Bound to the Throne

Chapter 1 - Kennah

Rain slammed against the castle windows hard enough to rattle the glass in their frames. The storm had rolled in shortly after midnight, bringing with it fierce winds that howled through the towers like restless spirits. Lightning flashed beyond the curtains, turning the darkness white for a heartbeat before plunging everything back into shadow.

I lay awake, pressing a pillow over my head in a hopeless attempt to block out the noise.

It did nothing.

I had always been a light sleeper. Every creak of the castle, every distant footstep, every gust of wind scraping against the stone walls had a way of finding me. Sleep was already difficult enough.

I groaned and rolled onto my side.

Maybe Martha was still awake. She usually lingered in the kitchens when bad weather came through, fussing over the servants and making certain no one tracked mud across her freshly scrubbed floors. If anything could rescue me from another sleepless night, it was her tea.

Throwing back the covers, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The cold stone floor sent a chill through my slippers. I grabbed my robe from the chair and pulled it around myself before stepping into the hallway.

My eyes were barely open.

Then I smelled it.

Smoke.

My entire body went rigid.

Not the pleasant scent of burning firewood.

Not candles.

Smoke.

I began running.

“Help!” My voice echoed through the corridor. “Help!”

The castle halls seemed endless. Shadows stretched along the walls. The scent grew stronger with every step.

Where the f**k were the guards?

Where was everyone?

Panic clawed up my throat.

I turned a corner and stopped, so abruptly my feet nearly slipped out from under me.

My mother’s chambers.

Dark smoke poured beneath the door.

“No…”

The word barely escaped my lips.

I ripped off my robe and pressed it over my nose and mouth. Trembling, I reached toward the doorknob and tested it with the back of my hand.

Hot.

Far too hot.

Fear screamed at me to run.

Instead, I threw the door open.

Heat crashed into me.

The room was engulfed in smoke. Flames crawled up the bedposts and licked at the curtains. The air burned with every breath.

“Mom!”

My scream dissolved into a cough.

I staggered forward.

The world blurred through tears and smoke.

Then I saw her.

A figure crumpled beside the bed.

“No. No, no, no.”

I dropped to my knees beside her.

Her dark hair spread across the floor.

My hands shook as I reached for her shoulders.

“Mom, wake up.”

Nothing.

I shook harder.

“Mom!”

Her head lolled to the side.

Her eyes remained closed.

Something inside me shattered.

A sob ripped from my chest.

“No! Please!”

The room suddenly filled with shouting.

Boots thundered across the floor.

Strong arms wrapped around my waist.

I screamed and fought as they dragged me away.

“Get her out of here!” someone shouted.

“No!”

I clawed at the guard’s arms.

I couldn’t leave her.

I couldn’t.

The guard carried me through the smoke and down the stairs while I kicked and screamed.

The moment he released me outside, I spun around and shoved both hands against his chest with every ounce of strength I possessed.

The guard stumbled backward.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then I noticed the stains.

Red.

My hands were covered in red.

I stared at them.

Blood.

My mother’s blood.

The rain washed over me, but it couldn’t wash the blood away.

It clung to my skin.

“Kennah!”

Martha’s voice sounded far away.

I sank to my knees.

The castle burned behind me.

The rain fell harder.

And all I could see was blood.

“Kennah!”

I bolted upright.

My chest heaved.

My heart hammered against my ribs so violently it hurt.

The familiar canopy of my bed came into focus.

The fire was gone.

The smoke was gone.

Martha stood beside the bed looking alarmed.

“I’m so sorry, my Grace,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I pressed a hand against my chest and forced myself to breathe.

“It’s alright.”

The lie came easily.

Nothing about it was alright.

Eleven years.

Eleven years since my mother was murdered.

Eleven years since my father sat me down and explained that an elf had killed her.

Eleven years since fear became a permanent resident of the kingdom.

The king of the neighboring realm joined my father next day in a ritual that stripped the elves of their magic. Yet despite the spell, despite the promises of safety, I still woke up gasping from nightmares.

I still smelled smoke when there was none.

I still remembered blood on my hands.

Martha sat gently on the edge of my bed, stirring me from my thoughts. A strand of gray hair fell from behind her ear, gently caressing her face. “I see you didn’t drink your tea last night. It always helps you sleep. I don’t know why you wouldn’t drink it, especially before a day like today.”

The reminder almost makes me want to pull the blankets back over my head and go back to sleep. It’s the day we officially announce my engagement to our Kingdom of Erysa.

Not that it should come as a surprise to anyone. The agreement was made when I was ten years old. For 11 years, the kingdom has known that one day I would marry Prince Alaric. Children had grown into adults hearing the story. Nobles had toasted it at feasts.

Yet somehow, today required an entire celebration.

A grand announcement.

A parade.

A feast.

If I even remotely liked Alaric, perhaps it wouldn’t bother me so much.

Perhaps I would wake up excited.

Instead, dread sits on my stomach.

