Page 82 of A Queen's Game
“Of course it was your fault, you stupid girl.” Her father arrived behind Keyain, the fury on his face joined with a new red welt. “Betrothed less than a couple of hours and already ruined it?”
“You don’t talk to her.” Brynden took a staggering step towards her father, lips pulled back and his finger pointed. “You’re lucky Sylas pulled me off you or else I would have—”
“Are you saying you attacked another minister?” Keyain said, reaching for the sword at his waist.
Elyse stepped forward, the King’s hand reaching out to keep her back. “Keyain, please—”
“Gyrsh deserved it. Unless you think it’s okay for him to be hitting her.” Brynden steadied himself, fury clear on his face.
Keyain turned, his eyes growing wide. “He’s doing it again?”
“You knew? You fucking knew and left Elyse with him?” Brynden suddenly became calm, turning to her. “Let’s go. Someone at the townhouse can heal you.”
“No,” the King, Keyain, and her father all said at once.
“She’s my betrothed,” Brynden argued. “I’m not leaving this fucking palace without her.”
“If you keep this up, you won’t be leaving at all.” Keyain’s hand fell to the hilt of his sword. “And Elyse sure as fuck isn’t going anywhere with you.”
Elyse watched in silent horror as the males debated what they wanted of her—debated her future—while refusing to listen to her. Waves of fury rose from her gut to her head, causing a roaring in her ears. No more. She wouldn’t sit by any longer.
“Stop it!” she screamed, her breathing ragged. “I’ve had enough of you all deciding for me what I can and can’t do! Stop making my decisions and stop talking like I’m not here. I don’t belong to any of you.” She glared first at Keyain, to Brynden, then at her father. “I’m done.”
Elyse sidestepped around King Wyltam’s still out-stretched hand, offering a sympathetic glance at Brynden. “I don’t want to marry you, not after this.” She stormed towards the library’s exit.
“Elyse, please,” Brynden called, his voice cracking.
“Don’t move,” Keyain growled. There was scuffling and a loud thud, Elyse not bothering to turn back.
The King’s voice carried through the library, loud enough for her to hear. “Gyrsh, we get to have a nice long chat, it seems.” Though she had never seen the King show much of any emotion, his words dripped like venom.
The stinging in her arms subsided from her attention as she passed rows of shelves, mind spinning. Sure, Brynden was drunk, but why didn’t he listen? When she pushed him back, why did he fight?
She was incredibly, helplessly stupid. An hour ago, she couldn’t contain her happiness. A future with a handsome male sweeping her off her feet. A new city of freedom, a life worth living. How foolish was she to think it would happen?
Silent tears streaked her face. The life she lived that day—sitting around with friends, magic, singing, beingwanted—it was all a lie, things she could never have. But since she tasted the freedom of that life, her future stuck within Satiros became more damning.
She would die here.
She would die.
Anxious to be far away from the library, Elyse hurried through the exit with her head down, bumping into someone.
“Oof, sorry—Elyse?” Sylas stopped, gazing into the library and then to her arms, his face paling. “What did he do now?”
“Nothing.” Elyse walked past him, but his hand caught her shoulder.
“Elyse, please. You’re bleeding. What in the hells happened?”
She swallowed hard. “Brynden is a drunken ass. Clearly I made a mistake by accepting his offer to marry me.”
His jaw tightened as he sighed. “Where is he now?”
“In there with my father, Keyain, and King Wyltam.”
Sylas swore, his hand pushing back the curls that hung in his eyes. “You need to see someone for your wounds.”
“You need to go grab your friend before Keyain draws his sword.”
