And in my bones, I knew the truth—if I killed him, they’d just find another useless piece of shit to marry her in his place.
Turning away, I stormed out of the room with my weapons thudding against my thigh. To keep her safe, I needed a plan. And I needed to get the fuck out of that building in order to think it through.
I went deep into the old wood that had once been my mother’s but was now mine alone. There was a blood moon that night, and the shadows of the beeches were long and unfriendly. I wound my way down old overgrown bridle paths toward the cold spring near the great oak. This was one of the few places that I ever remembered being happy, and it was here I came when I was so fucking full of fury and fire that I knew I was a danger to anyone else.
Kneeling beside the cold spring, I let the still darkness calm me. The pool of crystal-clear water shivered in the moonlight. I slipped my hands into the water, flexing my fingers.
I’d hardly unclenched my fists since dinner, and my knuckles ached. The cold water blunted the pain, if only for a second. Kneeling close to the water, I splashed my face and hair. The water was freezing and it gave me the shock I needed. Things had been getting clearer earlier, and now they were clearer still.
As much as I wanted to marry her, it could never happen. Some big ceremony with three days of games and rejoicing all over the kingdom sounded pretty fucking miserable to me, anyway. But it could never happen, regardless. Not to Anika and me. My own conflict about loving her completely aside, it was against all the laws of the land for brother to marry sister, whether they were stepsiblings or not.
I knew Anika almost as well as I knew myself. True, I didn’t know her darkest desires, though I fucking ached to know them. But her spirit, her way of being, was as clear to me as anything in the world. The intrigue of court, the politics of life in the castle—all that shit repelled her and I knew it. She hated it; I’d heard her say so in private, and I’d often seen it clearly on her face.
If she could be away from all that, away from the kingdom, she’d be happy enough. But I’d only be happy if it was somewhere that a man could never touch her.
The answer was plain. Both a good and awful solution.
A nunnery.
It was the best and only thing I could live with. And, I knew, if I could arrange for Maria to go there with her, they might be able to live a happy life. No man would have her. She would be safe. She would never be defiled by anybody. Not even me.
I splashed my face again. It wasn’t fucking ideal. But the alternative was to let her marry—either that dickhead or someone else. If that happened, if she lay with any other man on earth, I’d end up in the hangman’s noose for murder.
To die for her would’ve been the biggest honor of my life. But I had to go on living in order to protect her.
Chapter 6
Anika
Once the guests dispersed, my mother escorted me back to my chambers, keeping one finger on my spine the whole way in order to keep my posture ramrod straight.
All I wanted was to be alone—to wallow in this horrifying thing that had been sprung on me, like a bear trap clamping shut. But beside me, my mother chattered away, about this person we met or that person we met. About influence and power. It was like she had attended some other dinner; none of what she said sounded at all familiar. I’d been in a blur the whole time and still was. That horrible man was my betrothed. That horrible man was my destiny.
The thought of it made me groan and drop my head, which made my mother tsk a cluck of disapproval and drive her finger even harder into my spine. We rounded the corner into the corridor that led to my private chambers. Now, finally, we were mostly alone. Just me and my mother, and Maria trailing behind us.
My mother turned to face me, her lips tight, her eyes narrow. She glanced side to side, ensuring we were alone and said what I imagined she’d been dying to say all evening.
“You are such a disgrace, Anika Zoja. Such a bloody disgrace.”
Like other mothers, she used my full name when she was particularly disappointed in me. But unlike other children, hearing my full name gave me courage, not shame. I still had my father’s last name, long dead though he was.
He had been a knight who died valiantly in battle, when I was still a little girl. I remembered him though, clearly and warmly. Hearing my full name reminded me of him. Of his bravery, of his steadiness. Of his fortitude in the face of any kind of difficulty. Including my mother’s moods.