#wendlyn
Queen of Serpents || Galan Ashryver x OC [Chapter Seven]
{WARNINGS: adult language, fantasy violence, woman owning her sexuality and her body, woman using her sexuality and body as a weapon, woman saying “fuck emotions i’m scared”, manipulation mentions, toxic main character but she learns, toxic parents, self-harm in the form of self-poisoning, self-hate, fucked up family}
The morning sunlight streamed through her windows, landing on the bed where she should have been. The beauty was lost on the princess. Arya had not slept at all the night before. She had found a place on the left side of her bed where she could sit, saying prayers to gods that she did not believe in as she searched for answers.
Nox and Luna had come to her, curling around her feet as though they were patient dogs. They had been the one saving grace of a horrid night.
She had done it. She had met a man who she could marry and who would see to it that she was the one sitting on the throne. But that wasn’t enough to make her happy. Galan’s face kept replaying in her mind. Whenever she closed her eyes, he was there. Hurt, wounded. The stupid prince who had no idea who she really was. He didn’t deserve her sympathy, he didn’t deserve her empathy. He didn’t know the monster he had allowed into his home. He did not know she was planning murders under his nose.
But none of that seemed to stop her from hating herself. He had been kind to her. He’d smiled when she walked into a room, had wanted nothing more than to make her comfortable. The first person to ever do so. Arya knew that she was being stupid. People like her did not marry for love. They married for power. They married in order to keep their crowns. Galan had not loved her. He hadn’t needed to. All he had to do was woo her and she would have given up her crown for his.
Her parents would have been livid at the disobedience. Their secret would come to life. It was nothing they would ever want. How would they ever come back from their disgrace being found out? Arya didn’t know nor did she care. She couldn’t think about it for too long. Otherwise, the tears would come and she would find herself even more unbearable than normal.
She took a breath, knowing that she needed to pick herself up off the floor. She couldn’t let anyone see how upset she was. It wasn’t like she had a reason to be. Everything was going exactly as planned. She’d done what she had set out to do. So why did she feel as though she’d done everything wrong? Why did it hurt so much to know that she would never again see the Prince of Wendlyn? She didn’t want to unlock that door in her mind. She didn’t need to know why she felt the way she did. It was pointless. She would be who her parents expected her to be. There was nothing she could do about it.
The door to her bed-chamber opened.
“Good morning, dear cousin,” Calanon’s voice was especially grating after a night of no sleep. “I heard all about your engagement. You work quite quickly, don’t you?”
She knew the meaning hidden behind his words. Knew what he thought she had done. It was easier to let him think as he wanted, even if it made her see red. She was a grown woman. If she wanted to use her body, she was going to. Even if that had not been the case in this particular situation.
“He was impressed by my beauty, thank you,” Arya stated as she rose from the floor. Nox and Luna hissed at her cousin before darting underneath the bed. They seemed to hate her cousin nearly as much as she did. “What are you doing here, cousin? It’s improper.”
“I’m your guardian, Arya,” Calanon pointed out as he sat down at the small table reserved for her daily teas. “It’s my duty to check on you whenever I feel necessary.”
“I should have stabbed you,” Arya stated as she stepped to her vanity. “It would have at least made you entertaining.”
“You wound me, cousin,” his eyes were dark as he stared at her through the mirror. She should have known better than to antagonize him. Calanon had already scarred her for life. He would not be afraid of taking her life. Besides, he would more than likely be applauded for taking care of an opponent. Her parents certainly wouldn’t call for his head.
Kalthanen may have been beautiful, but it was ruthless. As long as she killed for her throne, her people would respect her. Her parents would respect her. Simply marrying for it would have caused nothing but contempt. For reasons that Arya didn’t fully understand. She knew that her people wouldn’t care who was ruling them as long as they were taken care of. They were going to miss her before they ever had her sitting on the throne.
Even if she knew she wouldn’t always be what they needed.
“I’ve written your father,” Calanon continued, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on the table. He barely looked at her. He didn’t need to. He had her full attention. “When I receive word back, we’ll head home. For now, you’re to show off your betrothed. Make his family love you and all of that bullshit.”
“You make romance sound so exciting,” Arya stated dryly as she took a seat across from him. She did not bother to look at him. She did not wish to see the way his eyes would sparkle. Nor did she want to see the grin that was surely stretched upon his features. She knew that he would find this whole thing wildly amusing. He would love to watch her suffering.
