Of Thorns and Beauty by Elle Madison
Chapter Ten
Imeet Einar just outside my room. My sapphire gown is a stark contrast to the monotones around me, which must be why his eyes are fixated on me from the moment I step out the door, since he hasn’t shown interest in me before this.
His gaze lingers on the criss-crossed straps that wrap from my collarbone to tie around my neck, then over the sheer sleeves that gather at my wrist with golden cuffs, and down to the flowing, gauzy skirts.
My slippers are as impractical as the gown is, but it was by far the most suitable thing I found in the trunks I hadn’t been permitted to pack myself. Each outfit had been more stunning than the last, the clothing from my home culture blended seamlessly into Delphine’s far more revealing styles.
Most have low necklines, bare midriffs, and no sleeves at all. By comparison, at least this one covers my cleavage and offers some modicum of protection from the elements, though I’m already fighting down a shiver.
Sigrid had returned to fix my hair. There was little time to converse while her lightning-fast fingers whipped my hair into a half-updo, taking yesterday’s curls and making them look artful, even after a night of sleep.
When the moment stretches into awkwardness, I finally clear my throat to speak.
“Well then... lead the way,” I say with a begrudging smile.
It’s only been a day since I got here. Surely, we can still turn this around.
Einar stares down at me, and I swear I see his steely gaze soften a fraction. He opens the large wooden door and gestures for me to walk through it.
My head throbs as I take in each hallway and corridor. He only names the important places like the barracks, the throne room, the great hall, and the kitchens. The list goes on, and I make mental notes in the map I’m drawing in my head.
All of the spaces are spartanly decorated. Shields are the only decor on the walls, along with other weapons that are obviously well-used.
It’s almost as if they keep their arsenal close by in case they are attacked at any moment. I can’t help but wonder if it is a habit that has been ingrained in them from the days of constant war between Corentin, Jokith, and the other mountain kingdoms, or if it’s merely a matter of pride among their people.
For a moment I imagine the giant beside me running toward an opposing army, swinging his battle axe in full regalia. A shiver runs down my spine, and I begin to understand why such barbaric rumors have spread about these people.
Most of the castle is as dull and lifeless as I had expected it to be, but there is one room that catches my eye. He calls it a study.
It's a long, rectangular room with an enormous fireplace on one wall, and floor-to-ceiling windows on another. There are shelves of books, a smattering of musical instruments, and several places to sit and converse. It looks like a room where someone might actually enjoy themselves, and I have to wonder what it's doing in this castle.
I have to pull myself away from it rather reluctantly to return to my meandering tour.
We trudge up and down several sets of stairs, and I’m certain that I will vomit again all over them. I feel sicker than I should, even accounting for my rare indulgence last night.
“We can take a shortcut back, through the courtyard.” The king gestures ahead of us to an area at the bottom of the staircase.
It’s the small square of freezing outdoor air Leif had walked me through only yesterday. I glance down at my sheer clothing and thin slippers.
If it was anyone else, I would assume they were joking, but I’m beginning to believe he is just genuinely oblivious to the needs or feelings of any person outside himself.
“The long way is fine,” I say shortly, swallowing back the burning feeling in my throat.
The nausea doesn’t concern me, but I can barely seem to keep my feet beneath me. Maybe there is something to this mountain sickness.
My foot slips ever so slightly on the final step, sending me teetering backward. But Einar’s reflexes are quick, far more so than I would expect of someone his size. Before I have time to right myself, one of his hands is on the small of my exposed back, while the other is gripping my upper arm.
My eyes lock onto his for a moment while I take his measure. I can feel the heat emanating off of him just as it did last night. Shaking my head, I step out of his hold and smooth out the layers of my gown.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Einar simply nods and continues to move forward on the tour. I am about to reach out to him, to link my arm in his for support when I catch sight of one of the veiled servants hunched over on the floors, scrubbing what looks like a trail of green slime from the stones.
She wipes at her brow, fidgeting with the veil that is so clearly hindering her, when the king calls out to her loudly.
The words he uses are in his native tongue, but his meaning is clear enough.
She needs to keep her face covered.
My blood runs hot as I stare from him to the woman on the floor.
I deliberate over my response. True, I’m trying to appeal to whatever slightly better nature he possesses, but where does that end? Do I sit back and watch him mistreat others just to avoid upsetting him?
I flash back to Damian in the carriage, and a hundred memories before that. Hasn’t that been enough of my life?
“What’s happened?” I decide to interject.
I search for the kinder tone I’d used earlier, but my fading energy makes the words come out more forcefully than I mean for them to.
Ice creeps back into Einar’s irises and his jaw clenches.
“Nothing you need worry about,” he grits through his teeth.
The servant has ceased moving, cowering so much that she appears to be disappearing into the very cracks in the floor.
I try again to assess her stance with his fury before deciding to speak.
“Surely, she would be able to work more quickly without the hindrance of the veil.” I offer him a sincere expression, placing a hand on his colossal forearm.
He hesitates for a moment, his entire body stiffening and his gaze going predatorial.
“What did you say?” His voice is a growl, offering a glimpse of the beast I saw in him yesterday.
“I was only thinking that the servants --”
“Don’t. It isn’t your place to think where my staff is concerned.”
There’s that word again. My.
I nod. It’s all I can manage, weighed down by my mounting resentment. I know one thing, though. I was wrong before, when I thought there was still time to turn it around. But at least there is consistency in this.
At least I don’t have to worry about my emotions getting in the way of what I came here to do.