Every morning that Brea woke in the extravagance of the Fargelsi palace was like fighting a new battle. Forcing herself to rise.
Facing the servants and guards acting as if she'd never left.
And Griff.
With a sigh, she eyed him where he sat across the room. "Are you watching me sleep? Again?" Every time she opened her eyes, the beautiful man she'd once thought she could love stared back at her.
"Just afraid you'll disappear on me." He stood and moved closer, his eyes never leaving her face.
Brea sat up and scooted back until she hit the headboard. "You're creepy. You shouldn't sneak into my room this early in the morning."
"Because you never crept into mine in the middle of the night?" One eyebrow arched, and Brea was hit with a wave of emotions and feelings, cutting the air off from her lungs.
She'd been happy. None of it was real, but it was the first time in her life she hadn't just had to accept her life. She'd enjoyed it. "Griff," she breathed.
"Number eight." He stepped closer to the bed. "That you don't fix your hair at every possible moment." He took a seat on the edge of the bed and reached out to tuck an errant strand behind her ear. "The other ladies of the court worry over their appearances, never leaving a single lock out of place. But you... Even after waking up with the most ridiculously messy hair... It doesn't bother you."
She gripped his wrist and forced it down, wanting to push him away, to tell him nothing he said had any effect on her. In a way, it didn't. She didn't love Griffin O’Shea; she knew that now. But his ten things he loved about her still made her heart skip a beat when most people couldn't even find one. "You missed seven."
He frowned. "I did not. Did you not receive my message?"
"What message?"
"Regan sent me to examine a rift in the barrier near the Northern Vatlands, but instead of a tear, I found Loch and his men."
She nodded, already knowing where this was going. "You were the one who told him Myles was here."
"I also gave him a sealed letter for you. In it was number seven."
Lochlan never mentioned a letter, but she couldn't muster the anger or indignation for him, not when he might be fighting for his life while she sat here with his brother. "What did it say?"
He slid from the bed. "I can't tell you now." He put a finger to his lips.
Brea followed his gaze around the room. She almost forgot her aunt could listen to any conversation that happened in here.
"I've missed you, Brea."
As she stared into his entrancing gaze, she realized she'd missed him too, but not the Griff who'd lied to her or allowed her to be her aunt's pawn.
She missed the guy racing horses across the open land near his cottage, the one with a smile in his eyes and laughter in his voice.
The man who'd made her feel safe when her entire world had been turned upside down.
That version of Griffin O'Shea didn't exist.
"Come here." His eyes pleaded with her.
Against her better judgement, she stood and approached him, letting him pull her into his familiar hug. She breathed in his scent, letting it calm her.
"Meet me in the stables in one hour," he whispered into her hair. "Please."
She nodded against him, not wanting to let go. No matter what Griff had done in the past or his loyalty to her aunt, when he walked out that door, she couldn't help feeling she'd be very much alone in this dangerous palace.
But she'd known from the moment she decided to take Regan's deal, she'd have to do this on her own. Save Myles. Marry Griff. Live her life as a prisoner.
He dropped his arms and stepped back, giving her one final imploring look before leaving her to the silence of her solitude. She flopped back onto her bed, staring into the vines creeping up the walls of the room.
If only Lochlan could see her now.
A few weeks ago, she'd laid beside him, knowing that their one night was the end of something that never really started. Where was he now? She had no doubt the people of Iskalt rose as their true king returned, but would it be enough?
It had to be.
If she was going to spend her life behind the walls of this palace, she had to believe he was out there conquering the world. That was who he was.
A tear raced down her cheek, but she wiped it away. There was no room in her heart for sadness, not when all she wanted was for it to harden into stone. Maybe then, none of this would hurt so much.
Heaving herself out of bed once more, she dressed in her faded leathers and tunic she’d arrived in that one of the triplets had washed. She refused to wear anything in her closet from before.
The guards on the bridge had taken her knife and never returned it. They couldn't have an angry armed princess running around the palace grounds. She kicked the empty sheath across the floor before stomping from the room, the clack of her Eldurian boots against the gleaming floors gave her some sense of satisfaction.
