Page 1 of Bound in Violet Ink
Hope is a fickle thing,like brittle bones before theysnap.
All of mine have shattered into dust.
Perhaps it’s time to be reborn.
I’ll never forget the first time I senthima letter; the sky had wept for the hundredth time that year, a sign of thechange. Rain used to nourish the plants so the sun could warm the air and dry the drenched soil. Now it rains with a cold chill, the bitter air delivering frigid bites, the ground so wet that horses struggle to pull carriages. The skies always reflect thischangewhen adarker tide looms in the air, like nature knows society is about to give.
Blood will be shed. A war, possibly.
It’s why my mind is restless with theories, eager to escape from this place. The man who wants to call himself my father is dead set on marrying me off like I’m prized livestock that’s getting too old to be of value. There’s stilljustenough time for political capital to be gained in forcing my hand.
He’s clinging to his broken hope, too.
Crops are thinning. Nefarious creatures creep within the shadows of the woods. My sallow hand is what he’s trying to offer, but I’m determined to yank it back…
Kane was a way out of all of this.
A deep inhale imbues my lungs with the scent of wet stone from rain that batters my windows. The wind always blows harder up in this tower, but it’s a violence I’ve grown used to. Comforted by it, even. It not only rained the night I penned my initial contact to Kane, but it stormed.
An ominous promise from the fates.
Every rule had been broken by writing to Kane, every aspect of my future completely risked.
Forhim.
For some brittle hope I know better than to try and hold.
As I stare at the blank parchment on my desk, my reality spins like a weaver caught in a chaotic design. Why would I write to a man locked away in the Carrows? And not just aman, but the darkness that consumes the light—a High Lord of the Unseelie. A large behemoth that even the fiercest men in my father’s ranks rarely speak ill of. Those cowards still refuse to whisper the nameKane,as if his shadow will somehow hear them.
My eyes move to the quill adjacent the parchment, then to the other letter, which is creamier in color. Rougher.
Withhiswords scrawled on there.
Writing to him is like a curse. The second I slipped the initial letter to a confidant, I sealed my fate as another person who spirals around the words of Kane. So many follow this man who challenges the Seelie Highlords, the opulent rulers of our lands.
The same people who placed me in this tower.
I gently pick up what he sent me. In the previous letter that incited our discourse, I merely thanked him for what he had done a year and a half ago, detailing my recollections of coming across Kane in a tavern as he was traveling. How he scarred my father’s right-hand man so badly, Lawrence now wears a partial mask, all because I’d been struck and left with a broken, bloodied nose. Kane had madeoneinstance of eye contact with me, right as I looked up when I heard the commotion, still trying to collect my dazed mind.Somethinghad flashed in his silvery eyes, and then…
And then, he refused to acknowledge me. That’s when the prison cells of the Carrows consumed Kane.
Why did he do it? It’s not like I can’t heal my own bones, not with the powers I was born with. It’s why they often hit me so badly. Kane even laid down his sword and let them take him, all the while it was painfully obvious he refused to meet my gaze again as my own nearly burned holes in him—looking back on it, I agree that he went with my father’s men too easily.
So many whispers claim that he went to the Carrows onpurpose. That he knew of my father’s location and intentionally crossed paths with us. Perhaps my being struck was the excuse Kane was looking for to attack; he can hide his motives behind something thatappearsnoble. Making eye contact with me was useless for his cause, like saving a mouse from a cat that he had no interest in.
He’s planning something.
And like any bored woman confined to a tower, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since.
Having Kane settled in a stagnant prison, one near my forced housing, is like having him captured inside a globe. I can safely debate my actions, hesitate as many times as I wish, and even not think about him if I so choose.
The latter hardly ever occurs, if I’m to be honest with myself. The man is a subject of my absolute fascination. A prisoner to his image, just as I am to this castle. Writing to him was an itch to scratch, like perhaps if I did it I could finally stop ruminating about him. I honestly didn’t intend to hear back from Kane.
My hand twitches, eager to pen him another, like being near a flame but feeling no heat. How close can I get before the fire truly singes me? The Unseelie are not known as forgiving or easy to negotiate with, and he’s one of the few I’ve ever come in close contact with. So why would I, the adopted daughter of a Seelie High Lord, write to our enemy?
I gently pick up the letter he had sent me.
Victoria,
