*Maddy*
He doesn’t even know my name.
That’s all I can think about as I sit beside Ella and desperately try to pay attention to the workbooks in front of me on a long wooden table etched with little carvings of stick figures. I run a fingertip over several sets of carved letters, a testament to the past, and the little boys who were raised together in this very castle.
It’s hard to imagine King Isaac and Beta Cassian as children, especially naughty children who carved their names and some rather colorful insults toward each other, and the teachers hired to homeschool them both, into this table.
“You’re doing really well,” Ella says, and for once, not in my home language.
I understand every single word.
“Thank you,” I smile, looking up from the etchings. “I’ve been studying every night before I go to bed, and eating in the servants hall helps a lot.”
“They know all the slang, that’s why,” she grins, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder as she flips a page in the book we’ve been working from.
We’ve been doing this for three days. From sun up, to sun down, I sit with Ella in this cozy, wood paneled room in the rear of the castle and talk and talk until my throat is dry. She doesn’t strike my hands if I get anything wrong and is patient with me, which makes this tedious effort something I look forward to. It’s a strange feeling, but I feel… settled. I like it here. I like Ella, and Hannah. I have more than enough food to eat and a warm place to sleep every night.
After the second day, I realized I am picking up her language quicker than I imagined possible, and have even started to think in their language instead of needing long pauses to match their words to my own.
Speedy progress, indeed.
Just in time to get married off to a man who has no desire for me in the slightest outside of needing someone to sit beside him on a throne.
An imposter in a gilded crown. A slave. An orphan. The Luna of Crescent Falls.
“Your mind is elsewhere today,” Ella remarks with a quick glance in my direction.
“Both our minds,” I reply dryly. Her eyes are rimmed red and lined with dark circles. “You haven’t been sleeping.”
“I’m a night owl.” She chuckles, rolling her neck, and that normally genuine smile cracks.
I don’t believe her for a second. The servants talk, and I’ve heard my fair share of rumors from the kitchen and servants hall about the princess and her nightly sleepwalking habits. Someone recently said those instances were becoming more frequent, and I know with a fact someone else has made the king aware that his sister was caught at the front gate in the early hours of the morning–just standing there, staring blankly.
“The dreams you paint,” I begin, sliding my workbook to the side. “They’re not dreams. They’re nightmares, aren’t they?”
“You’re practically fluent,” she sighs with a flicker of irritation. Are we close enough for me to tell her she looks like hell? A sleepy, defeated look flashes over her delicate features as she rolls her pen across the surface of the table. “You’re right,” she shrugs. “I dread falling asleep. The dreams–nightmares–have been coming almost every night lately.”
“What happens?”
Ella, in the habit of speaking slowly and clearly to me, leans back in her chair and takes a deep breath. “I see pain and suffering. Hellfire and… dark things. Dark magic. Cities burning and… It’s ridiculous. I’m just reflecting Isaac’s emotions in my sleep, I think.”
“What do you mean?” I furrow my brow at her in confusion.
“You probably don’t know this, but the kingdom is at war.”
I didn’t know that. I sit back, much in the same position as Ella as we stare at each other.
“Hence Isaac’s desperation to find a wife.”
Now, I’m very confused. “I don’t understand what you mean. What does finding a wife and his kingdom being at war have to do with each other?”
Ella, looking more than thankful to shift the conversation away from the subject of her nightmares, lays her hands flat on the table and looks right into my eyes.
She tells me everything–how Isaac needs an army of epic, unseen proportions. How he lost himself the past several years in his role, feeling the need to have to prove himself over and over again. That young, golden prince turned to ice and wrath.
How I am the only thing standing between him and the favor of the most power Alphas in his kingdom, and the armies he so desperately needs to keep his kingdom safe.
Something like dread settles in my belly as I listen to Ella’s careful words. She looks just as torn as I feel, and it breaks my heart. Not for me, not for her, but for Isaac.
“It shouldn’t have to be this way,” I say, mostly to myself.
“I know. Our parents… they were–are–powerful still, but they’ve lived in Maatua for years now, and all of this–” she waves her arms in the air, “--this war came about three years ago, the same year Isaac took the throne. It was like whoever is on the other side of those mountains was waiting for him.”
I’ve had it in mind to deny the king of his wishes to make me his wife. Our union has nothing to do with love, and while I have nothing to my name, I still have my dignity. I can starve and freeze to death, I can work myself to the bone until my back bows, but I won’t allow myself to fall victim to a loveless marriage and a life of boredom and loneliness, despite the ease my life would carry going forward. I want what my parents had.
But knowing the truth makes me wonder if I’m looking at this all wrong.
