Chapter Eleven

  The Dreadful Marriage of Fair Lady Nephis Flores

  Nephis nested her head within her mother’s breast, wishing time could stop forever, that the days to come should lose their way. But the world is never so generous. Nothing is ever as it should be. They sat alone in the Empress’ chambers, a room full of wonder, shining with the treasures of her faraway home. In the dim candlelight of night, Nephis could rest for a moment, her mind cast back to the days she rested upon the warm skin of her mother and had no worry. She smelled of flowers, sweet and pale.

  “I was the same as you, before my wedding day,” her mother tried to lessen her fears.

  Nephis looked up to see her. The Empress was a beautiful woman, even in her aging. She was as pale as the lily, and veiled with long, ebony hair – like delicate lace draping down onto the floor. But it was her eyes that had captured her husband; they were thin and regal, like tethers to the gaze. All who saw her were sure they had seen a living painting.

  “So do not fret,” her mother cooed.

  “It is not the same,” Nephis mourned, burying herself in Mother’s long neck.

  “I suppose not,” her mother sighed and gently stroked her daughter’s head.

  “Then change his mind!” Nephis pleaded, “He will listen to you, he always does . . .”

  “Not always.” The Empress smiled sadly at her poor daughter, off to wed a man no one should. Indeed, for the Empress had already begged her husband and begged him again, but he would not be moved.

  Nephis’ heart fell even further than it already had.

  The Empress gently took her cheek and pulled her dour gaze into her warm eyes, which glowed like light upon amber. “My Nephis, do you know why I named you so?”

  Nephis slowly shook her head. Father had insisted on naming all the sons good, strong Maldavian names, so that they might be accepted by the people they would rule over. But he allowed Mother to name the daughters however she pleased.

  “When you were born, the wet nurses told me that thirteen was an unlucky number in these lands,” she began in a gentle, hushed teaching voice, “And as the thirteenth child, you were subject to an unlucky fate. You were already light in my womb, and I was afraid. But you were born, the smallest of all my children. And seeing you were mine to name, I named you for a flower of the mountains, one said to protect travelers and bring their wishes true,” she paused to move the hair from Nephis’ eyes. “And that gift, for every name is a gift, has protected you all these years and has brought you many good things. So, my precious mountain flower, my Nephis, when you find yourself in the darkness, do not despair, for I named you.”

  And for the last time, Nephis slept in her mother’s arms.

  Early in those days, Cevril Flores arrived at the palace in Kolina. At his coming was little accolades or trumpeting. Instead, he softly slipped into the white castle like a shade. Cevril was the fourth-born child of the Emperor, and bore his shrewd and counting eyes. He was a tall man with broad arms. There was not a wrinkle in his clothes to be found, nor a hair out of place. Yet, despite his stature and kingly guise, few of the palace’s servants even noticed him.

  Cevril stood before his little sister’s room, a small box in his hands, and knocked softly. But no answer came. Puzzled, he peered into the room to find it empty, an unusual thing indeed.

  But no sooner from him stepping out, did a voice call from down the hall, “Cevril? Is that you?” Nephis, now some years grown, ran to greet her older brother. Her hair was longer, her once sharp expression was now weary and wet, but for a moment was bright with that old excitement.

  “Nephis,” he greeted her gently, “I heard the good news.”

  “Oh,” her shoulders slumped, “I suppose you did.”

  “Why are you so dour!” he asked, “Cetryl is a rich and beautiful land, you should be happy it will be ours without a drop of blood, and all because of you. You are a hero!”

  “Yes, I suppose only a hero could marry the Duke of Cetryl,” she wryly joked.

  Cevril laughed. But seeing she was still morose, he stopped. “Here, I’ve brought you a gift. There is more to come, but I thought you should have these first.”

  The box was made of olive wood, pale as honey with grains that flowed like violent waters, no doubt cut from a troubled tree. She slid off the lid to reveal a small collection of candies. They were like candles made from dark, soft glass and stuffed with nuts. She cocked her head before remembering them, and she laughed at the irony of it. It had been a very long time since she had seen them.

