Kingdom Cold (E-BOOK)

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She could have said ‘pass the sugar’ or ‘did your new ballgown come in yet?’ but “We have agreed to accept Prince Young’s proposal for your hand” could have waited until after breakfast. 

I pushed my plate away, the sweet crepe turning limp and unappealing. “The Eastern Statue? He never smiles! Of all people…” The full meaning of her words sunk in. “Wait, you mean for marriage?"

She nodded, folding her napkin and placing it beside her plate as if discussing the weather.

My head swam. I was supposed to have two more years. "You can’t do this to me!”

“Oh, Charlotte. Do we have to do the dramatics? We don’t have time to wait with Drethen marching closer every day.”

I had so many questions, but all of them felt stuck at the back of my throat and I feared if I forced them out, my tears would spill out with them. My mother eyed me as if waiting for me to protest further. She knew I had never wanted to be a queen. “I-I won’t say ‘I do.’”

Mother stood with a graceful movement, each step precisely measured. “You will do your duty, as we all must.” She tipped my chin up, and I reluctantly met her eyes. “He’s only a year older than you. Without this alliance—" 

Her words hung in the silence, but she pursed her lips. She knew what it was to enter an arranged marriage. My father was twenty years her senior, and while they cooperated to rule Besmium, it was hardly love. I swallowed back a new wave of tears, my face hot as I melted into my chair like a wax candle at the end of a banquet. “Mother,” I whispered, but the sudden realization that nothing I could say would change anything stole the rest of my words. In my mind, she took me into her arms and let me cry, putting my mind at ease about the worst of my fears, but she hadn’t been that kind of mother since our first talks of marriage, almost as if in her heart she’d already given me away. 

 Her cold gaze swept over my face before she took her leave, exiting the hall with poised, deliberate steps.

I watched her glide away and then walked to my bedroom, trembling, before I collapsed on the floor. Milly, my lady-in-waiting, appeared.

“Is everything—”

“—Corset off. ”

Milly rushed over, her small hands unlacing my corset with quick, decisive movements. All I could see of her was an occasional wisp of summery hair. When she finished, she dropped down in front of me as if my morbid energy was draining her.

“What happened?”

“I have to marry the Prince of Vires.” I buried my face in my hands. 

She leaned forward, awaiting more information, but I remained motionless. 

Her eyes widened. “Heaven forbid. You’re only sixteen!”

I sat up and gave a hard nod, shaking a few of my dark curls from their pins. We sat there in silence. Each drape, chandelier, and ornately decorated vase screamed the same thing: My life wasn't mine.

Closing my eyes, I strained to remember him. I'd met Prince Young once. He had dark hair and dark eyes, but his face—I couldn't really recall it. I could only remember the feeling of him. He'd seemed so serious and miserable, even more so than the stuffy, political vultures who circled court. I hadn't given him a single thought since we met. Now, all I could think about was his cold, heartless stature and a lifetime without laughter.

Milly wrapped her arms around me and pulled me in. The wooden cross she always wore on her necklace dug into the side of my face, but I didn’t dare pull away. She was a year younger than me, yet I'd always gone to her for guidance. Her piety had equipped her with answers, though I wasn’t devout enough to commit beyond asking an occasional question. She was stunning. Her beauty could rival any well-groomed royal, but that wasn't what I envied. 

I was jealous that even as a paid servant, she was in charge of her fate. Milly stood, her eyes filled with pity before she turned away and hurried out of the room.

I wasn’t against the constitution of marriage as a whole. I just resented letting go of my dreams before my life even started. There was a whole world out there. Faraway kingdoms, deserts, waterfalls, mountains, all of which I’d never see. I was nothing. Not a hunter, not a soldier, hardly even a woman, and now I was expected to be a wife. I’d have to endure the consummation ceremony in front of my parents and the council for verification, and most terrifying of all, bear a stranger’s children. Would he be cruel? 

Men of power always were.

I was sure I couldn’t endure it, but what were my other options? If I managed to sneak away, what skills could I offer for money or food? An escape was impractical when my only worthy attribute was my name. Without it, I wouldn’t last a day. How could the name that had blessed me with such fine privileges be the one that shackled me? How could my parents trust my life and kingdom to a man we hardly knew?