“It’s not my fault that you ruined any chance at happiness."
"Do you mean Dorian?” Arya’s brow rose slightly as she stared at Calanon’s fingers. It would be so easy to reach forward and break them. To cut them off and leave him howling in pain. She could hurt him in a thousand different ways. But he was stronger than her. He had always been stronger than her and always would be.
“You could’ve ruled all of Adarlan. Everyone knows Dorian isn’t fit to be a king. You would’ve done well there,” it was the kindest thing he had ever said to her. “With you on the throne, we wouldn’t have had to worry about being invaded. Now, we have to hope you’re doing enough with this marriage.”
“Would you rather I marry Galan?” Arya looked at him, annoyance clear on her face.
“Definitely not,” Calanon snorted as he looked at his cousin. “The poor boy wouldn’t be able to control you. You’ve lost your chance at the throne, Arya. Why should you gain another?”
She bristled at his words, wishing she could launch herself across the table. She would murder him the moment they returned to Kalthanen. If she did so while they were still in Wendlyn, it would only cause trouble. Someone would demand an investigation. She would be found guilty, never once believing she would let anyone else go punished for her crime. Arya could take punishment. She had been dealing with it for much longer than anyone had realized.
“I trust you realize that my blades are sharp, cousin,” she said with dark eyes and a darker tone. “And my poisons have always been quite potent.”
His gaze locked on hers, his cheeks were redder than his hair. “You little witch,” he snarled as his right hand disappeared underneath the table.
Arya quickly became aware of the fact that she was unarmed. She knew better than to leave herself defenseless. Especially around her family.
“I knew it was you,” he pulled a dagger from the sheath on his belt. The blade was four inches, deadly sharp, but otherwise unadorned. Kalthanen steel didn’t need decoration when it was deadly. “No one ever believed that you could do it. Bleeding out on your bed should have kept you from retaliating.”
“I never miss an opportunity,” her heart hammered in her chest as she tried to keep a cool composure. He could kill her right there. He was stupid enough to not think about the consequences. She was the planner of the family, not him.
“You could have killed me, Arya!” He stood, his body shaking with rage but the blade deadly still in his grasp. “You had one of your whores do it, didn’t you?”
“Yet, you’re allowed to kill me without thought?” She didn’t bother to stand up. Didn’t bother to run from the dagger that was slowly approaching her. She knew that it would do nothing. Except make her death less honorable.
“You act as though anyone would miss you,” Calanon stalked closer to her. The blade seemed to gleam in the light. “You’re nothing but a whore, Arya. We all know it. We see how you parade about in those dresses, how you tease the men at court. But when it truly matters, it seems like you fail. Why is that, Arya?”
She didn’t answer him. The knife in his grip seemed to be a better option to his words.
“It’s because you’re nothing. You’re a failure to your family. To Kalthanen. You should’ve been taken care of long ago,” he struck then. She barely felt the steel against her cheek, barely felt the sting until warmth began to bloom from the cut.
Calanon looked pleased. His eyes bright and his smile almost feral. There had been several times when Arya thought he would kill her. There had been too many times when he had stood above her with a blade, just waiting to carve into her and turn her into a husk. She had fought back every step of the way. She had never backed down from him and his challenges, from the harsh words he spun.
No matter how badly she wished she could. It wasn’t proper for a Kalthanen princess to stand down.
“It must pain you to know that no matter what I do, I will still be better than you,” Arya’s voice was soft. She knew it was true at least. Kalthanen would never let Calanon sit upon her throne. She’d make damn sure of it. “You should be mindful, cousin. It wouldn’t do to kill me now. Not when you’ll be the only one to blame.”
Calanon’s eyes glinted with hate. How long had he been waiting to strangle her? To quiet her for the final time? She knew that he had been praying for her death for years. She’d heard his hushed prayers in morning temple every mid-week. She knew that he wanted the crown. That she was a stepping stone in his way. With her gone, all he had to do was get Aragorn out of the way. Aragorn would be the easy one.
“Do you really think your father will care?” His voice grated her. He was saying things that she knew to be true. Her father would be glad to be rid of her. “No one will care when the Whore of Kalthanen meets her end. We’ve just been waiting for you to do it yourself.”
“You would do well to step away from her,” a voice broke through the tense bubble that had surrounded the two cousins. Calanon’s dagger was still in his hand, dripping with Arya’s blood. He stood with it aimed at her throat. He would have slit her throat had she said something he disliked.