  “Have you been all the way to Chan’ra again? I swore you hated it there,” she asked, “The last time I remember these is when you returned from your hostage.”

  “No,” he answered with a tired grin, “I never wish to return there, if I can help it. But I thought, given the occasion, they were right. These walnut candies were the only thing I enjoyed there, cesizli shama, in their own tongue, they were the first words I made sure to learn. No, I had my servants learn to make them; it was much quicker than bringing them from Ebedi Devlit.” He paused. “You are going on a hostage of your own, one that will change you and teach you many things. I wanted to remind you of that.”

  But his kind words did not sit well with Nephis. She recalled the day he returned from those faraway lands, changed, different, never again the same. They seemed even heavier now, and she held it at her belly. Even still, her gaze was lost in the candies, and her mind echoed with better days. “Cevril,” she asked, “Would you play with me? One last time?”

  “Play?” he asked in a click, “You are nineteen and nearly twenty, and you want to play? Are you still a child?” he asked in laughter.

  “I would like to be, for a while longer,” she admitted, “Before I am to become a woman.”

  A somber shadow fell upon her brother’s face as he looked into his sister’s sorrowful eyes. “Very well, but I am not as young as I used to be. My back is getting old, and my fingers are stiff from years of inaction.”

  Nephis sat as poor Cevril worked his great fingers into weaving together a crown of daisies and crocus with sharper skill than he had given himself credit for. Her mind still humming from the day he brought her the walnut candies. She remembered clearly, though she was quite young, how changed he seemed upon his return. His face and eyes were sharper, his expression darker. He stood taller then, but had lost all warmth. It was as if he had grown a wall of thorns all around him, and when he looked at her for the first time, it was as if he saw a corpse. He was not the same Cevril that she knew years ago. But then, as now, he had brought her something he loved. And Nephis took a nibble, it was as sweet and nutty as then, but it was the tartness, the sourness that she recalled the most and still disliked.

  “There you are,” he announced, and placed the mangled crown on her hair. “Your majesty,” he bowed.

  She laughed lightly, “Thank you, good sir,” she praised him, feigning a curtsy. But her joy was caught in her throat. “Cevril, I am to be married soon, to a most horrid man. What am I going to do?” Nephis asked, her voice shaking in desperation.

  “Cetryl is a good land, one Father has wanted terribly for a long while now. There is no knowing how much blood he will spill to take it, once he is finished with the barbarians in the North. How much blood? How many men would be spent to take it? I don’t think there is an answer-” he began, but seeing the pitiful brown eyes of his little sister, he stopped himself. “You truly do not wish to marry the Duke, do you?” he asked.

  “There is nothing I want less,” she answered, her voice bouncing and fading in the tall ceiling, and then, more quietly, “I would sooner die, but I fear it.”

  Cevril leaned on his arm and stared off from her. And Nephis watched, as from beneath his hand he was mouthing words, as if he were counting. Though what, she could not know. “There may be a way,” he muttered, “I do not know the Duke, but there may be a way for you to rid yourself of this marriage without Father,” he said.

  “And?” Nephis clung to his voice.

  “It will not be easy, I suspect. The Fair Lady Nephis Flores is a prize like no other,” he teased, “You will need him to end it, himself.”

  “And how can I do that?” she asked.

  “You must be very unlike yourself,” he teased again, “You must be a most wretched maiden, an unweddable, foul, sordid creature that no self-respecting man would dare associate himself with. But I must warn you, Father will be furious. Like nothing you have ever seen, I expect,” he warned.

  “I will do it,” she snapped.

  “And I will help you,” he promised with a sly grin, “But it must be you that does the devil’s work.”

  Nephis felt a light in her chest for the first time in days. “There will be a banquet tomorrow, much of the family, Duke Valeriu, and the lords of Kolina will be here. It is to be the official announcement of the wedding. Though nearly everyone already knows, I suspect.”

  “Very good, then, a lady who embarrasses her lord at dinner is a most nasty thing indeed. Especially a lordling with a reputation to keep,” he said, “Well, let us prepare then, we have only a day.”

