Remember to act like my future consort.
What would a woman married to him do? She would keep her mouth shut.
The walls press close again. The food turns to ash in my mouth. Guilt claws into my throat, but before I can muster another apology, Arion’s voice cuts through the conversation, smooth and calm, a blade of silk.
“That will do, Lady Ceryth.”
The woman snaps her mouth shut, but the fury doesn’t leave her eyes. She sits back, chest rising and falling, her attention fixed on me as if she would burn me to cinders if she could.
“I, for one, can admire that she chose an elf over a human. Admirable attempt at loyalty,” the royal physician cuts back in.
I lower my gaze, realizing that my best efforts at trying not to tremble have failed. The bodice of my gown feels heavier than before,like a chain dragging me down. I shift my legs and feel them tangle up in the train.
The conversation resumes naturally after another scolding from the king. Every laugh feels like it has been doubled in weight. I keep my face composed, my hands folded neatly in my lap, but inside, I am unraveling.
I finish the second course, only for more servants to enter with more polished silver dishes. A platter of jeweled fruit is set before me. I pick up one of the berries with a spoon. My teeth sink into its flesh, tart and sweet, but the taste does nothing to ease my discomfort.
“Is the food to your liking, Arlet?” Arion says conversationally, leaning closer. I can smell something strong and astringent. I look up at him, finding his closeness increasingly repulsive.
He’s made me kill so many people to be with him. When will it end?
“It is delicious, my king,” I respond.
He smiles and retreats.
My thoughts spin to the nuptials, the looming ceremony I cannot escape. I can hardly stand to be close to him right now. How will I embrace him? Kiss him? Sleep with him?
I think of how I will look, and how the court will perceive me—a human draped in silks paraded down aisles of sneers and whispers. A wedding not of devotion, but of possession. Already they mock my body, my voice, my every breath. What cruelty will they carve into me when I stand before them as consort?
The meal stretches on, interminable. My hunger, barely satiated, fades into nausea. I smile, bow my head when laughter grows too loud, but each moment is a test of endurance.
When the final course is cleared and goblets drained, Arion rises. “You have seen her,” he announces to the room, his hand brushing the back of mine possessively. “You have heard her voice. Soon, she will be more than a guest—she will be bound to me, to this empire, as consort. I will not hear even a whisper of dissent. Such talk would be treason. Remember, a decision against me and my wisdom goes against Doros’s own wisdom. The meal isfinished.”
The words hang in the air with finality. Each of them nods, then voices their agreement, followed by the gentle rustling of chairs on the rug as the elves begin to rise.
I stand as well, bowing my head. I think of the faces of the women I saw earlier, the dressmakers. Death clings to me, a shadow I hadn’t meant to summon, yet cannot shake.
The elves disperse in twos and threes, their voices hushed, their glances sharp. Servants whisk away the dishes. Soon, the hall empties, leaving only Arion and me, along with the guards by the door.
I wait to be dismissed. Wish someone would come and take me away.
He studies me, his smile now dimmed. “You disappointed me tonight.”
I don’t know whether to be surprised or angry. “I was well-behaved. I tried?—”
“Tried.” He steps closer, his presence consuming. “But trying is not enough. You started well, but then you learned about the dressmakers, and you flinched, you faltered. You let them see weakness, and I saw the words dance in your eyes. You wanted to blamemefor a choiceyoumade.”
“I didn’t know what would happen to them,” I respond. “It was not me who gave the order for the others to be executed.”
“You didn’t?” he responds. “Did Thorne not tell you to choose one to be your servant?”
I hesitate. “…Yes.”
“And did you not choose one of them that pleased you?”
“I did,” I manage, and then burst out with, “But I was never made aware of the severity of the choice. You?—”
“Arlet.” My name is crisp and cold on his tongue. “I know how much time you spent reading in the under mountain. Such a useless habit for a pretty face.” He brushes my cheek with the back of his hand, the touch deceptively tender. “Ignorance does not absolve you. You are mine now. Knowledge will not save you, only I can. You will rely on me, or I will make your life an unspeakable horror. Do you understand?”