Page 139 of A War of Three Kings

“Don’t you worry, dear. We will make you pretty for today. All you need to do is smile.” Marjorie waltzes past, patting my shoulder before shouting at more servants.

The way I look is the least of my problems. I need a way out of here. My mind whirls through possibilities. I need to talk to Prince Niall. Maybe Murdoc could use his position as head druid to help me. I have to get my magic back and find my brother, then we can open the portals.

Perhaps if I starve myself, if I hide my food so they don’t suspect it, then they can’t drug me again. But it will take time for the effect to lessen. There is no way out. None that I can think of.I bite my lip as my mind hits a wall.

“Stop that.” Marjorie slaps my arm lightly with a fabric fan. “You will ruin the color we put on your lips.”

A young servant takes my hands and makes me stand, then they pull layers of clothing over my body. A slip, a corset with boning that hardly allows me to breathe, and wide skirts withhoops. Then a heavy gown that is far too formal for parading me around the palace. Maybe the king is planning to hold court. If he thinks I’m going to play along nicely, he will be rudely surprised.

Marjorie walks around me in a circle, swatting bits of fabric into place, then she motions to her servants. They carry in a full-length mirror so I can examine myself. The dress is white. I don’t know what game Finan is playing, dressing me in the colors of a priestess. Perhaps he thinks I will renounce the Mothers of Magic before his court.

The sight before me is hideous.

There is dark rouge on my cheeks and my lips are painted pink, both contrasting badly against the fiery strands of my hair. The dress is of heavy silk, with plumes of lace draping over it. A series of thick, puffy frills encircle the sleeves that reach to my wrists, and the skirts are double-tiered, each layer ending in similar frills of lace. There are little silver flowers embroidered all over the entire miserable thing.

This must be a humiliation to break me.

I hold my chin high and straighten my back.

“Good. Good,” Marjorie says briskly, then the entire team of servants funnels out of the apartments as abruptly as they entered.

I collapse into an armchair and hold my head in my hands. Tears threaten, but I won’t cry. I refuse to give Finan the satisfaction of seeing me with smudged cosmetics or red eyes. Powerless, I cannot glamour them away.

That pool of deep warmth that has lived within my soul since I met Aldrin is gone. Dead, cold and out of reach. At times, I have been convinced it links me to him, but I cannot access it while they block my magic. Gods, I have never needed to hear his voice more. To have those thick, strong arms wrap around me and pin me to his hard chest while he nuzzles my neck.

The door crashes open and I jump to my feet, my heart racing. Guards flood into the room, enough to show that they still see me as a threat, even without my magic.The same man who forced me into this apartment last night takes me by the arm and tries to lead me firmly to the door. I rip it from his grasp and whirl on him.

“Where are you taking me?” My voice is low and full of menace.

He stares at me with torment, then at the other guards, running a hand across his brow. None of them will look me in the eye. They shuffle with discomfort, many pale. By the Soul Ripper, what is in store for me?

“The king wants it to be a surprise. You must understand we have our orders,” he says, as though it absolves him of responsibility. He reaches for me again and I smack his hand away.

“I will not go with you blindly,” I snap. “You will tell me right now where you are taking me.”

Another man enters the room, his heavy boots echoing on the marble. I glance over to Jaxon strolling through guards who part for him.

“It would be very inconvenient for us to have to bloody up your brother again, just to get you to take a stroll outside,” he growls. “Diarmuid, was it? He could hardly walk after we finished with him last night. A stubborn prick, that one. He has a broken nose and cracked ribs to go with his ego now.”

The fight drains from me. What harm is there in another damned stroll through the gardens with Finan? I allow the guards to lead me, giving them sharp looks and slapping away any attempts to touch me.

The crisp breeze and earthy scents are a salve for my soul. There isn’t another person to be seen, just tall evergreen trees and sculpted bushes. The path of glittering travertinestone winds through the greenery and small bridges span over a gurgling man-made stream. It would be pleasant, under different circumstances.

A page sees our approach and scurries away, releasing a heralding note from a small trumpet. The murmuring voices of an unseen crowd reach me through the trees and my heart skips a beat.

Finan is planning something.

My steps become hesitant as we reach a staircase that leads up a rise, but Jaxon tugs me ruthlessly upward by the arm. I try to fight him, clawing at his fingers, but I stumble in this stupid dress, and the guards around me catch and steady me multiple times. One mumbles an apology, again and again, everything about his manner absolutely distraught.

Alarm bells ring in my head.

I try to map out escape routes, glancing around rapidly, but there is nowhere to run and too many people to stop me if I try.

An orchestra starts playing with gusto the moment I reach the top of that staircase. I freeze. My very blood turns to ice as my mind shuts down. I know that song. Horror washes through me in waves, crashing hot and cold flushes across my skin.

Gods, no, this can’t be happening.

Not here.

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