's something I need to tell you."

I remember the way my heart raced, the mix of excitement and fear that flooded through me. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. "I love you."

Three simple words, but they changed everything. I stood there, stunned, unable to speak.

Kayan's face fell, and he started to pull away. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have?—"

I cut him off, throwing my arms around him and kissing him with everything I had. When we finally broke apart, both breathless, I whispered, "I love you too."

The memory fades, and I'm back in the present, tears streaming down my face. I wipe them away angrily. What good are tears now? They won't bring Kayan back. They won't free me from this nightmare.

I stand abruptly, needing to move, to do something, anything to distract myself from the ache in my chest. I pace the room, my fingers trailing over the expensive furnishings. All of it meaningless, all of it a mockery of the life I should have had with Kayan.

A wave of fury washes over me. This isn't fair. None of this is fair. Kayan should be here, alive and well. We should be together, building a life. How did we go from dancing in the forest to this?

Fire blooms in my palms. For a moment, I'm tempted to let them grow, to watch as they consume this gilded prison.

But no. I can't. Not yet.

Because my husband is stronger than me, and he would not allow me to live if I tried to escape him.

I extinguish the flames, my resolve hardening. I will find a way out of here. I will make those responsible for Kayan's death pay. And I will honour his memory by living, and by fighting.

I walk to the window, looking out at the manicured gardens below.

"I miss you," I whisper, imagining Kayan standing beside me. "I miss you so much it hurts to breathe sometimes."

In my mind, I can almost hear his response. "Then breathe for both of us, Rose. Live for both of us."

I nod, squaring my shoulders. Yes, I will live. I will fight. And I will never, ever forget him.

A knock at the door startles me from my reverie. "My lady?" It's one of the servants, her voice timid. "Your husband requests your presence for dinner."

My husband. The word tastes like ash in my mouth. But I push down the revulsion, schooling my features into a mask of calm. "Tell him I'll be down shortly," I call back.

As I turn to my wardrobe to choose a suitable dress, I catch sight of myself in the mirror once more. This time, I see a flicker of something in my eyes. Determination, perhaps.

Or defiance.

As I wait for him to enter the dining room, I place my hands firmly in my lap and press my lips tightly together.

At dinner, he likes me to be a pliant, sweet-singing bird. He likes me to ask about his day, and offer oohs and ahhs when he tells me deathly boring details about the duties he has carried out on behalf of Lord Eldrion.

From what I can tell, this mostly involves watching over the lands that Eldrion's family gifted him many centuries ago, shouting at villagers, and occasionally fucking them.

He takes great delight in telling me about those exploits. The women he seduces, if one can call it a seduction when he wields so much power over them that they cannot refuse him for fear of retribution.

Tonight, he shall get none of these things from me. My lips will remain sealed. I will not utter a single word. Not a sound. My silence will be my protest against this life I have been doomed to live.

When he enters the room, stomach first, all bluster and red cheeks, the stench of ale comes with him. No doubt, he spent his afternoon in an elvish tavern completely unbefitting of a man of his standing.

There is only one reason to frequent the taverns.

As he draws closer, I realise he smells of sex, too, and it disgusts me.

He sits down in the chair at the head of the table, his large frame barely squeezing into the seat. He gives his wings a flutter and lets them drift out to either side of him. They are gold, like the other Sunborne in Luminael.

Only his look dirty and old.

Like him.

"Are you not going to greet your husband?" he barks.

I keep my eyes cast down to my plate, and do not move or speak.

A Shadowkind fae pours him a glass of wine. I hear him take a sip, smacking his lips together before leaning back in the chair with a creak that shudders in between my bones.

"I said, are you not going to greet your husband?" This time, he hisses the words like a curse.

I still refuse to look at him.

I am poured a glass of wine, too.

He bangs his fist on the table and my wine sloshes over the sides of my glass.

"You refuse to speak to me?" he asks, rising from his chair and striding over to stand behind me.

I had thought it would take a little longer to get him this worked up. Clearly, he is quicker to anger than I thought. But I do not back down. I cannot, not now.

A hand lands on my throat. Hard. He grips my neck and jerks my head backwards so I am looking at him upside down. From this comical angle, his moustache looks ridiculous.

I smile, and I know it makes me look as if I'm crazy, but I don't care.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?" he spits.

I close my eyes. He can't make me look at him.

With a shove, he lets me go and I jolt forward in my chair. He stays behind me. I feel the air moving as he beats his wings.

"You are losing your mind over your Leafborne boyfriend? Is that what's happening here?" He drools, lowering his mouth to my ear.

His breath lands, hot and sickly, on my cheek. And then a hand lands on my breast.

"You better pull yourself together and learn how to look happy by the end of the evening or?—"

With a roar, I grab the knife from beside my plate and plunge it into the back of his hand. The one grabbing my chest.

It goes right through, grazing my own skin.

He yells and jerks backwards.

I rise from my chair and splay my arms out sideways. The candles flare. The room flickers with flame.

He looks me up and down, blood dripping from his hand, then he pulls the knife free. "You'll regret this."

He stalks towards me.

The candles blaze. Embers fall onto the tablecloth and it catches light.

But then he extinguishes them. One flick of his hand and they are all gone. And an invisible hand is around my throat now.

I stare at him as he comes for me. And when he lifts the knife to my throat, I smile.