The Dragon king's captive bride

chapter 3: The East Wind

The guard who led me to my room walked fast, the kind of pace that made it clear he had better things to do than escort a girl who didn't want to be here in the first place. I didn't mind. It gave me time to think, and thinking was the only thing I had left that nobody could take from me.

The east wing was quieter than the rest of the castle, the torches burning a softer gold instead of that strange blue I'd seen near the entrance. My room, when we finally reached it, was bigger than I expected. A bed with dark wood posts. A window overlooking a garden I hadn't known existed, all black stone and silver flowers that didn't look like they belonged to any season I knew. A fire already burning in the hearth, like someone had known exactly when I would arrive.

"Someone expected me," I said, mostly to myself.

The guard didn't answer. He set my single trunk down by the door and left without another word, and then it was just me, alone, in a room in a castle that belonged to a man who'd told me I'd have plenty of time to find out if he was a monster.

I didn't unpack. I told myself it was because I was tired, but the truth was simpler than that. Unpacking felt like agreeing to stay. And some stubborn, furious part of me wasn't ready to agree to anything yet.

Wren found me an hour later, having been given a room two doors down, close enough that I suspected it wasn't an accident.

"You're not eating," she said, taking in the untouched tray someone had left outside my door. "Seraphina."

"I'm not hungry." It wasn't a lie, exactly. My stomach had been in knots since the courtyard.

"You met him." It wasn't a question. She'd clearly heard something, the way servants always seemed to hear everything in places like this.

"Briefly."

"And?"

I thought about the balcony. So this is what my father traded a war for. I thought about the hall, the way his expression had cracked open for half a second before he closed it again. Maybe I am. You'll have plenty of time to find out.

"He's not what I expected," I said finally.

"Worse or better?"

"I don't know yet." And that was the truth. I'd come here braced for claws and fire, for cruelty I could point to and hate cleanly. Instead I'd gotten a man who spoke like every word cost him something, who looked at me like I was a puzzle he hadn't decided whether to solve or ignore.

It would have been so much easier if he really was a monster.

Wren left not long after, promising to bring food back later whether I wanted it or not, and I was alone again with the fire and the strange silver garden outside my window.

I didn't sleep much that first night. I kept thinking about his voice on that balcony, low enough that he probably hadn't meant for me to hear it at all. I kept wondering what kind of war made a father trade his son the same way mine had traded his daughter.

Sometime past midnight, unable to lie still any longer, I gave up on sleep entirely and went to the window instead.

The garden below was empty, silver flowers catching what little moonlight made it through the clouds. I watched it for a while, my forehead against the cold glass, until movement caught my eye.

Ronan.

He was below in the garden, alone, his coat gone, sleeves pushed up like he'd been out there working through something with his hands instead of his head. He moved like he didn't know anyone was watching, slower than he had in the hall, his shoulders carrying a weight I hadn't noticed before.

I should have stepped back from the window. Instead I stayed, watching him pace the length of the garden like he was arguing with someone who wasn't there.

Then he stopped. And looked straight up at my window.

I froze, certain he couldn't actually see me in the dark room behind the glass, but some instinct told me he knew exactly where I was standing. For a long moment neither of us moved.

Then he did something I didn't expect.

He inclined his head, the smallest gesture, something between an acknowledgment and an apology, and turned to walk back inside.

I stood at that window long after he disappeared, my heart doing something complicated and unwelcome, wondering what exactly I had agreed to when I'd told myself I would survive this place.

Survival, I was starting to realize, might not be the hardest part of what was coming.