She almost wished he’d had the courage to do so.
Galan Ashryver stood before them. His expression was harder than she had ever seen it. She had not realized just how sharp his jawline were nor how thin his lips could go. His eyes burned with a cold fire that sent shivers down her spine. He looked more like a king than he ever had. She hated him for it.
“Your Highness,” her cousin’s voice turned smooth as silk. “I assure you, this is none of your concern. Just familial dramas, as I’m sure you know.”
“I said,” Galan didn’t look at her as he spoke, “step away from her."
Calanon gave a tight smile as he did as told. It wouldn’t do well to start an international incident. Besides, Galan almost looked as though he planned on gutting Calanon with his own dagger.
"Get out.” The words were spoken with more venom than Arya had ever heard. Not even Dorian had sounded so angered when he had demanded her removal from Adarlan.
Calanon gave his approximation of a bow before scurrying out of the room. Arya knew this wasn’t over. If anything, Galan’s interruption would just make Calanon more volitaile. He hated to be kept waiting. Especially when it came to giving Arya what he assumed she deserved. She would have to remember to send her pets to him later that night. Luna would do what she was best at.
Silence descended upon them. Galan stood away from her, his hands clenched into fists at his side. Anger seemed to be rolling off of him. Arya wondered if he had ever been this angry before. What right did he have to be angry? None of this was his business. She was not his concern. She never had been and she never would be. She was certain of this.
When the tension became unbearable, Arya broke.
“You didn’t need to come to my rescue,” her voice came out harsher than she had meant it to. “I’m not your concern, Galan. Nor am I some damsel that you must rush in to save.”
“Forgive me for not wishing to see you dead,” his voice was flat. Anger still burned in his eyes. She didn’t want to think of the way it made her stomach knot. She hated to see him like this if only because it made him more attractive.
“Calanon is an idiot but he wouldn’t risk angering my father,” she pointed out. “He knows how important my marriage to Lord Middleditch is.”
“Why exactly is it so important?” His anger seemed to have loosened his tongue at the very least.
“He won’t get in the way,” she didn’t know why she was admitting this. Why she felt as though he needed an actual explanation. “I’ll be able to get my throne without worrying about whatever my husband is doing. We don’t love each other. He’ll get his comfort, I’ll get my crown.”
“Is that all that matters to you?”
“Kalthanen is my birthright. I’m the only one who can give my people what they deserve,” Arya knew it was true. She was the only one who had given everything she possibly could for her people. “I’ll take it by whatever means necessary.”
“Look what that’s gotten you,” Galan’s voice grew softer as he slowly neared her. “I’ve seen the scars, Arya. I’ve seen what they’ve done to you. Who they’re forcing you to become."
Galan’s hand came up then, gently cupping her face. His thumb gently rubbed the skin underneath the cut. She could feel the blood leaving her skin. She couldn’t see it on his flesh but she knew it would be there. How did it feel? How did he feel knowing that he had her blood on his skin?
She tried not to shudder at the touch. She tried not to feel as though it were intimate or as though he were getting too close.
"Why would they wish you to marry some lordling?” Galan’s voice was hushed, so soft that she almost couldn’t hear him. She hadn’t realized how tall he was. How he seemed to tower over her. She hated that she liked it. She hated that he seemed to know it.
“It’s punishment.” Why was she telling him this? Why would she tell him anything?
Arya kept her secrets close to her. There had never been a time when she felt as though she needed to tell someone her secrets. There had never been a person that she felt like she could trust. So why was Galan Ashryver the first? What was it about him that made her feel as though she could tell him the truth? Who was he? What spell was he casting on her?
“Punishment?”
“I failed with Dorian Havilliard,” his thumb slowly traveled to her mouth. Could he feel the flutter of her heart? “I was supposed to make him fall in love with me. I was supposed to become Adarlan’s queen.”
“I see,” Galan’s eyes never left hers. She hated how blue they were. How that ring of gold made her want to wrap her arms around him and embrace him in ways he shouldn’t.
“They’ll have more control over me if they know I’ll still be vying for Kalthanen.” It was perhaps the first time she had admitted it to herself. She knew that her parents loved her in their own way. They just loved being in control even more.
“Then why do it? Why fight for a family that wants to see you buried?” His eyebrow cocked, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. She had to breathe to remind herself that this meant nothing. He meant nothing.
