I was a fool. A gullible, blind fool. I should have known their sudden affection came with a price. I should have seen it in the letter-gilded and sweet, yet sharp as a blade hidden beneath velvet.
Instead I let hope ignite in me-small, poisonous, insidious. I let Aunt Martha's soothing words feed it, convincing me my parents had changed. That I was wanted. That their arms would open for me without expecting something in return.
How I wish I'd felt some warning, some instinct, before stepping into the carriage they sent. Perhaps then I might have spared myself the heartache that followed.
But I didn't. I have no one to blame but myself.
The wheels rattled over cobblestones as Draherne drew near. I pressed my face to the glass, drinking the city's silhouette as it rose against the horizon. High iron-grey walls encircled it like the spine of some slumbering beast, towers clawing at the sky. Beyond them, rooftops stacked in uneven tiers, banners snapping in the late-spring wind, the clang of smiths carrying even this far. Draherne was alive-louder, brighter, more terrible and beautiful than I remembered.
Yet its grandeur felt watchful. The guards at every archway did not look like men of welcome but of suspicion. The banners-crimson and gold-fluttered not with warmth but with warning. At the city's heart, like a jewel set in iron, stood the royal keep. White stone gleamed in the sun, arrow slits glittering like narrowed eyes. From every turret hung the same proclamation of power. My parents' home. My home.
My chest tightened. For years Draherne had been only a memory in Aunt Martha's cottage, where smoke clung stubbornly to the rafters and the garden soil grew thinner no matter how we worked it. Now I was here again-not as an exile, but as a daughter.
Or so I thought.
When the carriage halted at the gates, my parents rushed forward. The queen's golden skirts swirled as the king outpaced her, and before I could step down I was swept into their arms.
Warmth. Pressure. A kiss on my brow. A hand against my cheek.
For the first time in my life, I felt cherished. Whole.
The next days blurred into a succession of silks and smiles. I wore gowns that clung like whispers, dined on delicacies I had only smelled in Draherne's markets, and was bowed to by courtiers who spoke as if I mattered. My parents called me "daughter" with smiles so polished they might have been carved.
I met my siblings-Regina, sharp and glittering; earnest Gregory; and sweet, bumbling Mina. They welcomed me well enough, but Regina's eyes lingered too long, Gregory measured his words, and Mina-dear Mina-was kind but cautious, as though she weren't sure what to make of me.
Every moment was gilded, but the gold felt thin. Servants stiffened at my approach; courtiers whispered behind painted fans while staring at me. My mother's hand tightened a fraction too hard when she stroked my hair.
Still, I told myself it was nothing. After nineteen years, surely I was finally home.
I let myself believe I belonged.
But I was wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong.
Her words returned to me, sharp as a knife: So, will you do it?
I stared at them both, disbelief burning behind my eyes. Did they hear themselves? Did they realize what they were asking of me?
"I-I don't even know who you want me to marry. How can I agree to marry a person I haven't even seen, not to speak of knowing their name?"
"You need not worry," King Malton replied. "We would never give you to an unworthy man. All you must do is agree."
"Tres," Queen Hayana said softly, silk over steel, "please. We would not ask this if we were not desperate. Can you not see our plight?"
I wanted to scream. To demand why I was little more than a pawn.
"B-but Regina has always been presented as your eldest," I said, my voice breaking. "Wouldn't it seem a lie to suddenly bring me forward in her place?"
I saw irritation flash across their faces for a heartbeat, then smooth into practiced warmth.
"Yes," Hayana admitted. "The world believes Regina is our firstborn. But the truth is you are my eldest. It is you who must be given-because that is what has been requested."
What happened next, I couldn't explain. It was as though something inside me just snapped. Rage-raw and searing-flooded the hollow fear had carved out.
"Well, this is my answer. No. Never. I refuse," I hissed. "And why should I? For nineteen good years you abandoned me. Hid me with Aunt Martha. Refused to love me or even acknowledge me. And now you expect me to accept a loveless marriage to a nameless stranger, all so you can win some war?"
Hayana's eyes flashed. "Mind that tongue of yours, Tres."
"Why? Because the truth stings? Or because you cannot bear to hear me defy you?"
Her lips thinned.
I leaned forward, voice dripping venom. "Shall I remind you of the letter you sent on my sixteenth birthday? When I begged to meet you, you wrote: I have no interest in you, you nauseating ogre. I wish I had lost your pregnancy, for then you'd never have been born. Martha is the only parent you have. Get it into your thick skull because I cannot stand your presence. And now you call me your daughter, only to barter me like a coin. Hypocrisy suits you well, Mother."