Guards and servants smiled at her as she passed, but just like everything in Fargelsi, there was a forced cheer behind it.
Her stomach rumbled, but she'd barely eaten in the days since she arrived, choosing to hole herself up in her room, sleeping the days away rather than make her way down to the kitchens to fend for herself. The first night at the celebration Regan ordered her to attend, she'd pilfered an unopen bottle of wine from the cellar and gotten sloppy drunk out of spite.
Since then, her aunt hadn't come to see her, which was fine with Brea.
No one stopped her on the way across the falls to the stables, and as she entered, a familiar scent struck her, reminding her of Master Arturo and the ponies. She'd grown to love her life in Eldur, and then it was all torn away.
But she didn't regret it. Not now that Myles and Neeve were safe.
"Brea," Griff hissed, poking his head out from one of the stalls.
She jumped, slapping a hand to her chest. "Are you trying to kill me? Oh wait, do that again. Death might be preferable to being your prisoner."
He opened the stall door and ushered her in before shutting it again. A large white mare Brea didn't recognize stood at the back. "You're not my prisoner."
"Oh really? Then what would you call forced marriage?"
"The deal you made."
"Only because I wanted Neeve released with Myles. I don't want to be your wife, Griffin. Sorry if that hurts your massive ego."
Pain flashed across his face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "Contrary to what you believe, I don't want a wife who hates me. But neither of us have any choice, Brea. All we can do is live with this."
"If that's all you have to say, I have a ceiling to go stare at." She put a hand on the stall door, but Griff's voice held her back.
"Myles got away."
"What?" She twisted to face him once again. "Explain."
"On the way to the cottage, he and Neeve escaped the soldiers guarding them."
Brea slumped against the wall. "You mean Myles is out wandering Fargelsi?" This kingdom was dangerous, deadly. Myles may have been better off as a prisoner.
Griff gripped her shoulders and dipped his head to peer into her face. "He's okay."
"You don't know that."
"I do, actually. Brea, look at me."
She sniffed and lifted her eyes to his.
"He reached the border where the Eldurian scouts found him and Neeve and took them back to camp."
Her breath came in short gasps. "Eldur has them?" Relief flooded through her, but she didn't know if she could trust any of his words. “But how did they get across the border?”
He released her. "Call it an early wedding present."
"You..." She pushed out a breath. "You did this? You opened the border for them?"
"I placed one of my men among their guards. He had orders to look the other way. Regan never would have let you visit them, Brea. The cottage... it wouldn’t be much better than the dungeons. I hate myself for abducting that boy from the human world and dragging him into this. I was only following orders, but maybe this helps make it right."
"Why do you do the awful things you do, Griff?"
Griff peeked out of the stall, eyeing the stable boys shoveling hay into barrels and feeding horses. None of them were close enough to hear. "I have to."
"But you don’t.”
"There are things you do not understand."
"Then explain them to me."
"I can't." He paused. "I came to her when I was two years old, Brea. I love Fargelsi. For all her faults, Regan raised me. She protected me and wanted to make me her heir. I'm going to be the king of Fargelsi. And when that day comes, everything will change."
Brea sighed. "Power attracts the corruptible. Suspect any who seek it." If anyone asked her how she remembered that quote, she wouldn't know. Myles went through a Dune phase and repeated basically anything Frank Herbet ever said in his life. But those words had never seemed truer than in this moment as she stared at a man who could have been good. Griffin O'Shea was sweet and kind and noble.
But he wanted to be king, and that was where each one of those traits ended. He wasn't entitled to a crown or becoming heir for the good of the people. Regan convinced him it would make his life worthy.
"Brea—"
She cut him off with a look. "I'm sad for myself, Griff, but mostly I'm just sad for you." Now that Myles and Neeve were out of harm's way, it no longer mattered what happened to her.
"We have no choice in any of this." He leaned close, dropping his voice. "Brea, we have to make your aunt believe in our happy union."
Brea nodded. He was right. Regan had to think she'd gotten her way—which she had.
And then one day, Brea would get hers.
"Okay, where do we start?"
"A betrothal ceremony."
