Page 17 of Rook of Ruin
Laura sighs. “Don’t you want to get married and have a family one day?”
I shrug, unwilling to speak on the matter. If I express a desire to marry, my choice in a husband could be ripped from me. I’ve seen exactly how marriage bids work, and I don’t want to be bought and sold. I do not want a marriage based on nothing but titles and breeding—endogamy,ick. I want to find love, true love, instead of being forced into a marriage I do not want. Life without love would beterrifying. Especially if I do not have the freedomto choose the man I love—the life I want to live. There is no adventure more thrilling than life. Life with a loving marriage and children? I dare not dream it. All I can do is make myself the best Rook, indispensable to the queen, then I may have a chance at freedom.
Laura rolls her eyes as she dusts my face again, swipes more rouge over my lips and cheeks, a very small amount of kohl on my eyelids, and applies some type of goop over my lashes that she swears is all the rage right now. She steps back in satisfaction but then frowns at my hair. She walks behind me and begins twisting and pinning up my hair before coming back around to my front and giving me a nod of approval. Laura’s face pulls into another frown as I uncaringly slip on black-heeled shoes. She fusses over the corset one more time before we leave the barracks.
As we pass fellow Rooks, they stare, whisper, smile, leer, or grimly nod as I walk with Laura. She doesn’t seem to mind the attention, but I do. I want to be invisible again, blending in with everyone else. I know I look amazing, but this kind of thing is what separates me fromthem.When we reach the Locker’s exit, Recruits guarding the doors look me up and down in surprise and let us pass.
“You clean up nicely.” Paul’s voice comes out of nowhere. I glance over my shoulder and see him walking quickly to catch up to us. He whistles, and my face flushes, but I know he is being a kind flirt, not expressing actual sexual desire.
“Well, Laura is the one you should be admiring, really. She put me together.” I smile as we all walk into the requisition room. Laura shoos away my compliment, but she’s beaming, proud that she could make me into what I’m sure looks like a soft, beautiful creature. In reality, Iama soft beautiful creature, but a crueler version of the one dressed up today.
I begin to take off my brace, but Paul pulls my hand back. “The queen wants you to keep it on, and here.” He lifts up my dress and attaches a small knife sheathed in a leather band to my right leg. “Just in case.”
“Just in case?” I ask.Tell me,I want to scream.Tell me something, anything about what’s going to happen. His blue-green eyes are filled with sympathy, and I want to yell at him, demand him to tell me, but he shrugs as if to say,I can’t tell you. I drop the issue, and he leads me out of the grey stone fortress.
Fresh air hits us both, and we take in a deep breath, basking in the warm sunlight. Another unfortunate issue with the Locker—the lack of sunlight. Sometimes, after days in the Locker, it’s a shock to the body that there is an outside world because everything is so consuming in the Locker without seeing the sun, the moon, the weather, the seasons . . .life.
An open carriage comes into the courtyard with a short driver and a large man in the back, lazily draped to one side. I put my hands on my hips as if scolding a child. “Really? A carriage, Paul? I can walk from here.”
He shrugs and gives me a toothy, boyish grin. “I can’t have Laura giving me all hells for letting you stomp around after she worked so hard to make you presentable.”
“Fuck off, Paul.” I nudge him with my elbow.
“No, but thanks for the offer.” We both laugh. This seems like a goodbye for some reason, and it saddens me. Paul and I are family, and we don’t do goodbyes.
He catches my hand, bows, and gently places his lips to my hand. “Lady Orlaith Verlan, you have my respect and my loyalty.” This really is goodbye. In the whole time of our friendship, not once has he ever used my title or brought up my relationship with my sister or the queen. He just let me be O, the pain in his backside.
Curtsying low, the air in my lungs practically dissipates from the tight corset. Paul is using my other title, so I will use his, “Rook Paul Laoc, you have my respect and loyalty. And all my love.” He stands up straight and smiles at me. We clasp hands as the carriage comes to a full stop. If we were in the castle among the lords and ladies, this small gesture of affection would be scandalous.
A wide smile with dimples greets me. The man who was lazily draped in the carriage has on a blue cap partly covering curly salt-and-pepper hair. He opens the carriage door, jumps down, and holds out his large hand. I shake my head and decline his hand, instead forcing Paul to help me up into the seat facing the driver. The capped man’s grin grows wider. He moves his hand towards his blue suit jacket, as if he weren’t waiting for my hand but merely pausing before plucking the lint off his immaculatejacket. He hops back into the carriage, taking the seat opposite of me. His huge body practically fills the whole carriage.
I lean out and whisper yell, “There’s jasmine oil hidden in bathroom four.”
The carriage pulls away, and Paul shouts, “Have a great adventure, Orlaith Verlan.”
“Have a great adventure, Paul Laoc,” I shout back, turning my body to watch Paul and the Locker fade from view. I force myself not to be sad, not to be concerned about my future. I could be sent off on a mission after this. I try to be excited, I try to think positively, but deep in my bones, I know my life has changed.
After riding for a few minutes down the stone path in surprisingly comfortable silence, I catch dark brown eyes assessing me, like the man in the carriage is looking me over to see if I’m worthy. I give him my coldest stare, and he laughs. It’s a nice laugh, jolly almost.
I don’t want to like it, but I do.
I try not to look at him, but damn it, I do.
He is handsome, much younger than his salt-and-pepper hair initially led me to believe, but what’s endearing is his charming face. His nose has a slight crookedness; it must have been broken at one time. His kind smile is wide and disarming. His big brown eyes gleam with wit and tenderness. He is at ease, confident, but there is still an air of danger surrounding him. I instantly like him. I cover my mouth not to smile directly at him.
“I’m Simon,” he says quickly. His accent tells me he’s from Bethal, Acros’s closest ally, and I wonder if he has ever met the Great Warrior King Caddel. Simon holds out his hand, and as tempted as I am to take it, I don’t. He sees my hesitation,but it doesn’t lessen his dimples. He sits back, unbothered and amused.
“I’m—” I begin to say, and he waves his hand, cutting me off.
“I know your name. But what do your friends call you?”
“My friends call me O. You may call me—” The jerk cuts me off again.
“O. That’s nice.” Simon gives me another disarming grin.
“What are you doing here, Simon?” I watch him shrewdly, picking my battles.
He shrugs. “I like carriage rides. With beautiful women.” He gestures like it should be obvious to me.