The slap cracked like thunder. My head snapped sideways; my cheek burned as tears blurred my sight.
"You ungrateful wretch!" Hayana shrieked, raising her hand again, but Malton caught her wrist.
"Calm yourself, Yana."
"Calm? How dare this stupid girl insult me! Release me, Malton! Let me teach this abomination a lesson she'll never forget!"
He drew her close, murmuring soothing words until she softened against him, clinging as though I were not in the room.
Hatred clawed my ribs. They could love each other so easily, and their other children-yet as for me, their firstborn, I was nothing. A burden.
I would not shed tears before my tormentors. I rose, stiff and trembling, and made for the door.
"Do not think this matter finished," Malton said coldly. "You have a week to decide. For your sake, I suggest you choose wisely."
I fled before the tears broke free, stumbling into the corridor. The guards straightened as I passed but did not move. I knew then they saw me not as a princess but as a pawn. A disposable pawn. The halls of Draherne gleamed with painted ceilings and colored glass, but every golden thread felt false, every polished surface a lie.
I pressed my palm to my cheek-Hayana's handprint throbbed like a brand.
Their opinion of me had never changed. They had never loved me. No matter what I did, they never would.
I burst into my room and slammed the door, sinking to the floor. Deep sobs ripped from my chest. A gentle wind came in from the balcony and stirred my hair, as if the city itself breathed on, uncaring of my grief. Ignorant of how their so-called monarchies wanted to use me for their selfish interest-and I suspected most of them wouldn't even care.
Well, if my parents prefer not to see me as their daughter, heaven will have to come down before I do what they ask.
____________________________________________
After that day, everything changed.
I was no longer welcome at the family table. Bland meals were sent to my chamber, delivered under the servants' scornful eyes. Those who had once tripped over themselves to serve me now set the food down with muttered jabs and curled lips. Courtiers who had greeted me with smiles passed me in silence; their gazes had sharpened into contempt.
Yet, nothing cut deeper than my siblings' distance. The warmth I thought I had glimpsed in their laughter and chatter was gone. Regina barely acknowledged me. Gregory's eyes slid past as if I were a stranger. Mina-bubbly Mina-turned her back with a sneer.
Never had I felt more alone. Aunt Martha was not here to soothe me, to murmur her stubborn encouragements, to remind me I was more than what the world chose to see. There was no one. Only silence.
I kept to my chambers, eating quietly, ignoring barbed words. As the week's deadline drew near, they brought me leverage.
Two days before my time was up, Aunt Martha appeared at my door.
My heart leapt. For a breathless moment I thought the nightmare was over. Here was the woman who had carried me through storm-tossed nights, who told me I was wanted when no one else dared. Her lined face was the same, softened by kindness-yet her eyes would not meet mine.
"Child," she said, voice rough. "We must talk."
Something withered inside me at that tone. I rose, reaching for her hand. "Auntie-"
She stepped back.
The rejection cut deeper than Hayana's slap.
"Please," I whispered. "Don't tell me you're on their side."
Aunt Martha's mouth pinched as if my words pricked her. "I know what you're thinking, Tres. But trust me-you must agree to what they ask."
The floor fell away beneath me.
"You too?" My voice cracked.
Her silence was the worst answer.
I paced before the fire. "Do you know what they asked of me? Do you know what they mean to use me for?"
"I do," she breathed, ragged.
"And you expect me to agree?" My laugh was brittle, almost a sob. "To let them sell me like cattle?"
She winced, then spoke with a steadiness that did not reach her eyes. "This is not about you alone. Draherne cannot stand against Xenios without allies. If you refuse, you condemn thousands."
"And why should I care?" I spun on her. "Why should I give my life for people who don't know me or accept me? Why should I care if they suffer?"
"Because you're their princess, Tres. It's your responsibility to protect them."
"M-my responsibility?" I spluttered, disbelief tangling my words. "My parents never made me known to them. For years they abandoned me, kept me in a cottage far from the court to rot. Like a fool I begged for a scrap of their affection, but they never gave it-because to them I'm nothing more than a mistake, a secret no one must know about. And now that they're in trouble, they want me to help, and I'm just supposed to accept? No. Never."
Her hands trembled. "Tres. Listen. This marriage is not a choice. Do you even know who they want you to marry?"