  And all night they schemed of the best way to shatter to duke’s desire.

  And that night, the Empress pleaded again with her lord.

  “My dear,” she said with sad eyes, “Are you certain about the Duke and Nephis?” She hates him. She has never rejected a suitor so fast. Why him? There are other men with holdings, decent men, good men, men not so-” she was interrupted.

  “Again with this?” he snapped, his eyes nearly bloodshot with weary annoyance. “Are you also against me?”

  “I am not,” his dear wife replied gently, “I will follow wherever you go, through fields or flames. But is this best for our daughter? She is scared of him!”

  “Enough!” he demanded, his face twisting in hesitation and fury. “I know that Duke Valeriu is not an ideal man for love. But I did not choose him lightly, or without reason. Our daughter is reckless. I cannot let her roam freely! She must be wed. I know she does not wish to be, not to any many I can provide. But the Duke is not well. He will be dead in a few years. And then all his holdings will be hers to do with as she pleases. She will not fret over finding the most perfect suitor then,” he explained, and breathed, the air from him was burning.

  “And what if he is not dead soon?” the Empress pleaded, throwing herself on him, “And what of the years now? The years she must bear with him?”

  “Am I to be at war in even my own house?” he shouted, “Nephis will marry the Duke! I have spoken.”

  And the Empress nodded her head and was quiet once more.

  The hours and night passed, and the time of celebration came. A dinner would be held for all the lords and ladies of the city, held in honor of the Emperor’s daughter’s long-awaited marriage. The palace was swarming with courtiers, and those fortunate enough to be invited to the table proper were ferried into a grand hall, whose vaulted ceilings could not keep secrets, carrying any word spoken within far and wide. Banquet tables were set in the center of the room, and on them were placed every wonderful thing. Plates of pure and shining gold were set before every guest. The food was hearty and rich as cream. For food or events to come, it was a dinner to be remembered.

  Many of the Emperor’s own children were in attendance, all sitting together at the table of honor, which sat before the strongest wall. Their long table was veiled in lace and silver; it sparkled in candlelight, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. There were seats for each of the family behind it, but in the center were four still-empty thrones, so that the new family might look out upon all the lords and ladies of the land. And the center-most thrones were greater than the others, wreathed in red and white flowers, these were the seats for the betrothed.

  “Duke Valeriu of Cetryl!” the crier announced as the lord entered and made his way to his seat in the center. As he walked, he smiled gently at the applause. His leering, serpentine tongue was set away, and through a noble veil, he seemed a perfect gentleman.

  “Fair Lady Nephis Flores, Duchess of Marisal,” the crier called, and the princess entered in all grace. There was a fire within her eye,s and her heart pounded in her chest so terribly she thought it would erupt. Despite this, she managed to keep a cold, distant expression upon her face, even upon seeing Cevril wink at her. Then began the first murmuring. The Fair Lady did not sit in the center throne, but sat one off, a seat away from her betrothed. Her eldest brother, a man she hardly knew, leered at her in confusion, but kept on as if nothing was wrong.

  “The Empress and the High King Aoth of Ontéle, Emperor of Maldava, Lord of all of Radina!” at the crier’s announcement, all stood to greet him. And he and his wife entered from the far room and slowly attended to his table. Seeing where Nephis sat, the king’s eyes flared with white anger. Yet he kept on and did not scold her, or even say a word, but he and his wife each sat on either side of the Duke as if nothing at all had happened. And once the room was silent again, the king stood to speak.

  “Honored subjects, were are all here to celebrate the long-awaited marriage of my dearest daughter, Nephis. It was indeed a struggle to find her a suitable lord, and after much searching, I have brought her the Duke of Cetryl, so that our people and families might become one,” he began in a cool and powerful voice. “Another banner will join the dragon! And as the wealth of an accomplished sorceress will make mightier the Valeriu blood, so will all of Radina share in the silvered blood of Ceytrl.” The crowd celebrated, and those who knew the truth of the dragon Gorynych mourned poor Valeriu, for the old dragon’s blood preferred the sons and daughters of kings, to make defenders and advisors. He cared little for silver lords. But the dragon would make good use of the lordling’s land.