###
"Where are those triplets when you need them?" Brea grumbled as she pulled her hair free of the braid she'd been trying to wrap around the crown of her head. For most of her life, she'd thrown her hair into a ponytail and called it a day, but that didn't cut it in this fancy-pants world.
"Ugh!" She launched her jeweled comb across the room, and it flew out the door, landing with a crack in the hall.
Brea turned in her seat to find a slender woman standing in the doorway. Her blond hair was pulled back into a low braid worn by many of the servants. A green woolen dress hung off her too-skinny frame like a sack.
"Hello." Brea eyed the scared girl, realizing she knew her.
"It’s you.” Brea stood, her mouth hanging open. The last time she’d see her was years ago in the human world. She’d met her at a coffee shop, and they’d really hit it off and spent the day together. Brea remembered falling asleep watching Netflix with her, but when she woke up the girl was gone, and Brea was convinced it was all a hallucination. She’d forgotten all about that day until she laid eyes on her now. But she couldn’t remember her name.
“I remem—”
“Hello, my Lady," she interrupted, dipping into a curtsy.
“I thought I made you up.” Brea rushed across the room to hug her, but something in the girl’s eyes reminded her they weren’t alone.
"I have been sent to assist you, my Lady."
"Oh.” Brea stopped short, her eyes scanning the room for any sign that Regan was listening. “Thank heavens you’re here. I am completely hopeless with these whacked out fae hair styles."
The maid smiled, but there was something wrong behind it, something broken. Gone was the feisty girl Brea had once hoped to call friend.
The maid turned into the hall and picked up the comb with delicate fingers. Not saying a word, she walked toward Brea and began dragging the comb through her hair.
"Are you my new maid?" Brea stared at her in the looking glass.
"Yes, Lady Brea. The queen would like me to attend you from now on."
Brea almost smiled. Her aunt knew how much the triplets bothered her. But Regan didn't do anything for no reason.
"Please, just call me Brea."
The girl nodded as her deft hands wound Brea's hair into an intricate design over the crown of her head. By the time she was done, Brea was speechless. "How did you—"
Not even Neeve or Rowena would have been able to accomplish such a feat.
"I grew up in a fae court, my Lady." The girl walked toward the white dress that lay spread out on the end of the bed. "We must get you dressed for the ceremony."
Brea stood. "Are you going to tell me your name?" She wracked her brain, trying to remember the girl’s name she met years ago.
"That has been forbidden." Her eyes tightened. "You must speak to me as little as possible."
"But why?"
"Please, let's get you dressed."
"I can get myself dressed. I’d like to know your name, please."
A knock sounded on the door, and Brea yanked it open before the maid could. Griff peered past her into the room with a grim expression. "I was in the hall and heard yelling."
"I wasn’t yelling, and shouldn't you be getting ready for the ceremony?" Brea didn't have any more energy to hate him.
His eyes never left the maid as he wrapped an arm around Brea's back and pulled her close.
She pushed at his chest before remembering what he said about pretending. If she had to shove Lochlan from her mind and play love with Griff to stay alive, she could. This was a dangerous game, and the only way she could win was if she managed to keep her life.
Relaxing into him, she hugged him back.
"I can't wait to make you my fiancé today," Griff said, his voice loud for anyone listening in. Bringing his lips to her ear, he whispered. "Any secret you make your maid confess will cost her. Do not ask her questions."
"Why? What's going on, Griff?"
He released her and stepped back. "I must prepare myself." He put a hand on the door to close it behind him and stopped, turning to face her one last time. His lips formed a single, silent word. One that changed everything.
Alona.
The girl Regan sent to wait on Brea was the missing Eldurian princess, the human raised as fae. The one who had come to visit her in the human world when they were sixteen years old.
Brea turned to stare at her, knowing she'd been living her life for the last few months.
But not anymore. As their eyes met, understanding passed between them. Because they'd been in this together since the moment one baby was exchanged for another.
###
A betrothal ceremony had no real meaning other than a promise—ironic considering all of Griff's broken promises.
There would be no magic binding them together until they were truly wed, but now the people of the three kingdoms would know their intent. Over the next months citizens would trickle into Fargelsi to witness the Iskalt prince marrying the Fargelsian princess. It was a union blessed, and one Regan claimed was unbreakable.