“I have your bath ready,” Martha says as she sweeps open the curtains, flooding my room with morning light. “Better get in it before it grows too cold. I’ll have some tea ready to settle your nerves.”

She doesn’t wait for a response before disappearing back into the hall.

The bathing chamber attached to my bedroom is already filled with steam when I enter. Heat rolls through the room, fogging the mirrors and softening the morning sunlight spilling through the narrow windows.

I quickly removed my nightdress and slipped into the bathtub centered in the middle of the room.

The hot water immediately eases the tension in my shoulders. I lean my head back against the rim and look up at the rock ceiling. It looks like this room was carved into a cave. The entire castle looks as if it could be. I remember running through the halls as a child pretending that I was on an exploration.

I sink lower until only my face remains above the surface. For a few blissful moments, I imagine staying there forever.

Maybe if I drowned myself, the day would simply pass without me. They probably wouldn't even notice if the event wasn't for me. I miss the days of being able to hide away.

The water gradually cools. The voices of servants echo faintly through the walls. With a sigh, I stand and reach for a towel to dry before slipping my robe back on.

The moment I step back into my bedroom, I discover my ladies-in-waiting have already transformed it into a battlefield of fabrics, jewelry, and cosmetics.

A dozen dresses have been discarded across chairs and sofas. Boxes of jewels sit open on every surface.

And hanging proudly from the wardrobe is the dress. Even I have to stop and stare. Gold silk catches the morning light, making the gown appear almost liquid. Tiny crystals and sequins are sewn across the bodice like scattered stars. The skirt falls in graceful layers that seem to shimmer with every movement.

It’s beautiful. The sort of dress little girls dream about wearing on their wedding day.

“Clara,” I say softly as I walk toward it. “I think this may be my favorite dress you’ve made so far.”

My fingers brush over the intricate beadwork.

Every crystal has been sewn by hand.

Hundreds of hours of work.

Maybe thousands.

Clara smiles proudly.

“You truly think so, Your Grace?” Her face lights up with pride. Her cheeks turn rosy, a shade lighter than her curly hair.

“I know so.”

I trace a swirling pattern stitched into the fabric.

Part of me wonders if everyone will spend so much time admiring the dress that they won’t notice the expression on my face.

One can hope.

The room falls quiet.

When I finally glance at my ladies, I realize they all wear the same smile.

The practiced smile servants learn early in life.

Polite.

Appropriate.

Empty.

Their eyes betray them.

They know.

The few close to me know how I truly despise Prince Aric. No one expected me to love him, but they expected him to at least be a decent man. He doesn’t treat them much differently than me.

I move toward the vanity before anyone can say something sympathetic. Sympathy only makes it harder.

The truth is simple.

I don’t have a choice.

Not really.

The alliance between our kingdoms secures the promise of its safety.

Years ago, when the elves began crossing our borders in greater numbers, fear spread through every human kingdom. Villages disappeared overnight. Trade routes became dangerous. Entire regions were abandoned.

The solution came through ancient magic.

The Kings of Erysa and Tecura joined together in a ritual that placed a protective ward across our lands.

But King Aldren of Tecura demanded something in return.

A marriage.

A permanent joining of bloodlines. You’d think the promise of safety from the elves would have been given enough, but King Aldren never misses an opportunity for more power.

And so a ten-year-old girl became part of a bargain.

If I refuse the marriage, the magical bond between our kingdoms weakens. The elves will slowly regain their magic, and the slaughtering of humans will begin again.

Knowing that makes it difficult to be selfish.

I stare at my reflection while Clara begins brushing my hair.

As I grow older, I see more and more of my mother looking back at me.

Long onyx hair.

Freckles dusted beneath my eyes.

Naturally rosy cheeks that no amount of powder ever fully covers.

Sometimes the resemblance catches me off guard.

Especially when I smile.

Father says my smile is exactly her. He always looks so pained, caught up reminiscing.

The only feature I didn’t inherit were her eyes.

She used to tell me they reminded her of her favorite place in the world. I can still hear her voice when I think about it. I wish I had asked her where that was. The memory squeezes my heart.

I blink rapidly.

Today is not the day to cry.

“Can you please style my hair down?” I ask suddenly.

Clara pauses.

The brush stills.

“All of it, Your Grace?”

“Every strand.”

A hesitant look passes between the women.

“But…” Clara begins carefully. “The prince prefers when you wear your hair up.”

I catch her gaze in the mirror.

For the first time that morning, a genuine smile tugs at my lips.

A small one.

A mischievous one.

“I know.”

A few of the girls exchange amused glances.

Clara’s mouth twitches.

If I am expected to smile for nobles all day, pose beside a prince I cannot stand, and celebrate a future I never chose—

Then the least I can do is annoy Aric.

Clara begins transforming my dark hair into an intricate arrangement of curls and jeweled pins.

As she works, I imagine Aric’s expression when he sees it.

The slight wrinkle between his brows.

The forced smile.

The disappointment.

It’s a small victory, but I’ll take it.