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  And so, dinner was served. A hot and shimmering soup sat before Nephis, so well diced were its onions and meat, that it seemed uniform. And in that sameness, the fat of the meat shone, reflecting the princess’ nervous face back at her, as she readied to make a fool and a sow of herself. The dinner guests of the king all merrily continued in their conversations until the room was silenced by slurping and smacking. Nephis drained the bowl, having thrown aside her spoon, the hot puree spilling down her front. It might have been delicious, but she did not give a moment to taste it. Her throat and fine, green dress were stained a dull orange as she lapped up her dinner. The courtiers stared dumbfounded as she tossed her golden bowl aside to rip a haunch of pork from its platter, heaving it with both hands as she gnawed into the thick skin. No one dare say a word, certain if they jeered, it would be the end of them. For her father, the Emperor, was fuming. To him, nothing else in the world existed but this slight.

  But it was when she took to drinking straight from the wine pitcher that he finally burst, “NEPHIS!” he bellowed, “What is this? Stop, lest I-”

  He was interrupted by the Duke himself, “Forgive my interruption, your majesty. But I do not mind a hearty eater, as you might imagine,” he said serenely, patting his overfull stomach. “It is only a compliment to your cooks!”

  Before her father could reprimand her again, Nephis took the opportunity to jab, “You would know a thing about gusto, lord,” she spat at him, flecks of food flying across the table, splattering the Duke, his plate, and his shirt.

  And her eyes fell further down the table to her older siblings. The twins were for the first time black and white. Mirella stared in horror, while Grigore snickered, barely able to contain himself. Her eldest brother, the Prince Royal, motioned over her shoulder to their father, trying to ask what he should do. The youngest of the siblings, Aurel – for his hair was like gold – looked on in innocent wonder. But before anyone could truly respond, her little sister Colina slid from under the table and ran to Nephis. “Stop this, Nephis!” she cried, “You’re going to embarrass yourself!”

  Too late for that. She thought to herself. “This mess is not even an ounce of your foul nature!” Nephis snapped at her fiancé again.

  The Emperor opened his mouth to perhaps reprimand his daughter or end the situation where it stood, but before a word left his mouth, Cevril saw to interrupt him. “Duke! Duke! A boon!” he cried.

  The Duke turned in confusion, “Yes?”

  “I wish to know my sister is to marry a wise man. How much gold should be in the Solis coin? Is it now too much or too little?” Indeed, Cevril nearly shouted the line, and such a strange one was it that even the Emperor forgot his words. Nephis' heart swelled again; perhaps it really was working.

  Once the Duke found his bearings, he sputtered and turned the great wheels within him to find an answer, “The solis are pure gold? No? The currency seems- is stable enough, so perhaps it would be good to leave them as they are.”

  “Gormless!” Nephis erupted, leaning over the table to berate him, “And a coward too, answering with nothing!” she stuck her cardamom stained nose up at him, “Leave the solis as it is? And let our soldiers starve? We are in the midst of battles on the far reaches, the last thing we need to struggle to mint the coins that feed them!” she paused, the crowd shifted nervously in their seats, “But I should not speak of far reaches to you, for the only far reaching you’ve ever done is for your maid’s ass!”

  At this, some chuckles began to break through, for the less horrified among the crowd could hardly believe it was not an act. But as the courtiers jeered at the Duke, he merely raised a hand to quell them.

  Indeed, it seemed that nothing could wipe the gentile smile from his face. “I am honored to have such a jealous wife, each to our selves.”

  Nephis was stuck. It had not gone as planned at all. More, she thought, and more. It must be worse. “Jealous!” she exclaimed, “For you? I’d rather wed a stable boy!” And she stood atop her chair and wound around to face him. “I’d rather die a maid than see your rotten smile again!”

  Her little sister pulled at her dress, crying for her to stop.