Galan Ashryver was just a distraction. Her throne meant more to her. Her throne had always meant more to her. She just needed to remember that.
“Kalthanen is my birthright, Galan. Just as Wendlyn is yours,” Arya found it hard to look away from him. His eyes were captivating. The way it felt as though he were staring into her soul made her want nothing more than to fall into his embrace and give into every single temptation.
“You could be so much more,” he slowly leaned in closer to her. He gave her enough time to back away if she wished.
His nose brushed against hers, sending chills down her spine. She could fall into him, give him everything that he wanted. Take everything that she deserved.
A pang in her chest reminded her that she could never be his queen. Arya was destined for something different. Galan would find someone better. Someone who could be the queen that he deserved, who could give him all the things that she could not.
“We should stop this,” her voice came out breathlessly. She hadn’t realized how nervous he made her. How he made her heart hammer in her chest, how he made her head spin and her nerves feel as though they were on fire. Galan Ashryver was going to be the death of her.
“Stop what?” She could feel his breath against her. Gods above it was taking all her willpower to not kiss him. To not drag him to her bed.
“Galan,” his name was like a prayer on her lips. “I’m engaged to Lord Middleditch.”
“And yet, you deserve so much more than him,” Galan’s lips briefly ghosted over hers. Her knees felt weak just from the slight brush. What would happen if he were to kiss her with any sort of passion? Would she fall apart? Would he pick up the pieces? Would he worship her as she daydreamed? Or would he leave her for Middleditch the next day?
“You should be a queen, Arya. My queen."
Galan Ashryver kissed her then. His left arm wrapped around her waist, crushing her body against his as he kissed her fiercely. All the emotions they’d been fighting for weeks had been built up to one desperate kiss.
Arya tangled her fingers in his hair as their tongues and teeth clashed together in a desperate attempt to chase away the emotions they felt for one another. She knew it was wrong that they felt anything for each other. She knew they could never be together. Not when her heart was still in Kalthanen. Not when she knew what she was.
She pulled away from him, panting softly. Her eyes burned with desire. Every part of her wanted more. She wanted his hands on her body, wanted to feel him in every sense of the word. But she knew better. She would always know better.
"Arya,” she liked how his breath came out in a rush. How her name sounded like a prayer. “Arya, don’t do this. Don’t marry him.”
“You should go,” she stepped away from him slowly. His finger was still smeared with her blood, a wounded expression crossed his features. “We shouldn’t be alone anymore, Galan.”
“Listen to reason, Arya, please.” Galan did not step closer to her, did not invade her space as other men had. Her heart twisted in her chest. “He won’t be able to protect you from your family. He can’t give you the things I can. If you want a crown, I will do whatever it takes to make you a queen. Either of Wendlyn or Kalthanen. Hellas, I would fight against Adarlan and win you that throne if you so desired.”
Pretty words. She had to tell herself that’s all they were. Galan didn’t love her. He just wanted her body. He wanted to fuck her into oblivion. That was all he would ever want with her. Arya could tell herself so as many times as she wished but she would never truly believe it.
“I’ve given him my word, Galan. I’ll marry Lord Middleditch and return home by the end of the season.” Arya’s hands clenched into fists at her side. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “Now, please, go before we both do something we’ll regret.”
Galan looked as though he wanted to fight her. He looked as though he had a million things to say, a million different reasons for her to choose him instead. But she couldn’t. She never would. Arya couldn’t be the queen he deserved. She could not be the one he needed.
“As you wish,” Galan bowed his head to her before he turned away. She thought she saw something sparkle on his cheek but dismissed it as a trick of the light. He left her alone.
Her heart shattered on the floor as tears mixed with the blood still falling down her face.
{WARNINGS: adult language, fantasy violence, woman owning her sexuality and her body, woman using her sexuality and body as a weapon, woman saying “fuck emotions i’m scared”, manipulation mentions, toxic main character but she learns, toxic parents, self-harm in the form of self-poisoning, self-hate, fucked up family}
Arya took Lord Middleditch’s hand, noting the lack of callouses and the way his cuticles looked almost as nice as her own. He was a man who not worked for anything. A man who had never held a sword in his hand. He’d be so easy to play with. It had been far too long since Arya had been able to play her favorite game. Playing with the heart of men had been a pastime since she had first realized that she was something more than beautiful.
She was sensual.
