Relinquish: Book II of the Rising Trilogy (23 page)

As my foot touches the top step, I gasp, taken aback by the strange animals roaming about the perfectly manicured lawn. Bird-like creatures with four wings, two heads, and feathers of the purest silver flap about. Water fountains glisten with crimson waters. Beyond the edges of the palace, I can see great purple mountain peaks. Streams of water flow down toward the palace, entering through small grated holes into a pond that ripples peacefully in the sunlight.

A multitude of flowers are in full bloom, their aroma enticing and heady. Trees of green and blue shade the grounds, their star-like leaves dancing in the breeze.

“These Eltalik are rather tame animals.” Drakon points to a black feline that looks dangerously similar to a panther.

“Rather tame?” I question as one rolls onto its back and yawns, bearing sharp white teeth.

“Well… they have been known to take a hand or two from time to time. It is rather rare, though.” Drakon grins down at me. His threat delivered with silky poison.

I smirk and stretch out my hand to brush the soft fur of the nearest cat. “My kind of animal.”

I can feel it purring beneath my hand, rumbling through its chest. Drakon scowls and yanks me away. His fingers dig into my arm, but I do not protest. If he is fool enough to leave a mark on my arm when I’m presented to Aloysius, the better it will be for me.

My heels seem to echo upon the stone steps as we begin our final climb up to the stone palace. Its walls are veined like marble, appearing to have been mined from pure gold. The palace shimmers as the sun shifts from behind a cloud, snatching away my breath.

Drakon was right. This is beautiful. From the towering stone archways, with their intricate architecture, to the two-story gossamer fabric that drapes from the ceiling, billowing beautifully in the wind. Everything shines; everything glistens.

How can such a vile man live in a place of such exquisite beauty?

With each step I take, I turn inward, wishing I’d a chance to say good-bye to Eamon. I can’t bear the thought of him living a life without ever knowing he is not alone in the world, or that I do truly love him.

And Bastien… I can’t even bear to think about him as I pause before two enormous doors. They appear to be made of bone, although I can’t imagine how that would be possible. An intricate scrolled pattern weaves across the surface, making it hard to see the crack of the door until it swings inward, admitting us to the inner foyer.

I stare in amazement as two men, as tall and well-built as Gorgan, strain to open the doors, pushing them back until they nearly disappear against the whites of the wall. As I glimpse the interior of the palace for the first time, I wonder if I will ever stop gasping in wonder at new sights.

Large stone archways break off in either direction, forming hallways and vaulted entries to rooms beyond. A large sweeping balcony before me hangs over the foyer, where people can stand and look down upon new arrivals. The ceiling is draped with curtains of deep purple, attached every few feet to create the illusion of a flowing wave. The walls are papered in gold. Chandeliers, crafted with white stones the size of my fist and smaller opaque stones, hang overhead.

Sunlight streams naturally through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting dappled colors across the polished floor. Huge paintings hang in thick wooden frames, lining the walls as far as I can see down either hall. I can’t help but wonder what the rest of the palace looks like if the foyer is as grand as this.

A door to my right opens, appearing seamlessly from the decorated wall. A squat man with a rotund belly and pointy shoes shuffles toward me, his face glowing with happiness. “Ah, you have finally arrived.” He grabs for my hand, but I draw away. He looks only slightly flustered by my dismissal as he laughs. “I’m sure all of this is slightly overwhelming. It just takes time to adjust, dear.”

“Who are you?” I ask, staring at the balding patch near the crown of his head. It looks unusually slick, as if he actually buffed it to look shiny.

“I am the royal steward.” He bows low in greeting. “The king is anxious to meet with you. Please, follow me.” He waves a hand and totters off. “He’s waiting in the throne room.”

I fear the stability of my voice so I simply nod and walk forward, but Drakon snatches my arm. He releases me instantly as the steward turns back and bows low. “I look forward to serving my new queen. After you meet King Aloysius, you will feel like a brand new person.”

