TWENTY-SEVEN
THE DOOR DID NOT OPEN AGAIN UNTIL DAWN PEEKED in through the window. The king strode in, surrounded by guards.
“Aurora,” he said with a smile, as though they were meeting for a casual breakfast and a chat. “I trust you slept well. Big day today!” He clapped a friendly hand on her shoulder, his thumb digging into her neck. “Are you ready for your wedding?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said. Her voice barely shook.
“Excellent,” he said. “Excellent. Well, we had better get you cleaned up, if you are to look beautiful for the crowd. Guards, take her to my own chambers. We can’t have all the dust in this tower ruining her dress, and we wouldn’t want anyone to get the chance to interrupt our happy day before it has begun, now, would we?”
She sank into a curtsy, trying to breathe through her clenched teeth. Pretending was easier, now that she was resolved, now that she knew what she wanted and needed and planned to do. One guard took either arm, the others walking so close that she almost tumbled over her own feet to keep pace with them as they climbed down the winding staircase, through empty corridors, and toward the king’s private rooms.
Guards blocked the door, inside and out. They stood by the screen as a girl—another stranger—bathed her and changed her into her wedding dress. They hovered by her shoulder as the maids arranged her hair. Keep smiling, she told herself. Keep pretending. Wait for the right moment.
Someone knocked sharply on the door, and a guard wrenched it open. Prince Finnegan entered. Aurora struggled to keep her expression neutral, but her throat tightened in panic. Had something gone wrong with their plan? Or was he already planning to betray her?
“I wish to give my regards to the princess,” he said to the guard who hovered by her shoulder. “Wish her luck on this most joyous of days.” The guard nodded—he could hardly refuse—and Finnegan swept forward to take Aurora’s hand. “You are a vision, Aurora.”
The guards were watching them closely. She sank into a curtsy, letting her curls fall over her eyes.
“I bought you a gift,” he said. A necklace looped through the fingers of his free hand. A small silver dragon hung from the chain, wings unfurled, head thrown back in a silent roar. Light reflected off the delicate, fearsome detail in its neck, creating the illusion that it was shifting, rippling like water. Its eyes gleamed red. “A small trinket from my kingdom,” he said. “It will tell anyone who sees it that you are a true friend of Vanhelm, and of mine.” He spoke kindly, casually, but his intent hovered beneath, sharp and sure. Wear this, he said, and I will know you. Seal our deal with this. “May I?”
She nodded, too tense to speak. He slipped behind her, brushing her hair aside, allowing his hands to linger at the nape of her neck as he fastened the clasp. The dragon was surprisingly warm against her skin. It settled above her heart.
“It suits you.”
She gave him another curtsy. “Thank you for your kindness,” she said. “It—it is beautiful.”
“Ah, but not as beautiful as you.” He raised her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss against her skin. His fingers curled along the inside of her palm, and something small and rough fell into the curve of her knuckles. His grin was decidedly mischievous as he stepped back. “Enjoy your day,” he said. “I will count the moments until we meet again.”
“It will be a pleasure,” Aurora murmured. She clutched whatever he had placed in her hand—parchment, it felt like. I need him, she thought, as he bowed and turned to leave. He was loathsome where Rodric was sweet, but maybe to do the right thing, she would have to be loathsome too. She slipped the piece of parchment underneath the thick, pearly ribbon around her waist.
The queen appeared a few minutes later. She too was closely trailed by a guard. She stared at Aurora with her clear brown eyes, her face wan with grief, a pinch in her lips.
“You look beautiful, dear,” she said, running a hand through Aurora’s curls. She sounded almost sad. “You will make a lovely bride.”
Aurora stared at her own reflection. She looked pale, pained, white skin hidden behind gleaming golden curls. The perfect tragic princess. Not exactly a happy ending, she thought. But perhaps people would not notice. Or perhaps they would not care. As long as they got one story or another.
One of the guards put a firm hand on her arm. “Time to go, Princess,” he said. She nodded, and her suffocating escort led her out into the corridors again. She kept her head down, letting her curls hide her face. Her heartbeat quaked. The world felt sharp, each second distinct and new, but the guards left her no room to breathe, forcing her along at a stumbling pace. In the time it took to blink, she was standing in the entrance hall of the castle, and the king had his arm around the curve of her waist, his fingers digging into her stomach. She struggled to stop herself from flinching away.
“Come along then, my dear,” he said with the same hungry smile as before. “Let’s make you one of the family.”
Disgust rose in her throat, and she bit the inside of her lip, trying to catch the feeling, build it into something she could use. Not helpless. Angry. Blood rushed through her ears, drowning out the comments of the guards and the roar of the crowd and the music floating in through the doors.
She felt herself moving forward, through the doors and out into the sunlight. Spots burst before her eyes. A huge crowd had gathered in the square, climbing on rooftops, spilling out into the streets beyond, but they were much farther back than the last time Aurora had stood here, separated from the royal family and the rows of honored, noble guests by a wall of guards. She looked over the crowd, and saw a boy who might have been Tristan, but he was too far away for her to be certain. She tore her eyes away from him. He was not part of this now.
