Page 25 of Nightingale

She would need the truth, and nothing but it, in order for thisto work at all. For it to all be over and peace could finally follow.

“And you think what, returning me to Niroula will do that?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Do you know what we do to Carylimian royals who show up on our doorstep?”

He did.

Because his youngest sister Daria had managed to cross into their territory in an attempt to ask for peace, for a treaty to be drawn between both Niroula and Carylim and failed to return. And when she did finally come home, the collar had still been around her neck, even if it had been severed. The bruises were still visible through the sheer gown she’d been forced to wear, and her hair had been shorn to her scalp.

A slave of Niroula.

That’s what she’d been turned into.

That’s how she’d died.

“We put collars around you and make you serve us for two years, before debating if we should send you back home in pieces, or at all,” Vrea explained as if he didn’t already know this.

But his family wasn’t any better either.

They didn’t let two years pass before killing them. Most times. For some reason, Vrea was an exception to that law, as one of his siblings had gone to their father and begged him to save her life. Pleaded with the King of Carylim to keep her alive instead and use her as a hostage whilst the war raged on.

But a couple of her siblings had crossed over into Carylim and paid the ultimate price for it. Strung up for days in the blistering sun, while Brioc peeled their flesh off their bones in individual strips, and fed it to the hounds who salivated at the scent of blood. The ones that were unleashed after three days and three nights of screaming and bloodletting.

Then it would be quiet.

It was horrible and brutal, but it was the way that things were done.

For both families.

“Then I’ll gladly allow it if it means a chance with them.” Rian cooly responded. “But either way, regardless of what I might face in a month’s time, you’re not getting out of here without my help.”

She looked as if she were thinking it over as if there were any other options that she had been blind to until now, and he knew that she wouldn’t find any. Hence why her face turned upwards towards his with a touch of disdain, a dash of hatred and an ounce of regret.

“If you turn on me, if you try anything whilst we’re travelling, if you even so much asthinkabout killing me, rest assured that I will always be ten steps ahead of you the entire time. And if I catch you, then I won’t just slap a collar around your thick neck, but I’ll make sure that you die excruciatingly.” Vrea held a slight growl in it, toying with her warning.

“I’ve no issue with that. As long as you take heed of your own cautious warning.” He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his blade, turning it as he motioned for her to walk down the hallway. “But first let’s get you out of that hideous dress. Pink really doesn’t suit you. Even if you are a Princess.”

She stuck her middle finger in his face and grumpily picked up a pace towards his room. His room, which she’d been caught trying to sneak into in the first place. His room, because she’d been trying to kill him all along.

Rian understood the irony of it, and it wasn’t lost on him. Vrea Greenvass had tried to kill him and failed, spending three years in a locked chamber because of it. And now, she would need his help if she wanted to break free of Hawksmoor Keep and make it home.

He might enjoy this a little.

Thirteen

Vrea followed his instructions as he led her to his room, as if she needed any help. She knew exactly where they were going since she’d been headed there all along three years ago. She’d almost gotten close too, if not for a wrong turn. A leap to the right hand doorway and she would have made it.

It would have been fascinating to see what would have occurred if she’d succeeded in the first place as well. If she’d been able to use the cover of darkness to stalk across the floor and to his canopy bed, raising one of her two beloved knives, ones they’d taken from her unfortunately- it would have been easier. With a quick plunge, because she didn’t believe in painful deaths unless they were deserved, and a slash of blood to follow. He deserved to die for the battle wound that ended Cyril. One that never should have happened since Cyril wasn’t a fighter.

It was all a game to the families though.

They didn’t care who lived or died.

A live chess match of white and black, where each side thought that they were the lighter side and their rival the darker. She didn’t particularly think that the Greenvasses were either, but a war was a war and she wasn’t going to question the complex things that were out of her control.

Killing off her enemywasin her control, however.

Alpheus never left Niroula anymore, not since he turned thirty nearly eight years ago. He was promised to lead and was nextin line if they followed the precise order of heirs. Out of all of her siblings, Alpheus had avoided any attempts on his life. He’d fought in most of the war, slaying many in his wake. He’d been born second, made to be the first and liked to stay on top, whatever it took.

Teminos occasionally left the city, when he was bored enough to look for danger as a method of entertainment. He was similar to her in the sense that he could become the word stealth itself if he so willed it. They shared a father, and he was the only full sibling she had. A one time fling with a baker turned into a second event, resulting in her six years later.

---