Page 7 of Not Another Happily Ever After

Oh, Xander. When are you going to learn that you’re not responsible for every damsel in distress?

A long twisted scar pokes above his collar, a remnant of the last time he put himself between Father and the source of his rage. “Perhaps we reschedule tonight?” Xander offers coolly.

The king laughs, but there is no joy in the deep timbre. “Perhaps you should remember your place,” he bites.

Unfortunately, sharp teeth have never been enough to scare my brother. “Look at her, Father. She isn’t well.”

Okay, ouch.

I want to argue. To have a say in all of this. But princess or not, I’m only a girl. And with my head bowed, it’s given me a lot of time to look at my hands. To see that he may be right. They’veturned a pale shade of blue. Almost like a chill has permeated my flesh, making itself at home above the bone.

“You know who else isn’t looking too well these days?”

My ears perk up, confusion chasing away my concern as I look between them. Both my father and brother look seconds away from drawing their swords.

Xander’s fingers flex above the scabbard holding his blade. “Don’t,” he spits through clenched teeth.

Father doesn’t flinch. In fact, his wicked grin grows wider under Xander’s threat.

“I think it’s time I sent some guards to visit our little prisoner. Check on all those bruises, of which we both know there were many.” He laughs.

“See, it’s not uncommon to fool around with peasants, son—especially the pretty ones. But falling for them? Planning afuturewith them?” Fathertsks, his lip curling in disgust as I realize who he’s referring to.

Suddenly, I know exactly who this prisoner is.

The handmaiden that was training to take over for Peony. Someone I had wanted to befriend. I thought Father had killed her. She was part of the reason I lost my desk and all of my stationery. I told her she could use it to write letters to her lover.

I hadn’t known he was the Prince. That she was in love with my brother.

Shame pools in my eyes at the memory of her screams and Xander’s yells. His anguish lingered in the halls for days after their whipping. He was left with that scar, but Ella…

She was unrecognizable. I was so sure she was dead.

I should have never kept that letter. It wasn’t mine to read. I just wanted to know what true love looked like.

Tears fall without my permission. What they had was real—just as real as the pain I’ve now subjected them to.

“A prince cannot love a peasant any more than a swine can fly. She is not of good stock, Son. Not for the likes of you and I. But that’s not to say the men won’t have some use for her.”

An inhuman sound tears from Xander’s mouth as he lunges for the king.

I don’t recall seeing either draw their swords, but there they are. Three black iridescent blades glinting in the fire light. Xander’s heavy iron points at Father’s neck, while Father’s jagged twins remain at his sides. All the fury in the world wouldn’t be enough to bring him down, and Xander knows it. We are not called the Kingdom of Ruin for nothing.

“See to it that Sunday is escorted back to her chambers. Immediately,” orders the king, his voice unchanged beneath the pressure of Xander’s blade.

Galahand wastes no time rushing to my side, his cold hands slipping beneath the bend of my elbow. I wince as his fingers brush the bruises there, biting down on the whimper climbing up my tightened throat.

It hurts to stand, though not more than it does to see the defeat weigh down my brother’s shoulders. He drops his blade, casting his eyes to the slick black floors of the castle’s undercroft. Knowing him, he will see this as his failure too. I want to reach out, to reassure him that I don’t need his saving. That I can save myself. But honestly, I’m not so sure I can anymore.

“Sunday.”

My eyes cut to where Father’s wait expectantly. “Be ready,” he orders, turning on his heel.

But before he can leave, and despite knowing I shouldn’t, I let the gnawing question slip.

“Ready for what, Father?”

Who needs a curse to kill you when you’ve got curiosity?