Many thanks to my advance readers and to user LaRascasse for their assistance with editing!
Content warning
: death of a family member, gore
***
In her dreams, her father's dead body was propped up on his throne, still bleeding from the gaping wound in his throat. "Why did you leave me, my daughter?" he moaned, reaching out his hand. Then Horan's face swam before her, laughing evilly. He brandished a knife and ran towards her, and she tried to scream but couldn't.
Amali struggled awake, gasping for air. She tried to slow her breaths, reminding herself that it was just a dream. Soon enough Gilda would come to rouse her for the day, and --
But no. It hadn't
all
been a dream.
She covered her mouth to smother the sob that rose up in her throat. Her father really had been killed; Horan had done it as he lay sleeping and defenseless. His men had dragged her out of her bed in the gray predawn to see for herself.
Amali shuddered. What had become of Gilda, and the rest of her servants? She prayed they were safe, though she knew Horan turned a blind eye to whatever his men did to his own serving-women. The royal guards were dead, she knew, or else imprisoned in the dungeons. Hopefully Horan wasn't torturing them for sport. She hadn't heard he liked such things, but then, she hadn't heard he was a treacherous bastard either.
She looked around the tent, which was starting to glow in the cool dawn. Here and there a fragment of golden light slipped through, and she wondered when the serving-women would arrive.
Amali waited, and waited more. The sun had truly risen now, slanting ever higher through the edges of the tent. At length she remembered what the prince had said the night before --
None shall disturb your sleep
. Were they waiting for her?
She licked her lips. "Hello?" she called out, then again more loudly. "Is anyone there?"
The tent flap opened and the woman who had helped her bathe entered and bowed her head.
"His highness ordered me to attend to you this morning," she said, then called out in the Oghian tongue. A stream of serving-women entered, each bearing some item Amali would need to ready herself for the day.
She insisted on washing her face herself, but relented so the women could wipe down her body. A smaller shift had been found for her, and as one woman brushed and plaited her hair, another tended to the wounds on her wrists. Once these were bandaged, she was dressed in a simple gown and sturdy stockings and presented with fine riding boots that were only a smidgen too large. Last was the blood-red cloak, which Amali supposed was meant to mark her as belonging to the imperial family, just like their soldiers.
Breakfast was sparse, but she ate it all the same, and afterwards the woman approached her.
"His highness wishes to see you," she said, and Amali rose from her seat.
Steeling herself, she followed the woman out the tent, which was surrounded by a wall of cloth held aloft by poles and ropes. They had to backtrack to exit, emerging into the bustling camp. Amali kept her head down, but did not fail to notice that two soldiers were following her as she was led across the way and into another even larger tent.
The prince was stood there at a large table, speaking to one of his men. Amali waited awkwardly as the two conversed in Oghian, wondering if he'd even noticed her arrival. Her eyes wandered across the wide tent, which reminded her of her father's office, save for the stand of weaponry. She considered for a moment her chances running over and brandishing one of the smaller swords, stabbing herself in the ribs. That was a sure way to die, wasn't it?
"That would be unwise, princess." The prince's voice startled her, and she flushed at being caught, and looked down at the grass.
"Come here," he said.
Amali walked over, still looking down.
"This is Morden," the prince said, gesturing to the man next to him.
Amali looked up and recognized the man whose dried meat she'd eaten the day before. He put a fist to his heart and inclined his head. She awkwardly dipped a curtsy in response, returning her gaze to the ground.
"He is the captain of my guard, and he will be watching over you whenever I cannot. Consider him your shadow."
Amali nodded to show that she understood.
"Look behind you, princess."
Amali turned, and the two soldiers that had followed her did the same as Morden had.
"The one on the left is Janets, and on the right, Ziler. One of them always stands guard outside my chamber. If anything should happen, you have only to call on them."
Amali nodded again, repeating the strange names in her mind.
The prince uttered a single word in Oghian, and Morden saluted and left. "Come sit," he told her, gesturing to a stool.
Amali took a seat further away and he sighed, moving to sit next to her.
"There is a question I should have asked you yesterday, princess, that I will ask you now," he said quietly. "The only answer I wish to hear is the truth, no matter what that is."
She stared blanky ahead, wondering what it was he so dearly wished to know.
"The men who killed your father," he began, "did they hurt you as well?"
Amali lowered her eyes to the table, which was covered in a large map of her homeland, punctuated by stacks of papers in the spiky Oghian script. She shook her head. Horan's men had manhandled her and bound her and leered hungrily at her body, but they hadn't violated her.