  “Worry not,” the Duke said, “I have a grand ranch where I raise horses, I can be a stable boy for you. And I have mares and mustangs all the way from the far East, from the Red City. Riotous creatures they are, mean like nothing else. I have a great deal of experience in breaking in the most violent of creatures.” And for a moment, she saw a nasty, mean flash in his dullard eyes, but it was gone in a moment. That was it! “A tempestuous woman is nothing to me. We will be doting upon one another in no time.”

  Before she could respond, her father shouted. “Guards!” he roared, “Take this drunkard to her room!”

  And swiftly, two guards took her under the arms and dragged her, trashing, out of the room. “You lecher! You rippling pervert, schemer!” she bellowed her heart towards him, real tears streaming down her face, “You are the foulest, blackest soul-ed man I ever met! I should bite out my own tongue-” But the doors were slammed behind her before she could hear his or the crowd’s response.

  The night, her father howled at her for hours on end, until she was reduced to a fearful, blubbering mess.

  Nephis and Cevril sat in the shadows, quietly contemplating the failure of their plans. The Duke had not at all seemed to shy away from the marriage. In fact, he had given a long and flowery speech on how he would endeavor to win her heart and tame the shrew, though he did not put it in those words. Nephis was grey in the face and felt frozen through. Cevril gnawed at his knuckle, his gaze was sharp and far flung. But eventually he threw his arms into the air with a great sigh.

  He turned gently to her, “Nephis, I am sorry,” he said, “I do not think there is a world where you decline this marriage.”

  She snapped her gaze to his, pale with small eyes and trembling lips.

  Seeing this, he stopped in his tracks and drew the girl into his great arms. “Oh my dear sister. If you do not succeed now, and cannot bear this future, I fear there is no other way out for you, but the rue,” he whispered. “There is a bush of it, little yellow flowers, by the far wall of the palace.”

  And Nephis took his arm and held it tight in chilling comfort. There were still many days until the wedding, she needn’t be so drastic, she frantically thought to herself. There were still many days to turn the Duke away. There were still many days to convince her father to turn him away. But the more she thought of it, the more hopeless it began to seem. She would not take the path of regret, she told herself, she would not take the bitter way of regret, sorrow, and disdain.

  In the afternoon of the seventh day since the Duke’s arrival, there was to be Thanksgiving. The royal family, the Duke, and the closest servants of each gathered in the white, stone chapel in the far courtyard of the palace. Kugo entered through the door was great trepidation. How many years had it been? He wondered. Even still, he could not bring himself to sit in the pews, but only to watch from the very back, nestled between the pillars like a gargoyle. His eyes followed Nephis as she sat among the few unmarried women. Moss joined her, awkwardly jamming himself in the thin, wooden pews to the worry and flickering eyes of all the other women. Nephis, however, laughed.

  The bishop began the service, and Kugo watched, as Nephis watched. Like all the other women, she wore a white veil. Hers was made of precious lace, of white mountain flowers, which she wore like a delicate helm against all evil. She leaned in towards the altar, her eyes captured in its light. The strings of her heart her caught on the bishop’s words, desperately mooring herself as the earth seemed to slip from her. She was a pitiful creature caught in the light.

  I am lost in the darkness, I am alone. My friends have abandoned me, my enemies surround me and mock me. Death is beside me, but will not take me. My heart is torn. But You have not abandoned me, You will comfort me, You will take me into Your arms.

  And so the bishop closed the service. The parishioners filed out slowly and quietly. But as Kugo was about to leave, the bishop approached him. And for a while they spoke, Kugo unable to stand still, awkwardly shifting his weight the whole while. He was thankful for this mask, for even while speaking he wished to hide his face from the kind eyes of the old man. And it seemed to him, though the priest could touch him, that there was an impassable gulf between them, a thousand miles and a thousand more. Kugo scurried out as quickly as he could, with a heart brimming with cold water.

  Not long after, Nephis confronted the Duke in the halls of the palace, still in her church clothes, the white lace veil still upon her dark head. Her heart now fuller than it had been in days, she stood before him, a scowl etched on her face. “You do not want to marry me, Duke,” she said plainly.

