Page 21 of Ruby & Onyx

Oh, gods.

His blood could be on my hands.

My entire life is a lie.

The King of Umbra is threatening our village. Creatures, invisibles, the whatever-the-gods-they-are watched me sleep every night. I could have magic, but I spent the past twenty-two years believing myself to be ordinary and powerless. My parents arranged my marriage to the prince of this whole country!

The room starts to spin, blurring my vision as it goes, until finally… I see nothing.

The darkness envelopes around me, swallowing me whole.

Chapter 8

That nightmare felt so real. If I close my eyes, I can picture the faces of the King and Queen of Mendacia, as well as the subtle glow emanating from them. I can recall the nausea that stirred when I whirled through a great, vast nothing.

I sink back into the plush embrace of my bed and pull the blanket up to my chin. It smells of roses and spring air, sweeter than I remember. Gods, this bed is soft. If you gathered all of the lightest and fluffiest clouds and packed them all together, they would seem hard in comparison. And this is strange, but there are dark curtains wrapped around my bed’s canopy, blocking the sunlight. How did that happen?

I shake off the tender remains of sleep, and…

Oh, no.

This isn’t my room. This isn’t my bed. Was that dream… real? Am I actually in the Palace of Light?

No, no, no, no, no…

Pressing two fingers to my forehead, I notice swelling on the left side, just above my brow. The library, the invisibles, the fainting. In the palace. In front of the king and queen. It was all real, every last gods-forsaken second of it.

I have to get out of here. I have to get my bearings. But what time is it? I am surrounded by perfect darkness apart from the tiniest sliver of sunlight peeking in through a crack in the curtains. I don’t have any idea what might await me in the daylight.

The only way to find out is to face it head-on, unprepared as I may be. My pulse makes a mad dash as I ready myself to open the curtains. Then I grab fistfuls of the heavy fabric, thick as mud, and force myself to take deep, slow breaths. After a few repetitions that do little to help my nerves, I cleave the two sides open and then shriek louder than a conco caught in a trap.

A man is sitting in the corner, no more than three feet away from the bed.

Who in the name of the gods is that? Our eyes meet, and before I can determine who the stranger might be, I quickly close the curtains and hold them together with an iron grip.

He claps his hands once, and the curtains wrench from my grip and fly wide open in response. His eyes waste no time dragging over my body, a wicked smile forming as he does. Despite wearing both a nightgown and a cloak, I suddenly feel stark naked.

“Who are you?” I ask while my mind races to plot out an escape. What can I grab to defend myself? These pillows would be useless unless he has a fatal allergy to feathers. He’s blocking the path to the door, but maybe if I sprint fast enough…

“Well, you may call me whatever you like,” he says with far too much amusement. “Most call me Prince Allwyn Delusia or Your Royal Highness. Special friends call me Olly. You, however, may call me your sweet, stunning, and irresistible fiancé.”

Fiancé.

Oh, gods, that part was real, too.

His smoldering brown eyes narrow as he sits back and waits for the fawning to commence. But there’s something about his blatant arrogance and pride that convinces my brain to throw any sort of politeness and respect out the window. I can’t bring myself to call him Prince Allwyn Delusia or Your Royal Highness, even if that impertinence could get me killed. And so I say with a sneer, “Olly, it is.”

“Are we friends, then?” He dodges my sarcasm with ease, and a dimple in his cheek curves inward with amusement.

“Far from it.” I tuck my arms closer to my chest, trying to hide as much of myself as possible. “If you wanted to be my friend, then maybe you could have had the decency to wait outside of my bedroom, rather than accosting me here.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“I’m glad to see that you’re enjoying this.”

He cocks his head to the side, appearing to enjoy the challenge. He looks like a perfect combination of his parents, bearing both the beauty of his mother and the cunning of his father. He’s more casual, though. The hem of his tunic hangs over his trousers without looking sloppy, and he lacks the stiffness and rigidity that his parents held. And, unlike his parents, his light brown skin is as dull as the rest of us, with no glowing aura in sight.

He doesn’t respond, but his smile confirms his enjoyment all the same.

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