My gaze narrows at his pointed statement. “Don’t think I will forget your treachery or how you’ve tortured Bastien. You pose a threat to the king. That is not something I’m likely to forget even when I’m under his control. I would tread carefully if I were you.”

Drakon scowls and seizes my arm. “Right this way, my queen.”

He yanks me down the hall, leaving Alesta to stand with her mouth gaped open with confusion. I glance back at her. She tries to smile but doesn’t quite pull it off. I look forward, lifting my chin high.
I will not show fear.

The hall we pass through is lined with paintings that look oddly familiar to me. “What are these?” I ask without meaning to.

Drakon casts a severe glance at me. “You don’t know?” I shake my head, staring in wonder. I can tell these are of Earth. The colors are bold and vivid, normal. “These were once landmarks from your planet. The pyramids of Egypt, the Great Wall in China, the Eiffel Tower, and the Statue of Liberty.” He points at each in turn. An ache forms in my chest as the images go on and on, depicting a world I never had a chance to know.

My mind screams at me to turn and run, but there is nowhere to go. Even if I could escape the palace, it would be pointless. I stand little chance of escaping this planet and zero chance of outrunning my destiny. Drakon would hunt me down and return me to this very spot, and I would be forced to let him.

“Come, come. It’s this way,” the pudgy steward calls. His coat flaps whip about him as he faces forward once more.

A single tear falls down my cheek as I arrive at the door. The last heartbroken cry of my heart is for Bastien, and then… all falls silent as an odd sensation washes over me.

The doors open to reveal a man standing at the bottom of a set of steps that rise behind him, leading to a golden throne. The man appears both noble and kind. His shoulders are broad, his arms and chest well defined from years of labor, although I can’t quite figure what sort of labor would be required of a king. His hair is dark and cut short, lying across his head in such a way it complements his angular face. Flecks of gray are interspersed with his neatly trimmed beard.

Although he appears to be nearly thirty years my senior, I find him pleasing to the eye. A man sure to catch any girl’s attention.

He stares at me from across the vast room, his expression anxious. As I step forward to go to him, I realize his eyes are dark, like the bark of a maple tree back home. A royal blue and golden cloak billows about him as he raises his hands in welcome.

“How long I have waited to finally meet you, Illyria.” My steps seem almost wooden as I approach. He closes the gap between us and takes my hands in his. They are soft yet boasting of strength with his firm grip. “You are far more lovely than I had imagined.”

Oh, how disgusting. Don’t touch me!

He raises my hands and places a kiss on each of my fingers. My smile falters. This feels familiar yet foreign at the same time. The king’s crown glints in the lights above, capturing my attention. My heart hammers in my chest. I’m fearful it will give me away.

A blush rises up from my neck as he steps back to admire me. His gaze lingers long over my curves, his smile growing broad as he finally sweeps back up to meet my nervous gaze. “You are perfect.”

“Thank you, my king.” I dip my head and bow as Alesta had shown me. Drakon reaches out to grab me before I tumble completely.

Smooth one, Illyria.

“She is still a work in progress, my king,” Drakon says, shoving me back upright.

I turn to glare at him. The king follows my gaze and clears his throat, drawing me back. He offers me his hand, and I step out of Drakon’s grasp. “Don’t mind him. He won’t be around long.”

“Yes, my king,” I say softly. I feel… odd. Mingled with pleasure to finally be standing with my future husband, yet I can hear myself screaming to be free, as if trapped within my own mind. It is so confusing.

“Please.” He pauses, ready to step upon the first stair leading up to two thrones, one only slightly larger than the other. “You mustn’t be so formal with me. Call me Aloysius.”

I smile and lower my gaze as I draw up the hem of my dress to follow his lead.

“My king?”

Aloysius’s smile freezes as he pats my hand and turns. “Your interruption had better be important, Drakon.”

“Yes, my king.” He dips into a low bow. “I wanted to inform you that we have a prisoner to deal with. He is just arriving.”