I froze. "No. They didn't say."
Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "It's King Vityior of Hargesia. The Blood Butcher."
The name struck like a thunderclap.
A chill gripped my spine. I had heard the tales: the tyrant king who ruled the far northern peninsulas with elemental powers that curdled the blood; who bathed in the gore of his enemies after battle; whose wrath left no survivors. His brides-three before me-were said to be dead within a week of their arrival to Hargesia. And my parents wanted me to join them?
"No..." The word scraped from my throat. I stumbled until the cold wall struck my shoulders. "No, they wouldn't. They can't mean for me to marry that monster."
Aunt Martha's eyes glistened. "It is already done. Draherne needs his armies. Without him, Xenios will crush us within the year."
"Then let him!" I cried. "Let Xenios burn this kingdom to ash! I would sooner see it fall than give myself to that demon."
"Tres." Her voice broke as she seized my shoulders. "If you refuse, they will not let you live. You will not return to the cottage. You will not return anywhere. This is not survival they offer-it is the only survival you are allowed."
Her words slammed into me like a verdict.
My hands shook. "They'll kill me," I whispered.
Aunt Martha's silence was confirmation.
I staggered away, terrifying visions rising unbidden in my mind: of a towering shadow with a maniac smile, coming at me in the bridal room, holding a huge sword glinting in the dark. To cut off my neck. Or to brutally mutilate me.
Yet, beneath the terror that threatened to swallow me, anger coiled-hot, bitter, unrelenting.
"I hate them," I said at last, low and shaking. "I hate them with everything in me."
Aunt Martha's face crumpled. Whether with sorrow, pity, or shame, I no longer cared.
I was lost. Afraid. Furious.
____________________________________________
Forcing Aunt Martha to deliver their threat was not enough.
They wanted my humiliation displayed before the entire court.
The great hall blazed with torchlight; chandeliers dripped with jewels. Nobles crowded the chamber in a tide of silks and furs, faces lit with avid expectation as though they had come for theater. My theater.
I stood on the dais, trapped in a tight gown made with gold silk, its bodice crushing my lungs. The crown on my head felt like a shackle. Even the jewels at my wrists felt like chains.
"Behold," King Malton's voice rang, commanding. "Our firstborn, Tres of Draherne. She is the bride chosen for the mighty King of Hargesia, whose armies shall march with us to fight our enemies."
A murmur rippled through the crowd-not admiration, but derision.
"Who would have thought a stunning woman like Queen Hayana could birth this... cow?" a woman whispered loud enough for me to hear. "No wonder they hid her."
"Perhaps it's her curse that brought Xenios upon us," a man sneered. "If she had never been born, none of this would have happened."
"Distasteful thing," another lord drawled. "But perhaps the Blood Butcher won't care for beauty. At least not for long."
Laughter broke out-sharp, merciless.
My throat burned. I clenched my hands until crescents of blood marked my palms. I would not cry. Not here.
I glanced at my family. King Malton reclined in triumph, as though this degradation were his victory. Queen Hayana sat carved from stone, unreadable. Regina and Gregory stood polished, distant, strangers cloaked in royal robes. And Aunt Martha-my beloved Aunt Martha-lingered at the back, eyes downcast, lips pressed tight. She would not look at me.
I was utterly and devastatingly alone.
"Bow," King Malton commanded softly, his smile fixed for the crowd.
I did not move.
His eyes darkened. "Bow, daughter. Show the court your gratitude for this honor."
Gratitude. For being sold.
The silence thickened. Courtiers leaned forward, savoring the spectacle.
At last, I bent-stiff, shallow. Humiliation seared through me.
Applause thundered-mocking, jeering, as though I were an animal forced to dance.
"Rise," King Malton said. "And remember, Tres-you are Draherne's salvation. Do not shame us again."
The word shame cut deeper than any blade.
A herald stepped forward, scroll unfurled. "By decree of the crown of Draherne, Tres of Draherne shall depart at dawn to wed His Majesty King Vityior of Hargesia. Long may their union bring peace and power to this realm."
The crowd roared its approval, though the sound rang hollow-a chorus of cruelty.
As they cheered I whispered to myself, so softly no one could hear:
"You may have sold me. You may strip me of name, dignity, freedom. But I will make you regret it."
I lifted my head and met the blur of jeweled faces, their laughter ringing in my ears.
Let them laugh. Let them sneer.
One day, I will repay them back for all the hurt and pain they have caused me.
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