She was probably right.
As Brea stood beside the doors to the garden where the ceremony would take place, she knew there was no going back. She'd made her choice, and it was time to live with it.
Cracks spidered through her heart as she pictured a different O'Shea brother waiting for her among the flowering trees and vine-covered benches. Lochlan would have hated every moment of this elaborate gathering.
Griff reveled in it.
Two brothers, so different in many ways, yet both stubborn and arrogant in the way of princes.
Alona stood behind Brea, a single ally in a sea of enemies. No others crowded the small space. Brea dropped her voice and turned to Alona. "I tried to free you too."
Alona's expression didn't change. She was resigned to her fate, and it broke Brea a little more. "Finn wanted me to tell you you’re in his thoughts."
Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them away. "I wish he'd forget about me completely."
"He loves you."
Alona glanced behind them. "We must not speak of such things, Brea. Not ever."
Brea was about to argue when the heavy garden doors swung open, her cue to enter. No music played as she walked through the gardens, reminding her that this was not a wedding.
She reached the large oak tree shielding Griff from the sun. His auburn hair was combed back away from his face, revealing smooth, clean-shaved skin and sparkling eyes.
His smile lit up his entire face when he saw her, but all she could manage was a nervous twitch of her lips.
Regan stood next to Griff, her beaming smile a contradiction to her duplicitous nature.
No crowds awaited them, only the queen and a single maid. Brea searched for others before her aunt drew her attention.
"The kingdom will bless your marriage with extravagant parties, Brea. But a betrothal is for the earth, the very ground we walk on. Fargelsi receives its magic as a blessing from the land. It is now time for the land to bless your union as well. Come here." She held out a hand, and Brea took it, wondering how she'd once felt comfort in her aunt's touch.
Regan pulled her to stand in front of Griff, and as Brea gazed into his eyes, her heart pounded against her ribs. Because this wasn't right. It wasn't fair or just. People like Regan couldn't win. Guys like Griff shouldn't get the girl.
She wanted so desperately for it to be someone else standing in front of her. Tears built in her eyes as Regan began the blessing. When Griff clasped their hands together, the tears spilled down Brea's cheeks.
Regan wound a lacy bolt of silk over their hands, and Brea couldn't breathe.
For Myles, she told herself. She did this for her best friend, and she'd do it again. But that didn't stop the pain ripping through her heart or the hatred seething in her mind.
Griff acted as if he didn't notice her tears, as if they were the happy tears of a hopeful bride-to-be. His denial would never change the outcome. A part of her would always hate him for not being Lochlan O’Shea.
As Regan finished the blessing, all Brea could think of was that she shouldn't be here. She belonged by Lochlan's side, fighting with the army she'd helped assemble.
Instead, she was a puppet, a pawn.
She met Alona's sad eyes, and it took everything she had to keep from falling to the stone pathway in a garden that wasn't hers. Her garden, her courtyard had a naked man fountain and coins representing every wish she'd tried to force into being.
Now, she had nowhere to put her wishes.
She stumbled back to her room to change before going to the main hall for the lunch celebrating the betrothal. As she crossed the threshold into her room, her legs gave out beneath her, and she fell to the floor, not feeling the impact.
Sobs wracked her body, and Alona's arms came around her, keeping her from collapsing onto her side and curling into a ball like she wanted to do.
"Shhh," Alona whispered. Maybe she was reminding her they were being listened to, or maybe it was just comfort, but Brea didn't want to be quiet. She wanted to rage against Fargelsi and rebel against her aunt. She wanted to ride into battle with the Eldur crest on her chest.
And most of all, she wanted to see Lochlan again. Just once.
They'd had no news out of Iskalt, but he had to be alive. This world wouldn't be right without Lochlan O'Shea barking orders and being his general douchey self.
She wouldn't be right.
"I love him," she whispered as more tears clogged her throat.
"Me too," Alona answered.
They were speaking of different men they might never see again, but in that, they were together.
Two girls trapped in a foreign palace with no light to guide them home.