She would seduce the man, sleep with his wife or betrothed, and then she would watch as he struggled to pick up the pieces. She had a habit of creating insatiable lust. She had a habit of becoming someone that no one could ever have. She was an untouchable woman.
She just had to keep reminding herself that it was safer to play the game than to be played. Dorian Havilliard had been the only man who had ever come close to breaking her heart. A heart that she wasn’t sure she even had.
Thomas’ hand was stronger than she expected, his hold on her waist was tight enough to entice her. She fought the urge to smirk up at him. She wanted to make this last longer than it probably should. Seducing him within moments would only make the game end before she had her fun.
As the two danced, she could feel a gaze on her. It caused an unfamiliar heat to rise in her stomach and spread across her chest. She knew without looking that Galan was watching them. She wondered if he realized that he had no claim over her. Just because he had been nothing but a gentleman since they had met meant nothing. Princelings often thought the world belonged to them. Any beautiful woman was theirs. Any possible thing they could wish for was theirs for the taking.
Arya would never let that happen to her. She didn’t care if she had to stab him to make her point widely known. Although, stabbing him would bring attention that she did not want. It seemed as though the princess was bound to make a terrible decision when it came to Galan Ashryver. It didn’t matter what she wished.
“I must say,” Lord Middleditch’s voice drew her out of her thoughts. His voice was a seductive drawl, deep and dark like the ocean’s abyss. “I didn’t expect you to show tonight.”
“And why is that?” One of her brows rose just slightly as she watched the smirk grow on his face. He was handsome enough. The worst part was that he knew that he was. That was bound to cause trouble.
“Our prince is many things,” he started, thinking over his words for a moment before continuing. “An idiot just happens to be one of them.”
“Is that so?” Arya tried to mask the amusement in her tone. “I thought he was quite revered. He fights for his country and is quite dashing. Surely that garners some respect.”
“Only an idiot would fight on the frontlines. Galan thinks he can take on Adarlan by himself.”
“Careful,” Arya said before Thomas dipped her gently. “He happens to be my closest friend here.”
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding him all night?” So he was perceptive. That would have to be taken care of. Arya didn’t need anyone seeing through her nor her plans. If he managed to find out that she was just trying to find a husband and steal them away to Kalthanen, who knew what would happen.
He might decide he was the best man for the position. He might assume he’d be the best king for Kalthanen. She would never let that happen.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Arya gave him a demure smile. This man was sure to be someone who she watched for. He wasn’t playing the same games that she was. “All I’ve done was dance with a few men. I’m allowed to do as I please. Free will is man’s one true strength, wouldn’t you agree?”
The smirk on his lips chilled her to the core. He looked like a member of Kalthanen’s court. The snake-like eyes, the handsome features that masked a horrid heart. She wanted to be sick just looking at him. She took a breath through her nose, knowing that she was being oversensitive. He didn’t know anything about her. He would never know anything about her.
No one could see behind any of the masks she wore. No one ever would. Hell, Arya did not know who she was. How was anyone else supposed to figure it out?
“I would,” Thomas spoke, twirling her just before the song ended. “You seem to have a choice to make.” He stared over her head, watching someone nearing the two of them. “You can either spend the rest of your night with me or you could continue to give our prince hope.”
Arya did not glance behind her. She did not listen to the pull in her gut telling her that this was a bad idea. Her instincts normally protected her. She had made a habit of listening to them rather than anything else. She would get into trouble otherwise. But this was a decision that needed to be rationalized. She couldn’t just listen to a stupid little pull in her gut. She had to think about what was best for her. What was best for Kalthanen.
“Lead the way,” Arya didn’t know if she was going to regret her decision. She didn’t think she cared.
Thomas took her by the arm, leading her out of the ballroom. As they slipped through the door, she turned her head to see Galan. A look of hurt on his face.
Her stomach seemed to knot itself but she said nothing, did nothing, as Thomas walked her to the gardens.
“I find it easier to think out here,” he explained as they exited the castle through large, glass doors. The gardens were beautiful in the daylight but in the moonlight they were exquisite. She wondered how hard Galan had worked to make it that way. Had he even noticed it?
She didn’t know why she was thinking of him.
“Yes, it’s quite lovely,” she said as they passed whispering couples and one who seemed more inclined to fighting than intimacy.
Arya took it upon herself to note who was nearest them. In case anything happened, she wished to know who she might be able to rely on for protection.
