Chapter 2 In Which I Make My First Ally

The journey north took six days, and every mile changed the world I knew. The warm gold and dusty greens of the Oakhaven hills gave way to grey stone and endless forests of pine that hid the sun. By the fourth day, the cold crept through the wooden floorboards of the carriage, settling so deep into my legs that even the heavy wool blankets could not keep me from shaking.

Vane sat across from me, shifting slightly with every bump in the road. He had not touched me since we left my father’s hall. Most of the time he just looked out the frost-rimmed window, ignoring me completely. I watched his reflection in the glass, then looked at my own. The girl staring back looked small and pale.

Let him look at my pale face and see a helpless southern bride, I thought, my fingers tracing the hard edge of the stone blade secured to my thigh. Let him think I am nothing until I am close enough to finish it.

By the time the iron gates of Iron Keep shut behind us, the castle felt more like a prison than a home.

The carriage came to a halt in the sweeping, cobblestone courtyard. The air was colder than anything I had known in Oakhaven, carrying the sharp scent of the sea. Northerners in heavy furs stood in lines, their eyes wary as they watched me step down.

Julian was there immediately, moving past the northern guards to take his place at my side. He looked exhausted, his cloak covered in trail dust, but his eyes were sharp as he looked around the courtyard. When Vane strode ahead to speak with a commander, Julian caught my arm gently, pulling me back half a step behind the horses.

"Isolde," he lowered his voice so only I could hear. He reached down, taking my fingers, and began to lift my hand toward his lips. It was a gesture I knew by heart, a silent promise that he had not abandoned me.

Before his lips could touch my skin, a heavy iron-gloved hand slammed into Julian’s chest, shoving him back.

"Desist, southern dog," a massive northern soldier growled, his hand resting on the pommel of his broadsword. "You do not touch the King's bride. Keep your hands to yourself or lose them."

Julian's face went dark, his fingers twitching toward his own hilt, but I stepped between them, catching Julian’s eye and giving a sharp shake of my head. "It is fine," I said, meeting the guard's gaze "He is my personal guard. He knows his place."

The guard spat on the stones near Julian’s boots and walked away. Julian looked at me, his eyes full of anger and resignation, but there was no time to speak.The servants ushered me inside, separating me from Julian as they led me into the dark stone belly of the keep. I was completely isolated now, surrounded by walls that felt like they were closing in.

They brought me to a large bedchamber dominated by a stone hearth and a bed draped in dark furs. The servants left as soon as I entered, followed by the dull thud of the iron bolt sliding into place from the outside.

A young northern woman was already in the room, kneeling before the newly kindled fire. She wore a simple wool dress, her blonde hair pulled back in a tight, practical braid. This was Freya, the lady-in-waiting assigned to me.

She stood up when I walked in, but she didn't bow. Instead, she looked me up and down, her eyes stopping at the thin fabric of my travel dress and the pale color of my skin.

"They said they were bringing a princess," Freya remarked, dusting off her hands. "They brought a frail little bird instead. You look like a gust of wind would knock you over, southern girl. You won't last a winter in this castle."

I stiffened, keeping my chin high. "I am stronger than I look."

Freya just snorted, turning back to the hearth. "We will see. The North has a way of breaking things that are soft."

Before I could answer, the heavy wood door groaned open. A broad northern courtier stepped into the room without knocking. He wore fine silks over his furs, his face flushed from drink. I recognized him from the courtyard—Lord Kenneth, a man with a cruel mouth and arrogant eyes.

His attention went straight to Freya, who had frozen by the fire.

"Out, girl," Kenneth ordered, stepping into the room and blocking the doorway.

"My lord, I am assigned to the Queen's chambers," Freya's words trembled as she tried to move past him.

Kenneth caught her by the upper arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. He pulled her closer, laughing as Freya struggled against him.

My gorge rose. He wasn’t merely teasing her. He was hurting her.

"The Queen can wait. A little servant girl shouldn't be so selective about who she warms a bed for.”

Revulsion crawled beneath my skin. How could he say something so shamelessly? In broad daylight. As though this were perfectly ordinary.

“You've been avoiding me in the halls, Freya. I think it's time you learned your place."

"Let me go," Freya whispered, trying to pull away, but his grip was too tight.

"Hold your tongue," Kenneth sneered, his hand moving down to grip her waist, ripping at the fabric of her apron. "You are nothing but a common tavern girl whose father died in a ditch. You belong to this keep, and that means you do what I want, when I want it. Stop crying and do what you're told, you useless piece of filth."

How dare he.

My hands fisted in the folds of my dress. The audacity of him. No one had the right to treat another human being like property.

Freya looked toward the door, terror bright in her eyes, but the guards outside ignored her.

Not one of them moved.

They heard every word. They saw exactly what he was doing. And still they stood there like statues.

A surge of rage burned through me, chasing the cold from my bones. I didn't think about Vane, or the dagger on my thigh, or the fact that I was an outsider in a hostile kingdom.

If no one else would stop him, I would.

I grabbed a heavy iron poker from the side of the hearth.

Before Kenneth could drag Freya toward the corner of the room, I stepped forward and brought the iron rod down hard across his forearm.

The metal struck with a loud crack. Kenneth roared in pain, letting go of Freya as he stumbled backward, clutching his arm. His face twisted in disbelief and fury as he stared at me, the iron poker still raised in my hands.

"Get out of my chambers," I said, every bit the princess my father had raised. "If you ever lay a hand on my servant again, I will tell the King that you insulted his bride on her wedding night. I wonder how Vane will react when he hears you are taking things from his rooms."

Kenneth breathed heavily, his eyes darting between the iron rod and my face. He looked like he wanted to strike me, but the mention of Vane’s name made the color drain from his flushed cheeks. He knew the King's reputation.

"You southern bitch," Kenneth hissed, cradling his bruised arm against his chest. "You think you rule this place? You are nothing but a prisoner here."

"Then leave before the prisoner loses her patience," I replied, stepping toward him.

With one last glare, Kenneth turned and stumbled out of the room, slamming the heavy door behind him. The bolt slid into place outside once more.

The room fell completely silent, save for the crackle of the young fire. I set the iron poker back down, my hands shaking slightly from the rush of adrenaline.

I turned to look at Freya. She was leaning against the stone wall, breathing hard. Her apron was torn, and her skin was pale, but she was staring at me with a completely different look in her eyes. The suspicion and contempt were gone, replaced by shock.

Freya walked over to me slowly. Hesitating, she reached out to gently touch the sleeve of my plain dress before lifting her gaze to mine.

"No one has ever stood up to him for me," Freya whispered. "No one in this castle cares about a servant."

"I care," I said, resting a hand on her shoulder. "We are both alone here, Freya. We have to look out for each other."

Freya looked down at my hand before meeting my eyes. After a moment, she nodded.

When she spoke again, the distance between us was gone.

"Thank you."

Previous Chapter
Next Chapter