  “And why is that, child?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

  “Because, I swear here that I will be the most terrible toadhead of a wife. I shall be as disobedient as a cat and as faithful as a cuckoo. Your reputation will be ruined, and your life will be as your final destination,” she said with a huff.

  But the Duke only smiled, a terrible thing for he had dark gums and yellowed teeth, and then his eyes flicked from side to side to see that no one of import was watching. “My flower,” he whispered, “You can act as feral as you like, but it will not matter. For in not many days, you will be mine to have, and to hold, and to bear. And once you bear me a son, you may do as you please, but you will not. For then I shall have you as trembling and docile as a doe.” And he put a large, pudgy hand behind her head and tore the white veil from her. He flicked it to the ground and lumbered down the hall.

  Seeing all of this, Kugo and Moss rushed to her as she scrambled to pick the precious thing off the floor. And she looked to them with wet eyes and a pale face. Nephis nearly walked passed them, but could not bring herself to do it, nor would they have let her pass. She stood quietly before them, wringing her shawl in small hands.

  “Are you alright?” Moss asked gently.

  Nephis did not answer, but only looked away.

  “Do you want us to take care of him?” Kugo asked grimly.

  “Yes, do you want me to crack him?” Moss echoed.

  Nephis sighed a little sigh, “No. As terrible as he is, he’s done nothing to deserve murder. And even still, you would easily be found out. It would be no wonder who had ordered it. So please, for my sake, that I do not have to see you strung up or chopped in pieces, do not touch the Duke,” she pleaded, “But thank you,” she said even more quietly.

  And so, as the days went by, Nephis grew more and more timid and pale, and spent longer and darker days deep in the bowels of the palace, amongst the ancient books and scrolls. Few would see her these days, let they sought her out. If they did, they would find the girl frantically flipping through tomes, eyes sharp and red with blood. She would come to smell of soot and oil and paper, but she did not mind or hardly even notice.

  And in time it came to the last days before the wedding. The streets of Kolina were buzzing with the excitement of a royal marriage, as it would mean many days of feasts and gifts. Carts bearing treasures from countries away lined their way up the spiraling road to the white palace, precious cargo for that most precious day. And for a while, the red banners of war were replaced with the gold and silver.

  Nephis’ room was brimming with jewels and ointments, dresses and rings, fine and precious things. For long hours, she was paraded before dress and robe, a thousand veils and silver necklaces, to find any that might catch her eye. Yet, when she desired none of them, it was decided for her. “Red and purple!” the seamstress cried, “You will bear the colors of majesty and might, I will hear no more of, ’Not this one, not that one.’”

  The princess often found herself staring into the green, summer fields past Kolina’s high walls in the quiet moonlight. She pulled the threads from her clothes, idly watching the winds travel freely through them, jealously watching lonely wagons or sparrows roll to where they were meant and wont to be. To her, it seemed she sat in a lonely tower, a curse upon her if she stay, but without was nothing – the dark wood, the void. And so she did not sleep, but wept.

  Not five days before the wedding, Kugo found Nephis standing by the stairs, gazing into their shadows, at how they turned – their way obscured. The night had long been dragging on, and she stood in the dim lantern light pulling at the seams of her night gown. She looked different: her face and skin had been scoured clean, and her hair had lost all its fullness, having been combed until it was straight.

  “Evening,” Kugo called.

  She snapped up, the spell the dark stairwell had on her was broken for an instant. Shock and jitter were in her eyes.

  “Is your hair being done for the wedding?” he said with a stumbling tongue, wincing as the words left his mouth, for he heard them bouncing back to him a second too late.

  And Nephis’ face fell, and she pulled gently at the ends of her raven hair with a faraway smile. “Yes. Mother said the Duke likes girls who are neat,” she answered simply.

  Kugo did not know how to respond, and so they stood in the quiet for a while, though Nephis did not seem to notice at all, her thoughts caught in the shadows once more.

  “I fear the rue, I cannot take it myself,” she said in a tiny voice to herself and to him.

  Kugo snapped away and stepped closer. He did not know what she meant by it, but it was as dark as the shadows she stared into. “The rue?”

