Page 3 of The Beast King's Bride

“Here, take this.” Before I can react, he’s back in front of me, pulling that something from his wrist and tying it over mine. “It will protect you.”

Red thread, twined with something brown. Iron filament. “Wait—”

“Don’t take it off! And don’t go out alone!” He lifts a hand in goodbye, strides out of the well arch, and vanishes into the palace.

After carrying the buckets down into the kitchen and spending the entire morning scrubbing the staircase with a brush and a bucket, my hands red and raw and blistering, I grab a bowl of gruel and a chunk of brown bread to eat. I settle at the top of the newly scrubbed stairs, where they exit into the yard, one leg folded up, gobbling down my bread and sipping the watery gruel from the earthen bowl.

I turn the thin bracelet on my wrist. The iron thread in it chuffs at my skin.

Across the yard, servants hurry back and forth, sent of various tasks, some carrying boxes and trunks, others tools. Horses are being led to the royal stables. A donkey, laden with baskets, brays.

A palace’s backyard is always busy, but not as much as it is now. This ball is going to be grand. And I still don’t get it. Dates for such social events are usually selected to coincide with important landmarks in time.

Unless King Pryam has an announcement to make. An upcoming treaty, or wedding, or some such. I finish my soup and put the bowl down beside me, shake the crumbs off my hand. Who knows? And Pete is right, it’s none of my concern.

Curiosity is one of my flaws.

Stubbornness another.

Not very attractive traits in women, I’m told. The thing that I don’t understand is—do these traits work differently in men, like everything else seems to in this world? Boys can get away with so much more than I can, and that annoys me.

There. Apparently, I’m contrary, too. Such a catch. Poor, shunned, and obsessed with all the stories about my lost birth rights. Who wouldn’t want to wed someone like me?

Not that I’m thinking about marriage, not any more than the next girl, but handsome boys are running around and I can’t help but look at them and think and wish… for a happy future. A future with someone who loves me and appreciates me and—

A raven hops toward me and I recognize the white tuft it has on its head.

“Poe!” I pat my leg and he hops onto my thigh, claws digging painfully into my flesh through the fabric. I don’t care. I stroke his head and feed it a piece of bread I saved. “How are you doing, Poe?”

I don’t have friends, except for Pete. So I have started a friendship with a raven. Most hated of birds. Dead-eaters, they call them. Picking the eyes out of corpses on the battlefields. Those old enough to have participated in the last battles between humankind and the undead queen Morrigan of old tell as such. Birds of Faerie, flying between worlds.

I call the raven Poe. There was a story I liked as a child, of a man called Poe who had a raven he loved. Poe. Or maybe it was Poet. I can’t be sure anymore. It’s like a memory from someone else’s life.

“I’m fine, too,” I tell him. “Well, tired, but that’s not unusual, you know. What with the ball coming up. What’s that? I hear you think. A ball? Ravens are not allowed, Poe. Neither are servants, except the high-ranking ones, there to serve the food and drinks at the long tables and attend to the guests’ needs.”

The raven caws hoarsely, nailing me with a beady eye.

“I know. I would have loved to go to the ball, but I don’t think I’ll be able to sneak in this time. They must be expecting someone important. They’re placing sentries to guard all the doors to the ballroom, even the smallest ones inside the palace. And I’ve already asked the cook and master Gibbons if there’s any task for me at the ball, but it seems I’m late in asking. All the servants want to attend. It will be beautiful. I’ve seen princess Elizabeth’s newest gown as I was passing by her rooms the other day. And it’s not the gowns, Poe, well, not only. Not even the balls. I just… always feel like something is missing from my life, no matter what Pete says.”

Poe pecks at my dress. I lift him off me and settle him on the flagstones.

I’m missing a purpose, a reason for being here.

Again troubling my head with unimportant questions, Pete would say. With things that won’t help me in life. I should focus on being a good helper in the kitchens, on rising in the serving ranks. Finding a good husband. Making a family. That seems to make most people happy.

It has to be enough for me, too.

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