Rodric stood at the top of the steps, underneath an archway of roses that looked as though it had fallen out of an illustration in her book. He did not turn to look at her as she approached.
She reached for his hand, slipping her fingers between his own. She felt a rush of something in her chest—of gratitude, of friendship, of remorse for what she was about to do. She could not tell him now. She could not apologize. But at least she could give him something like good-bye.
She let go.
“I have something to say,” she said. She spoke so quietly that she doubted many people heard her, but Rodric stared down at her, and the king stepped closer, his hand curling under her lowest rib.
“Now, now, my dear,” he said. “There’ll be time for speeches later.”
“No.” She stepped away from him, her voice louder. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the queen, watching her with a steady expression on her face. “I need to say it now.”
“Aurora,” the king said, reaching for her again, but she slipped away, turning to address the crowd. Everyone was staring at her, and the attention made her stomach constrict, but she pushed back the feeling. She had to do this. She had to.
“I—I am honored that you all came here today,” she said. “And that you have put so much faith in me. Things here—they’re very different from what I remember. And what I’ve been hearing—all I’ve been hearing—is that people want change. No more hunger. No more rebellions. No more wars. And everyone seems to think that I’m the one to change all that.” She could hear every word that she spoke, sharp and clear, ringing out over the crowd, like some other girl was speaking them, some girl who was confident and honest and unafraid. “I don’t know how to change things,” she said. “I don’t know what the right thing to do will be. But I want to help. I want to make things better. And I don’t think—this isn’t the right way.” She glanced at Rodric. He was staring at her, his face pale. “Rodric is wonderful,” she said, “but marrying him . . . it won’t make things better. It won’t change anything. It will only keep things exactly as they have been.” She wanted to speak out against the king, but she swallowed the words. She would be dignified and assured. She would not say anything that he could turn against her. “So I’m leaving,” she said, “until things become clear. Please believe me when I say that I am not abandoning you. But I need to go. I need to find out what the right thing to do will be.”
Silence. Then the king laughed, the sound a little too loud. “Dear Aurora,” he said. “Our bride has cold feet.” He turned to the crowd. “We all must show her our support, help her get over her nerves!”
The crowd did not respond. The king grabbed her arm, squeezing her wrist painfully tight. “You will do as you are told,” he said in a low, threatening voice. “And then you will pay for this little show.”
“No,” she said softly, steadily. “I won’t.” She tugged her arm away, but he did not loosen his grip. “Let me go.” When he squeezed tighter, she said it again, louder, so that everyone could hear. “Let go!” The bones in her wrist seemed to crack under his palm. He killed Isabelle, she thought. He killed her. She would not give in to him.
Magic burst out of her, hot and desperate, shattering an ornate fountain deep in the crowd. It showered everyone with dust and smoke. Flames licked the base of the statue, dancing over the surface of the water. Aurora felt another burn, over her heart, as the dragon pendant flared against her skin. Several people screamed, and then the crowd was moving, shoving and scrambling away from the destruction Aurora had caused.
“Now!” The shout came from one of the guards. Steel glistened. More screaming, louder this time, as half of the guards turned their swords on the others, running blades through throats and eyes. Blood spread onto the stone, followed by clashing metal.
Aurora darted backward, too horrified to think, but the king still held her by the arm, and he yanked her toward him. Cold metal rested against her throat.
“Not so fast, girl,” he said. “You think you can get away with this? You’re going to be sorry you ever opened your mouth by the time I’m done with you.”
Aurora heard a crack, the sound of a boot meeting bone. The king’s dagger clattered to the floor. Rodric—wild-eyed, white-faced Rodric—took several steps back from his father. For no more than a millisecond, their eyes met, and he jerked his head in an almost imperceptible nod. The king fell to the ground, clutching the back of his leg, still shouting. Iris was screaming, while the crowd wailed and metal clashed and the tangy stench of blood hit the air, and Aurora could only think one thing. Run.
In one fluid movement, she snatched the dagger from the ground and sped across the steps, skirts streaming out behind her.
“Stop her!” the king gasped, but the guards were fighting one another, and the nobles were too busy scrambling out of the way to listen. One man lurched toward her, but when Aurora glanced at him, pressure seemed to burst from her chest, and he flew backward, leaving her a clear path into the crowd. Stunned by her own magic, she slipped in a pool of blood, already slightly sticky, but managed to keep her feet, shoving people out of the way with her spare hand and her panic, not able to take in a single thing except that she was moving, she was running, and she could not stop, not for a moment, not for anything.
Several men were sweeping through the streets beyond the square, shoving people back in, trying to contain the violence, but the panicked crowd was trampling them out of the way, pushing and screaming.
She ran. She ran, and she ran, blind and terrified through the streets. Her beautiful dress, glowing white and spattered with red, screamed her name to everyone she passed. Once she was several turns away, she darted into a narrow alley, pressing herself flat against the wall behind some crates, struggling to catch her breath, to understand what she had seen.