“A prisoner?” His face brightens as he clasps his hands together. “Bring him in.”

A guard rushes to the door and reappears a moment later with a young man. His head is bowed, his shoulders slumped. I can tell by the blood that clings to his neck, hands, and arms that he has been badly mistreated. I feel sorry for him.

Drakon shoves him from behind and the man grunts as he falls to his knees. A swift kick to his back sends him sprawling. I close my eyes, sickened by the sound of his moist, wheezing breath. What has this man done to deserve such a punishment?

Grabbing a chunk of his hair, Drakon yanks his head back. I gasp at the patchwork of blood and bruises that conceals his face. A deep gash seeps from his hairline and into his purplish right eye, swollen nearly completely shut. His skin is sickly pale, nearly translucent. I can see his veins prominently through his skin.

But it isn’t his physical condition that startles me. It is the way his one good eye searches the room, frantically seeking something. When his gaze falls upon me, I can hear an audible sigh of relief and he ceases his search. Blood seeps from a deep tear in his lip as he tries to smile at me. The sentiment is unnerving but also oddly touching. Doesn’t he know that by looking at me he is putting his life in further danger?

Bastien! You know him. Remember!
I blink, confused by the voice screaming in my mind.

“So this is your prisoner? I see he has already undergone a round of torture at your hand, Drakon.” Aloysius’s gaze narrows. “Bring him closer.”

I watch as the young man is heaved to his feet. He cries out and seems to favor his right side. Despite the pain, he never stops looking at me. I shift uncomfortably, wishing he would turn his gaze away.

Please,
the voice whispers, raw and throaty in my mind.
Don’t let him die.

His gaze is piercing, almost as if he can see right through me. “Illyria?” His voice is low and raspy, edged
with pain. “It’s me, Bast—”

“Silence!” Aloysius’s face blots with anger. “You will not speak in my presence unless spoken to. Nor will you address my future wife in such an informal manner.”

There is something oddly familiar about him, like a dream just out of reach. “So”—Aloysius’s voice draws me back—“what are we to do with you? You look strong enough. Perhaps we could make a soldier out of you.”

I turn to look at my future husband. His words seem wrong to me. This man is obviously more than a normal soldier. Not many men could go through such a horrific beating and still be able to think, let alone speak, yet he stares back, not in fear, but in defiance. There is great strength within him and he seems to think he knows me.

“My king?” I call softly. Aloysius turns, his expression softening as I step toward him, my hand outstretched. He grasps it lightly and draws me near. I look down upon the wounded man and know this is right. “May I have him?”

Aloysius sucks in a breath, his hand clenching around mine. I smile up at him, showing him the pleasure I take in knowing I am marrying a man of mercy. “What an odd request. What would you possibly want him for?”

I turn my gaze away and look down upon the man. “He is strong. You need only to look at him to see this is no normal man. He is a warrior. Look at the way he holds himself. He doesn’t cower in fear.” I take a step and draw Aloysius nearer. “I would like him as a personal bodyguard.”

From the corner of my eye, I can see Drakon shaking his head. “But I have already selected Malek as your guard, darling.” He points to the man standing against the wall. He seems nearly as wide as he is tall, and although I’m afraid to ask, I almost wonder if there are real giants living on this planet.

“A fine choice, my king, but I stand by my request. This prisoner will be my slave and that binds him to me until death. A soldier, no matter how great he might be, will never have that sort of bond with me.”

Aloysius strokes his beard, tugging it into a point as he deliberates. “Yes, you do make a solid argument.”

“Sire!” Drakon splutters a few feet away. “I highly protest this idea. Don’t you know who this boy is?”

His protest cuts off into a gargled cry as Aloysius bears down upon him. “You dare question my judgment? Do you think me a fool not to know the longings of her heart and mind?”

I frown, wondering what my heart has to do with this.

Don’t give in. You’ve got him convinced. You can save his life.