I settled on a hunger strike. Admittedly, I hadn’t expected my mother to give in, but I remained obstinate because she’d clearly expected me to. Every tray of food was a testament to how weak she thought I was. I just wanted to be heard. I wanted her to ease my fears. I yearned to hear her say, ‘laying with a man isn’t so painful,’ or ‘your role as queen will open doors for you,’ but all my pleas for help were met with venom. Anger welled inside me, tightening my stomach, which only emphasized its emptiness. 

The hours dragged and I could hear the whispers of the servants as they criticized me. 

She’s a pampered, unappreciative princess who has never known hunger or hardship. The least she can do is marry for the sake of the kingdom. 

They were right. And after this marriage, I’d be a spoiled queen who’d still never known hunger or hardship. The least I could do was bear sons for the sake of the kingdom. 

A fresh loaf of, the castle cook, Sasha’s wheat bread fluttered into the room on a silver tray. I sat up and stared as a servant placed the tray beside me, the corner of her mouth turned up as she hurried out of my chamber.

As I leaned into the steaming loaf and breathed in its warmth, my will was sucked away like summer rain on dry soil. I was alone, for the moment. No doubt, the servants were preparing to bring in the next temptation. My stomach ached for me to surrender. She’d watch me die before calling off the wedding or even offering a kind word. If I took a small bite from the bottom of the loaf, they’d never know. I lifted the loaf carefully and bit into it. My mind surged with delight, and I savored the crunchy exterior and doughy flavor before carefully placing it back on the tray, bite-side down.

I hesitated before I lay back down. My mother wasn’t evil for forcing me into this, but I had a sinking feeling that she enjoyed watching me struggle through it.  My father had always been the more compassionate of the two, so why hadn’t he intervened? Was the war with Drethen so dire that he was willing to sell his only daughter for a few extra soldiers?

Five years ago, when the war began, the rhythmic clop of two hundred horses had reminded me of the rain. I was eleven, and my father had knelt before me and said, “Kings bow to no one but their daughters.” He’d urged me to hug him goodbye, but I hadn’t wanted to—I hate goodbyes. I remembered how my mother pinched the back of my arm.

“Hug your father,” she rasped coldly. “You'll regret your poor attitude if he's killed in battle.”

I reluctantly obeyed. 

The trumpets sounded as he mounted his horse, taking his place at the head of his army. 

After that, we were always at war, and my father, the King, was always one goodbye away from being gone forever.

I reached over and ripped another piece of bread from the bottom of the loaf. I sighed as I popped it into my mouth.

No matter how many times my mother had prepared me for the news of my engagement, I still felt blindsided. A couple of years ago, my father brought me a book called The Dragon’s Call. At the end of the harrowing adventure, the heroine married for love and not advantage. I’d read it many times before I could even comprehend the concept, but once it was in my head, I couldn’t seem to get it out. Now, as I faced my own marriage, I wondered where love was in all this. Was it just this abstract concept for novels and unspeakable inside the castle? Not even my father spoke of love. Maybe it was their way of protecting me from something I could never have. Marriage was the duty of every princess, and love was the cost.

I tore another piece of bread from the tray and rolled onto my stomach to avoid choking.

I chewed thoughtfully.

My desire to live a different life from the one I was born into remained strong. Marriage seemed like the fatal blow to my freedom. I knew it was impossible and that the consequences would be dire, but if life were different—if life were fair—the walls of the castle would fall, and I’d walk out with no title and no crown. I’d be free to explore the world. Free to find out once and for all if love was only made for fiction.

Now that my engagement was official, I was certain that dream would never come to be. 

I looked down at the empty platter in surprise. Had I just eaten the whole thing? I sat up just in time to see one of the servants slip out of my room. Sure enough, minutes later, my mother strode into my chamber, her crown gleaming in the candlelight. She eyed the trays of uneaten food until her gaze landed on the empty tray beside me. Without a word, she smiled a heartless grin that boiled my skin long after she’d gone. As helplessness overcame me, I scanned the room for the next tray I’d indulge in. She’d broken me. I spent the entire week that followed in quiet contemplation, trying to prepare myself for the inevitability of my capture.  

A week later, on the eve of the wedding, the prince was shown to my home at Hiems Castle. I could hear the distant clip-clop of his horse-drawn carriage as it pulled up outside. I stared into the mirror and studied my face, finding more marks of childhood there than womanhood. 

The urge to cry out for help never waned. It only festered at the base of my chest, maturing into a dark brew of desperation that, at one point or another, was doomed to boil over.