When Venla finally left, demanding that I rest until Lord Theodore came to fetch me for dinner, I took my first real, deep breath.
A thousand and one thoughts ran through my mind, beginning with how the hell we were going to get out of this situation, and ending with every worst-case scenario I could imagine.
Taking one of the small biscuits from the tray of food, I slathered some honey and butter on it before popping it into my mouth. It had been days since I’d had anything fresh to eat, and I hoped that if I could sate my appetite, I would be able to think a little clearer.
I was wrong.
The sweet and savory dough melted across my tongue, momentarily making all thoughts disappear. All that existed for one single, beautiful moment was this biscuit.
There wasn’t enough time to relish the bite in my mouth before my hands were coating the next several biscuits with butter and honey in preparation to shove them into my throat as quickly as possible.
My stomach growled in response, pleased with this course of action as the cycle was repeated, bite after each delicious bite.
I had a brief thought about whether or not the food was poisoned before I dismissed it entirely. Surely, they wouldn’t go through all the trouble of bathing and dressing me just to end me with a biscuit…
Then again, if I was going to die, this would be a worthy last meal.
I polished off the remaining morsels from the tray and ate several of the apple slices with the thin, hard cheese on top, along with a couple of large, red grapes before forcing myself to stop.
Before this past week, that easily could have been the appetizer before my main course. After being deprived of a full meal for so long, though, I needed to be careful not to overexert my stomach.
However difficult of an idea that might be for me to accept.
Reluctantly, I moved away from the small table, dusting off any crumbs from my mouth and the bodice of my dress, before going to test the door handle.
A whisper of excitement ran through me when the handle didn’t stick. Unlocked, then. I gently pulled the large oak door open far enough to peek out into the empty hallway. There were guards stationed farther down near the stairs, but none outside of my door or even looking this way.
Opening it wide enough to slip through, I closed it behind me, grateful for the silent hinges.
I should have stayed in my room. In fact, I debated going back for a whole three seconds before deciding to explore instead, telling myself it was progress to even consider doing the safer thing.
My feet guided me past Davin’s door, and I wondered if I should stop to ask him to come with me until I heard the snores coming from inside his room. I rolled my eyes. He always had been able to sleep through anything.
So, I continued on, creeping further and further down the hall until I eventually found myself in an entirely different wing of the estate.
Things were so different here than in Lochlann. The castles back home were full of history and life. Loud children, nobles, or even servants filled the halls with sound while the walls themselves held relics from our past, my mother’s favorite paintings, or vases full of flowers.
The Elk Estate felt solemn by comparison, with so few people wandering the halls, and no children or servants running around. It was eerily quiet, making me aware of the soft padding of my slippers against the navy carpets lining the hall.
Like the room where we first met Iiro, they offered the only real pop of color to the otherwise muted and dull atmosphere. Everywhere I looked, it was straight lines and spartan decor interspersed with one or two grand chandeliers or lanterns.
And it wasn’t just the hallways. The rooms I happened to peek in on were the same way. Muted colors and minimalistic designs covered the furniture, walls and floors. Glancing down at my dress and the bright fabrics, I had to wonder if everything was decorated sparsely so that the people stood out, so that they drew the eye instead.
With a shrug, I tucked that thought away and continued my secret exploring until a throat pointedly cleared behind me.
Stars.
“Princess Rowan.”
I slowly turned around to face the lord and his expectant expression.
“Lord Theodore.” I dipped my head in greeting, not offering an excuse for my exploration.
He returned the gesture, examining me from the hastily altered hem of my emerald dress up to the curls already stubbornly escaping my bun.
“Will I pass for a proper Socairan?” I asked, mostly to break the awkward silence.
He stiffened and cleared his throat again, his golden-green eyes failing to meet mine.
“Somehow I doubt proper is a word used to describe you often,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Or Socairan, for that matter,” he added with a pointed look at my hair.
“Ah yes, the telltale red hair. At least you aren’t shuddering in revulsion like my maid did.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been amusement, but he quickly smothered it. “After the stories of King Logan bringing down the mountain, many of the villagers believe that red hair is a curse.”
Of course they did. “And you?”
He assessed me imperiously. “That remains to be seen.”
I held his scrutinizing gaze with one of my own, noting the curiosity softening the arrogant set of his brows.
“Perhaps you can deliberate the issue while you show me around your estate,” I prodded. Anything was better than going back to my rooms to be alone with my thoughts.
He cocked his head suspiciously before he sighed, relenting. “I suppose there’s no harm in it, since you clearly can’t be trusted to stay in your rooms.”
“That’s the spirit.” I held out my hand expectantly until he reluctantly offered his arm and led me down the hallway.
The muscles were taut cords under my fingertips, his posture as rigid as it was when we were in the dungeons, and I had to wonder if the man ever relaxed.
I was taken aback when we rounded the corner. In contrast to the emptiness of the rest of the estate, this hall felt like an entire museum of Socairan history.
My eyes raked over the ornately decorated display cases and elegant portraits hanging on the walls. Theo paused to let me take it all in, clearly proud of this section of his home.
The very picture of decorum, he pointed out things as we went, diamond-encrusted and bejeweled eggs in protective glass containers, statues that represented one clan leader or another.
The flags that Clan Elk had borne throughout the centuries, all with varying shades of navy surrounding tan elk antlers in the center. There was even a massive portrait of what I assumed to be a royal family, unless all of the clans wore crowns and tiaras. I raised my eyebrow in question, and he explained.
“That was the monarchy, before an assassin eradicated the entire line.” He sounded more matter of fact than upset, but my jaw still dropped.
I knew from the few spies my parents sent into Socair that there was no longer a monarchy, but I had never heard this version of why.
“That’s why there are clans now?” I looked up at him beneath a furrowed brow.
“There were always clans.” He had a way of explaining things in a tone that said I should already know them. “They simply used to be united under a king. Now, all we do is sit around fighting each other for the right to a throne that the villagers believe is cursed anyway.” He turned to leave the portrait, and I tried for a lighter tone.
“Is there anything the villagers don’t believe is cursed?”
“Well, that depends on who you’re asking.” His tone was dry.
He led me around the corner, all the way down another hallway to a set of double doors that opened to the outside. At a gesture from him, the guards on either side swooped in to open them.
We stepped out onto a terrace, and my jaw dropped.
All this time, I had assumed we were right next to the mountains. For that matter, I had assumed most of Socair was mountainous, harsh and austere. Even though I had known the temperature itself was mild, the air clear and still, I didn’t expect it to be beautiful.
But this estate was nestled in a sprawling valley, with miles of trees with autumn leaves every shade from deep crimson to bright, stunning yellow. The sun was setting, casting the valley in a golden glow that turned the leaves into flickering flames, dancing with the wind.
I stared past the trees to the mountains in the distance. It was disorienting, seeing the jagged peaks from this angle, a mirror image of what they should have been.
I had spent my entire life with the Masach Mountains on the western horizon, but they looked so foreign from this side, and somehow even more daunting.
My heart plummeted into my stomach then as it hit me just how far away from home I was.
And that I might never see it again.
