3. Worth the Legions

The carriage, though heavily guarded, was nothing but a wooden box.

There were no ornate decorative carvings, no colorfully suited footmen. No one was happy, no one was smiling.

That included me.

This wasn’t a regular marriage procession.

I walked toward the carriage, my eyes swinging to the left, where my father and mother stood with my two sisters. Father kept his chin up high and made no attempt to walk toward me and say goodbye. Mother nodded at me, her eyes watery. My sisters kept their heads down, so I continued to walk toward the carriage.

I felt cold, alone. The thin, sheer fabric did nothing to stop the icy breeze, and when I stood in front of the carriage, one of Prince Kaelan’s representatives stopped me with his hand in the air.

There was one older man in religious garments, a white robe and a hat covered in golden marks. He was King Kellar’s pillar, his religious right hand man. Father rarely ever spoke to his pillar, and as I looked at the man now, I was eerily aware of how the white robes reminded me of the red ones I would see in my dreams.

I had to look away from him before the few memories I had would rush back in.

“He will be most pleased,” the pillar muttered, rubbing his fingers across his chin.

He reached for me, and I bit my lip to stop myself from flinching. Dread filtered through me the moment he gripped the cloak and pushed it to the side. His eyes took me in, and I forced myself to look over his shoulder and to forcibly hold back the tears.

My heart hammered in my chest, and his stiff fingers moved the gold chain from my breast. I pulled back but froze in place when he hissed at me, angry eyes glaring in my direction.

“I am the King’s pillar. He has asked me to make sure his son’s bride to be is worth the legions,” his voice was a sneer, and it took all of me to not shrink back.

I kept my sight over his shoulder.

He returned his eyes to my breast. The moment his finger presses into my nipple, my vision turned black on the edges and the memories of the man in the red robe ran through my mind.

He hummed, moving to my other breast before his eyes lowered to the area between my legs. I whimpered, my teeth clattering together as he lifted the chain and grazed his finger on my flesh there.

He cocked an eyebrow and looked at my father. “I assume she is untouched.”

I didn’t dare to look in father’s directions, but I guessed he nodded by the pillar’s reaction.

“Perfect.” It was the only thing he said before nodding his approval.

Elysande’s maids helped me into the carriage and we set off toward the Southern kingdom.

The moon hung high in the sky, the only thing I could see from the narrow window that was etched into the top of the carriage, the only source of light in the darkness.

It offered me no last look at my home, at the only land I had ever known since the moment I was born. The cold, hard wood of the seat pressed into my back, into my bottom, and I hissed a few hours later when I began to ache.

Sweat was beating down my face, but I refused to ask them to stop, refused to be seen as weak.

I wasn’t Elysande, my future queen and known beauty, and I wasn’t Aeliana with her strength and her fighting skills. I was neither Cyrilla nor Vespera, who were smart and cunning.

All I had to give to my people was to sit in an uncomfortable carriage for hours.

I swallowed the pain.

For the most part, the journey was uneventful, and we only stopped to relieve ourselves, Elysande’s maids handing me food whenever they got the chance. Over the hours, the clatter of the horses’ hooves lulled me into calm. Nervousness was seeping away from me, and I welcomed it.

The forest itself wasn’t a hard place to travel through, but soon we would be pushing our way through the mountainous valleys. That, I heard, would be the most difficult part of our journey, but I hoped Elysande would be in my place before we reached it.

We spent the first full night under the canopy of trees. The guards made camp a short distance from the carriage, their voices a murmur against the sound of insects, birds and all kinds of animals slithering around.

It took me hours to fall asleep, and when I finally did, it was a fitful sleep. My mind was a whirlwind. The pillar’s touch haunted me, and it was coupled with the broken memories of a man in red robes, his hands and pain threading through me.

I wasn’t allowed to move, forced to sleep on my back for fear of messing up the paintings the maids had placed all around my body.

In the morning, they checked over me, repainting any symbols I accidentally messed up during the night. The day was much like the first, long and slow and boring.

My bones were beginning to hurt from sitting down so long and I wanted to complain, wanted to bang my hand against the carriage and ask them to stop, to let me out and stretch my legs.

I was grateful when I could see the light begin to dim. Night was approaching again, which meant I would get out of this confined space. I heard the guards yell, ordering that they needed to find a safe space to rest. Many expressed their relief, some laughing and joking.

It took me too long to realize when they had stopped.

When the jovial whispers were replaced with eerie silence. A weight settled on my chest and I stilled, focusing my breath, focusing on my hearing.

The quiet was shattered.

The sound of clashing steel and guttural cries met with screams of pain and mumbles of men begging for their lives. The smell of blood and piss and shit stung my eyes, and I pressed my hands to my mouth to stop my cries.