I need Isaac as much as he needs me.
And maybe, somewhere deep down, that prince that swept me off my feet at the ball is still there.
“I remember him from the ball,” I say, not meeting Ella’s eyes. I see her jerk in surprise.
“You were at the ball?”
“I danced with him.” The words are a whisper in my native tongue as I stand and leave the room without another word.
* * *
I’ve never approached the king on my own accord. I don’t know if I should as I enter his office, and I bite back my hesitation as several faces turn to look at me, his included. Commanders and warriors look at me in surprise as I step into the light of the room. The sunset illuminates Isaac in a golden haze as light streams through the windows at his back.
He’s looking right at me, probably wondering why I’m here. After our last conversation three days ago, we haven’t crossed paths. But, I’m tired of waiting and dancing on eggshells with him. I know now what he’s up against, and it makes my issues look miniscule in comparison.
“Leave us,” the king says sharply, the voice of someone in full control of every single room he steps into. The warriors and commanders leave, bustling past me in a blur of uniforms and the scent of pine and damp spring air. Cassian is the last to leave and looks at me with a slight smirk on his face before the door closes behind him and a heavy silence settles over the room.
“I’ll do it.” I tilt my chin, speaking firmly and loudly in his language. Our language. The only one I’ll use from now on.
He stares at me, taking me in. “Why?”
“Does it matter? You need me to get what you want, and I need you to survive. So, I’m in.”
He stands, leaning his weight against one of the stone window sills. After a moment he straightens to his full height and rounds his desk, sitting on the edge. “All right. We’ll go to the temple tomorrow night.”
“That’s it, then?”
He looks down at me with those gem-like eyes that have always made me weak in the knees, but I know better now. I don’t fear him. I pity him, if anything.
He needs me. He needs ME.
“What, Jenny?”
“My name isn’t Jenny. It’s Madeline.”
His brows arch, but he doesn’t seem totally surprised.
“Madeline. Allright. Anything else you’d like to tell me before–”
“We met at the ball three years ago.”
Now, that gets the gears turning in his ice-filled head. He narrows his eyes at me critically, but I don’t back away or stand down. I stare right back at him, holding his gaze.
“I don’t remember you.”
“We danced. You asked me to dance.”
I feel like the room is crackling with electricity as I wait for him to say something, say anything. But he just stands there and looks down at me with an expression I can’t read. Does he remember now? Or does he truly not recognize me?
Hurt blossoms in my chest. Maybe I’ve been wrong all these years about that moment between us being something special. Maybe he just saw me for what I was, and what I am now. Scared, alone, vulnerable.
When he says nothing, I continue, “I have one–one—” What is the word I need? “I have one thing to ask, and this is that you’re honest with me. I will share your title. I will stand beside you, a dutiful and silent ghost while you rule. I will share your bed and give you an heir but–” I suck in my breath and the next words come out in a whoosh, “you will be honest with me. Fully, utterly honest. About everything, as I have now been honest with you.”
“Of course.”
“I’m serious,” I press, crossing my arms under my breasts. “Ella told me about the war. I want details. I want to know what you’re up against, who our future child–” Goddess, the thought of it, of having a baby with him… “--what our children will inherit. I need to know.”
“I can offer you that.”
“I don’t want offers. I want your word.”
He steps forward and brushes a lock of my hair over my shoulder. “You have my word.”
The intimacy of the touch sends a shiver down my spine, but I don’t flinch or look away from his eyes.
“Do you have any other demands?” he asks, standing so close we’re nearly touching.
“Just questions I need answered.”
“Like what?”
“Will we share a room?”
A tight smile touches one corner of his mouth. “No. Not unless it’s necessary to perform our duties to this kingdom.” Duties. As in make the heir his kingdom desires.
I grind my teeth, my heart beginning to race. “Will I live here?”
“If you want. I have other properties. Your presence will be necessary in some situations.”
I close my eyes as his scent hits me, rich and strong and everything I didn’t know I loved until being in his presence. I force my eyes open, refusing to give in to the obvious attraction.
But when I meet his eyes again I find them hooded and him leaning into me, his hand hovering near my shoulder. “I also have something I need to ask of you.”
“What is it?”
“Your wolf.”
The haze snaps, and I back away. A familiar, painful longing starts to ache in my chest. Losing a wolf is… well, it’s probably the worst thing that can happen to people like us in a world so rich with magic. I am nothing without it, and I feel the loss of it every single moment of every day.
Talking about it only makes it worse.
“It’s been years,” I say shakily. “Far too long for me to recover those powers–”
“I know someone who might be able to help you.”