Chapter 37-1

Reubinon Palace, Pellarmus. Five days after the attack. I woke to the creak of the bedframe, the dip of my mattress. I smelled the clove and ash scent of her before I even opened my eyes. I squinted through the darkness of my bedroom to find her with her back against my headboard, her green eyes bright in the moonlight cascading through the balcony doors. Outside, even the ocean seemed to calm, grow still. "Isla?" She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as that gaze turned down to me. Her eyes were shining. "I'm sorry—I'm so sorry to wake you. I just...I didn't want to be alone and Annalise...I don't think I can go to her about this. Not—Not yet. I have no one else." Her voice broke over and I pushed myself up, wincing in pain as I slid to sit against the headboard next to her. I took her hand in mine. My voice was rough with sleep and the tears I'd shed only hours earlier as I asked, "What is it? What's happened?" My mind automatically went to Cohen. But surely, if something had happened to him—if he'd died—someone else would have been sent to tell me. Still, by chest seized as I asked, "Has something happened to Cohen?" Isla made a small sound, a strained laugh. "No." She shook her head. "Your prince is just fine. It's me—I'm broken." "Broken?" My eyes darted to one of the candles on my bedside table. I willed fire to the wick and it appeared, casting the room into partial light. I pulled the thin bedsheet higher, covering my bare legs as I turned my gaze once more towards the princess. Isla's throat bobbed as she swallowed. "We are at war, Monroe Benson. My country and your country." Those emerald eyes slid to mine. "And wars have costs. And someone's got to pay them. The money to fund a war does not come from nowhere. It comes from treaties and well-made matches." She fell silent, as if she expected me say something in response. When I didn't, only tightened my hold on her hand, she said, "Britta did not come with a dowry. Her kingdom, her country, is my brother's reward for marrying her. It's a reward he doesn't yet have. One he will have to win. Their marriage...it is like most marriages for people like us. People with crowns. It came with strings attached. Valuable strings." She was speaking in riddles and it reminded me of that day when she's caught me looking for Kai. She'd spoke in riddles then too, not fully saying what she knew to be true. Back then, I think she'd done that to protect me from any listening ears. Now, I wondered who her vagueness protected. I got the sense that she was afraid to speak plainly—not because anyone was listening, but because to admit the truth of whatever was upsetting her would only make it more real. I cleared my throat. "What's happened, Isla?" I'd seen Isla smoke many cigarettes, but I'd never seen her look like she needed a smoke more than she did in that moment. "He—He's giving me to Haniver." "Haniver?" I asked, confused. "Isn't that..." I thought about it, considered what I knew. "You mean the kingdom in the Scattered Isles?" She racked a hand through her dark hair. "It's what he was doing today. He signed the papers. Signed me away and didn't even—Darragh—Darragh signed me away before he even gave me the chance to meet—to argue—I—Oh, gods, Monroe...I can't even believe it." She shook her head, her eyes closed tight against a new wave of tears. "And I just stood there. I was so stunned, so stupidly stunned. When I got to the throne room and saw him and he told me..." She shook her head. "He was so nice and he had no idea I hadn't been told already. Justinian had no idea that I didn't—that we were—that I'd been—And Annalise. How am I going to tell—" "Isla, slow down. You're going to make yourself sick." Each breath was a gasp as she said, "He—He kissed my hand and—and introduced himself as my betrothed and I—Monroe, I just stood there. I just stood there gaping at him. And—And then Darragh got there and I thought—It had to be a mistake. It had to be." My mouth fell open as all of it came crashing down on me. "Darragh made an arranged marriage for you and he didn't tell you about it?" A groan bubbled from her chest. "Oh, Isla." I wrapped my arms around her shoulders, pulling her against me. She didn't fight me, just curled inward on herself, her entire body trembling with gut-wrenching sobs. I stroked a hand down her hair. "Why? Why would he do that?" Her voice was hollow as she said, "Troops. He—Darragh received news from his spies in Erydia that the king has rallied his forces—that he's pulled his troops from Vayelle and is preparing to strike out at us." Isla's voice shook slightly as she explained, "Darragh can't afford for the fight to come here. Because of Britta, the majority of our forces are already in Erydia—hidden in plain sight. And we can't get any more troops there in less than two weeks—most will take the full three weeks to make the crossing if the weather isn't steady. But with Haniver as an ally—they're closer to Erydia, only four days journey with good ships. And they can move now, if Darragh wills it. If nothing else, they can intercept the Erydian ships—which your king will not expect." "So, he wants you to marry who? The prince of Haniver? The king?" "The prince. Prince Justinian." She exhaled a sharp breath against my shoulder as she said, "I told Darragh that I would help in whatever way I could. I—I'd hoped he would pull me into the fight. I was trained to lead and could easily take charge of one of our legions or..." She shook her head. "But he found another use for me." "Did you confront him? After you met with the prince, I mean." She nodded. "We argued. We said hateful things to each other—I said hateful things to him. But it doesn't matter. There's nothing to be done about it. Not now. The treaty has already been signed. The date has been set. I—" She swallowed and lifted her head to look at me. "I leave for Haniver in three days." I blinked at her, too stunned for words. It didn't seem possible that someone's life could be altered so permanently, so quickly. Just that afternoon, she'd been smoking a cigarette and telling me about her relationship with Annalise. I wondered if this was why the healer had wanted to keep Isla at arm's length. Maybe Annalise had had the foresight that Isla lacked. After all, wasn't this the expected fate of princesses? Wasn't this what Britta had gone to do? She'd married for her country. For an army and a treaty and hope. And even though no one had ever spoken of it in front of me, there had always been this understanding that it would happen that way for Uri too. One day, she would have been expected to put her wildness aside and marry someone—probably a stuffy prince from some far-off land who wouldn't understand her and wouldn't care to. Wars did not come without prices, but being royal didn't come without a price either. And now Isla was set to pay for her riches, for the life of luxury she'd led. As I looked at her puffy, red eyes and her mussed hair, it struck me that Isla and I held the same fated hand of cards and yet we'd played them so differently. I'd once stood poised to marry a prince. It hadn't necessarily been an arranged marriage in the typical sense, but it might as well have been. If I'd won the Culling, I'd have ended up married to Cohen—who at the time was the heir and soon-to-be King of Erydia. Even if he was wicked. Even if he was horrible and terrible, the sort of man who beat his wife, I'd have had to marry him. Suddenly, my mind went to a different conversation. I thought of Cohen's suspicions, how he'd started to remember bits of his childhood, things that pointed to Viera being hurt by the king. Cohen had once told me that she always wore long sleeves, even when it was hot outside. And then Leighton's story—how he'd said she'd had bruises, how she'd been broken. Die or be queen. I'd thought that was the choice. But maybe it had been a different choice for Viera—a different reality. Die quickly in the arena or die slowly in the bed of a king who may never love you.