"You needn't lie to me, princess," he said softly. "Hanya told me you were covered in bruises this morning."
Amali closed her eyes in shame. Of course the serving-women he'd sent to her had reported back to him. Firmly she shook her head again.
"I will not be angry with you, even if you have lied," he insisted gently.
Amali recalled that for Serutusians, lying was one of the greatest possible crimes, an insult to their gods, almost. Did he think her a fool, to risk the wrath of an imperial prince? She shook her head a third time, growing irritated at his persistence. If he really wanted to know, why didn't he check for himself?
"Very well then," he said. "But if you do not bleed by this time next month, that will complicate matters. It would be better for you to be honest with me now."
"Three days," Amali blurted out.
He cocked his head at her in a silent question.
"I will bleed within three days," she clarified. She had watched the waxing crescent moon set the evening before her father had died, and had known her time was near.
"Then I shall look forward to it, princess," he replied evenly.
Amali closed her eyes again. Was that what he was waiting for? Proof that she wasn't with child, to ensure whatever bastard she bore him would be his?
The prince's next question startled her out of her dread. "Would you like to see your father now?"
She snapped her head up, turning to look wide-eyed into his pale gray gaze, flinching as she did so.
"Lord Horan gladly gave over his body when I asked for it," he explained, lip curling with distaste. "My people are preparing him for burial, but I thought you might wish to see him one last time."
Amali blinked furiously, not wanting to cry in front of him again. Looking away, she nodded, then stood.
The prince called for Morden, who appeared and saluted. Amali listened as the prince spoke rapidly in Oghian, supposing that she should learn it now that she'd be returning with him to Serutus, she assumed. But as of yet the sounds all bled into each other, and she recognized not a single word.
Morden bowed his head at his prince's orders. "Follow him," the prince directed her, and she did so.
The captain set a slow pace, which she was thankful for. She was sore from all her walking and riding the day prior, which accounted for most of her bruising. She wondered absently why the prince cared so much if she were still a virgin; she hadn't thought Serutusians minded such things among their concubines at least.
Every now and then a soldier would stop Morden, perhaps to speak with him, but he would shake his head and gesture to Amali behind him. She kept her eyes to the ground, not wanting to see their stares. She was used to men's attention when she appeared at her father's court. But being surrounded by an army of men was entirely different.
At last the captain stopped before a small tent, holding open the flap for her to enter. There was little inside besides a table, upon which a body lay, covered in a white sheet.
Not just a body, she realized. It was her father.
A sob wrenched its way out of her, and she heard a small noise behind her. She whirled to face the captain, who was looking pointedly at the ground.
"I wish to be alone," she said loudly, hoping he understood, but he made no move to leave. "Get out!" she snarled, and he looked up, hesitating for a moment before bowing his head and exiting the tent.
Amali turned back to face the table. Holding back her tears, she approached her father's body and withdrew the sheet from his face, careful not to pull too far lest she be confronted with his death-wound.
King Orist Lethar of Berenul looked almost peaceful, as though he were sleeping. Unlike when she'd seen him last, his eyes were closed, though his mouth was still crooked in a frown. But he was so pale, so cold. Amali sobbed once more, bending over her father's newly-washed face, his wet hair.
"Forgive me, Father," she whimpered. "I should have been a better daughter. I shouldn't have made you choose me over our people." Berenul all but belonged to Serutus now, just as she belonged to the prince.
She closed her eyes, remembering the last time they had spoken. He'd bid her goodnight and kissed her forehead, and she'd complained that she was no longer a child to be treated so. How she wished she could take back those words now. If only she could speak to him one more time, tell him how much she longed for his affection. It had only been her pride that made her speak so.
Amali stayed bent over her father until her tears flowed no more, and then she collapsed exhausted upon the ground, pulling her arms around her legs, lying her head on her knees. She closed her eyes and tried to remember her father's laughter, his smile, the bittersweet way he looked at her when she reminded him of her mother....
After a time she heard a small cough and looked up. Morden was standing there, looking apologetic, and he held out his hand to help her up.
She struggled to her feet without taking his hand, brushing off her clothes. He bowed his head and opened the flap for her to exit, then led her back the long way to the screened-off tent. Janets saluted to Morden and stood back for her to wind her way around to the tent entrance proper. The serving-woman who had helped her bathe was waiting for her there, with a basin of water and a towel.
