Page 8 of Bound in Violet Ink
“Honestly, not a bad assessment on his end,” I mock, something invigorating me that used to lie dormant in fear. Maybe I’ve been struck one too many times.Or I’m writing to someone who would happily break this entire castle, and honestly, I want to help, even if it collapses over my own body.“I doubt I have any true sanity remaining after living like a caged bird, healing her broken bones and wounds.”
He hotly moves away from his desk, fingers rolling like he’s ready to hit me in our usual exchange of hatred. “You’re so fucking useless. And havenoidea the horrors you have avoided. You complain of being hit? We could so easily use sharpenedsteel. But we don’t. All you do is complain about the luxuryforcedupon you, as you always say.”
I grab my dress, holding it out as if it’s a display. “Whatluxuryis this? It’s cold fabric that only offers warmth stolen from my own body?—”
His voice is rapt with ire, and I dart my gaze to the floor, nostrils flaring since I know that look in his eyes, and I don’t want to be hitagain. “If you only knew the life you would have lived if it weren’t for my wife! Any life as the wife toanylord is a luxury, you selfish cunt.” He moves near, and I take a step back to the door, refusing to look up. “You ruin this last one, Victoria, and I will bind your hands in marriage to Lord Faust. He won’t care that you’re not willing. And I doubt he’ll let you heal yourself as I do. He’s made from the same fabric as the Unseelie, but I could absolutely use his army. The only reason I haven’t chucked you at his feet is because Dahlia would have hated it, but I’mthisclose—” he nearly pinches his fingers together “—to not caring anymore.”
My lips part, his words ice on my skin as I slowly raise my glare at Silas. “Faust is an old, disgusting man who would dohorriblethings to me. There’s a reason she would hate to know I went to him.”
His laugh is laced bitterly with rage, and I hate the shape of his teeth. “Better hope your next suitor likes you, then.”
I almost call Silas a bastard, or throw a glare right into the eyes I despise the most. Instead, I quietly leave, just as he wants. Just asIwant. My compliance has nothing to do with obedience. My deepest desire to flee is so loud that I’ll play whatever part he needs, as long as it buys me his blind eye.
Because I’m done.
Iwillfind a way out.
He says I can’t leave his grounds, but would he follow me to Kane? Perhaps this is how the Unseelie High Lord collects hisfollowers, humans and fae alike, who are worn down by a system so polluted with corruption that eating anything from its soil would be consuming poison. We flock to him. To anewlife, no matter the cost.
No matter the damn cost.
If there’s no letter when I get back, then I’m writing a new one.
Once I traversethe grand halls, pass the stained glass and climb an annoying number of stairs—panting heavily by the time I reach the top—I close the door to my tower suite and lock it, hurrying over to my table as if to prove to myself it’snotall in my head, that escapingisn’tfutile. Underneath my blank parchment—an envelope.
No.
He wrote me?
Truly?
My pounding heart shifts in its rhythm as I stare at the sealed thing, the wax missing any emblem. It must have been delivered by Ginger while I was gone.
He wrote me again.
For a while, I simply stare until my eyes burn, not wanting to ruin such a moment. This could be the last correspondence I ever receive from Kane, meaning this opportunity I cling madly to will cease to end. Right now, it’s a lending hand when I’m so tired of climbing my way out, but reaching up to take it could reveal the hand will forever disappear.
I don’t want it to.
Once I can’t stand the anticipation any longer, I open the letter that’s made of lesser quality parchment, and something more than papyrus hits my senses.
I immediately smellhim.
My eyes widen, his intoxicating musk so faint. It takes me back to when I saw him in person, his scent permeating the crowd. I assumed it was because of his rank, that perhaps the Unseelie simply had that effect on us Seelie, like a cat smelling out a dog. What would I do if he were in the room?—
The thought flashes my eyes open, and I put the letter down so hastily it nearly slides off my desk.
What am I doing? Kane is anUnseelie. How can I be feeling anything more than animosity, or desperation to escape, toward him? The Unseelie want every last one of my kind dismantled and ripped from our homes. Including Kane. And I’m not daft. I know if he were to break out of the Carrows, he’d likely not take me. What am I going to do? Plead as I hold up these letters as if they will act as a shield?
He’sboredin there.
My reality and deluded heart will not stop warring with each other, like two caged birds squawking about details that don’t matter, because they’re still locked behind bars, breathing in stale air rather than the petrichor.
And I don’t even know him! Or, even worse, all Idoknow are the heinous rumors of what he does to his enemies. He carries a heavy reputation, and evenIknow not to make a deal with him I’m not willing to uphold. Heisjust like Faust in that manner.
Why did I even start writing to him in the first place?
But as I pull away, something snags my heart like barbed wire. I have to read the letter. Imust. It’s something I’ve started, and it’s honestly the only thing in my life that gives me any anticipation I don’t fear. Opening it up, the unfolding of paper so loud in a room that seems eternally quiet, even the faintest detailof knowing what his handwriting looks like does something to me.