  She looked up at him, through his wooden mask and into his blue eyes; hers were brown and damp with mist. “Kugo, would you save me, if I asked?”

  “I would save you if you didn’t ask,” he answered immediately in a blind, crawling voice.

  And she looked to his hip, where a dagger hung. Gently, like a spirit, she reached out and plucked it from him. And holding the blade in her hands, she held it against her heart. “Would you . . .” she asked.

  Kugo snatched the dagger from her, and she gasped in pain as the blade drew along her fingers and red blood dribbled over her palm.

  “What are you thinking?” he exclaimed in shock and anger, before looking at her red-stained hands. “I am sorry,” he said gently.

  “It is alright,” she eased him, holding her wounded hand in the other, “The cut is not deep, it only needs a bandage.”

  And as she left to find one, her eyes were awash with sorrow and despair. The blood that stained the scrolls and tomes beneath the castle would not be washed out ever, for something great was to come of it. That night, Kugo and Moss received a message from Nephis, sent off to them by a trusted maid. Four days then passed, until it was the eve of the wedding.

  “. . . and they will then know that Nephis Flores is a mortal.”

  A great crowd had gathered outside the cathedral in Kolina, a monument to the faith paid for in gold at the conversion of the royal family some generations ago. They peered in through the windows so to try and catch a glimpse at the procession. And all who did commented on the bride’s dress, no doubt it had cost a fortune, being of the strongest red and the imperial purple. Indeed, the bride’s dress performed its part admirably, shifting from place to place with all perfection.

  They had practiced the ceremony two dozen times, it was to be perfect, and already seemed drilled into the skull of nearly everyone. The Duke clapped his hand against Nephis’ hip and drew her into his folds. She tried to shift away, but did not throw him off. Instead, she frowned, her nose crinkling as if it had caught a foul stench. His body was as soft as mud, and as hot and damp as a sow. She recoiled at his touch, the weight of his fat fingers against her frail form. Nephis shrunk as the heat of his humid body seeped through her skin.

  “One more day, and we will share in marital bliss,” he thrummed.

  “Yes, one more night,” she answered in a hushed voice. She could not bear to look at him; the very sight of his face made her stomach lurch.

  Practice continued. The Duke’s gaze was sharp, and he licked his chops, as if he were a jackal, salivating for the days to come. All the while, Nephis’ gaze was elsewhere, far without the flower-graced windows and gold bannered walls.

  And in the mire, she heard her name called. “Fair Lady, Fair Lady!” the bishop summoned her back into the real world, “Place your hand in his.”

  And she looked down to find her finger in her mouth, gnawed upon like a dog to a bone, threatening to rip open the cut from nights ago. Nephis returned to the room and placed her hand in his. She felt lighter than a feather, as if she floated through the air like mist. For her body was not with her heart.

  Evening came, and all was quiet in the white palace of Kolina. None, but the ever-watchful guards, were awake. And throughout the halls was only the sound of the soft wind and the shifting of hard steel. In the silver moonlight, which bore down upon the palace, full and bright, the very world seemed to have stopped. The wind breathed like all the residents, soft and gentle, dreaming of the days soon to come.

  Then came a CRASH AND BANG as the princess burst from the dungeon, a bundle of stolen scrolls under her arms. Though it was night, her fine travel clothes whipped around her, her hard heels beat through the halls. The shouting of the archive guards filled the palace as if it had been plunged into cold water, everyone awoke. Few knew why there was shouting or panic, but all would cry and rush as a sound echoed throughout the noble halls. The princess barreled through her room and crashed through the great window, falling, falling, falling from the tower, a trail of glass and cotton following behind her.

  To the shrieks and panic of the guards and servants, Nephis held onto a great chain of bed sheets and curtains and slowly scaled down the high tower wall, nearly slipping. And as the guards changed their course to meet her at the fallen glass, Nephis let go and plummeted into the strong arms of Moss. With thundering footfalls, he carried her off and away to the gate, where they met Kugo, who had prepared two imperial horses. They set off, Moss sprinting behind them. And Nephis could not help but laugh and shout and cheer her way into the far hills.

  [PROLOGUE END]