It seemed as though the Fae had preferred the gardens to the crowded ballroom. Two Fae couples stood in the gardens, one just along the eastern wall. The woman was small, petite against the man’s large frame. Her hair was the deepest ebony and she looked up at the man with the light of a thousand stars in her eyes. The man did not appear to be swayed by her otherworldly beauty. His tanned skin seemed to glow golden in the moonlight, shadows playing around him. He looked as though he was ready to destroy everything and everyone. But his large hand held the woman’s smaller one and he appeared almost content. The other couple stood beside the hydrangea bushes just to the south of Arya and Lord Middleditch. The man’s face held a tattoo that she could not make out, his white hair flowing down his back and a dark glare on his face. The woman’s golden hair was braided in a crown on her head, an impish smile on her face as she said something that Arya couldn’t hear. The tattooed man’s face grew darker.
“Don’t let them frighten you,” Thomas told her with a slight sigh. “They think just because the Ashryver’s have Fae blood that they’re allowed here. It’s quite disgusting if you ask me.”
“I didn’t,” Arya stated as they sat down on a bench just outside of a maze that was filled with roses and jasmine. Arya briefly wondered how they managed to keep the jasmine alive in Wendlyn. She allowed herself to think of the land back home, where the jasmine grew wild and where she had spent hours in her youth laying on the ground and watching as the flowers bloomed around her. Arya truly loved Kalthanen, even if she knew it could be a horrible place full of equally horrifying people.
“No, I suppose you didn’t,” he said with an amused chuckle. No warmth was in his laugh nor in his eyes. “Now, Arya, tell me what you’re doing here.”
“Kalthanen needs new trading partners,” the lie slid off her tongue easily.
“Don’t lie to me, Princess,” the lordling said. “I know better than that. You and your dearest cousin are here for a reason. Now, I can be of service to you, or we can keep lying to each other about our intentions.”
“And what exactly are your intentions?” Arya looked at him, her eyes filled with boredom. She would not let any man get under her skin. She wouldn’t allow anyone to tell her who she was or what her plans were. No one had any right to try and control her. No one would ever be that important to her. She had known that from a very young age.
“What else would they be?” Thomas questioned, looking down at her with a raised brow. “I intend to sweep you off your feet and leave Wendlyn as far behind me as I possibly can.”
“You have faith in yourself,” she almost snorted before remembering herself. “I don’t intend to give anyone my heart, my Lord,” she said the title with more venom than anyone could have mustered.
“I didn’t say anything about stealing your heart,” he shrugged his shoulders once as he looked down at her. “Make no mistake, you’re beautiful. Any man would be lucky to have you. But we both know that you don’t want Galan. I assume that you didn’t manage to snag Dorian Havilliard. There are few princes left in this world.”
“There are several island nations left.” Arya pointed out.
“Yes, but what would they do for you?” Thomas questioned, taking her hand in his. She didn’t quite hate how soft they were. “They wouldn’t strength Kalthanen. If anything, it would just weaken your country. No, you need something better than islands. You need someone from Wendlyn or Adarlan. Since a prince won’t do, a Lord would be the next best thing.”
Arya didn’t correct him. How could she? He had read her mind.
“Besides, we can take over from your brother and your cousin in due time. For now, we would be playing the happy newlyweds.”
“What’s in it for you?” He was offering too much. There had to be something he wanted. No one was this eager to marry someone they did not know. Briefly, thoughts of Galan went through her mind. What would she do if he found out? What if he learned that she was marrying someone she didn’t know despite the way he looked at her? Despite how he made her stomach knot and her heart hammer.
It was for that reason that she was considering this whole, stupid mess. She didn’t want to think about Galan anymore. Didn’t want to think about the task at hand. He was offering her a chance to get away from here before she lost some integral part of herself.
“I’d get off this miserable rock,” he stated as he turned his face to look at the stars. The moonlight bathed his skin in silvery light, causing his golden skin to glow. “I’d be able to lay about in a palace by the sea, have a beautiful woman in my bed, and never hear my father’s voice again. The potential to become a king consort is also quite tempting.”
“Power and escape,” Arya’s voice was soft as she stared at the maze in front of them. The twists and turns of the hedges matched by her train of thought. This couldn’t be this easy. It made no sense for anything to be as painless as this whole thing. “Do not expect me to love you.”
“As long as you expect the same from me,” Thomas said, his gaze turning to her. His eyes were black in the moonlight. She could not tell what was iris and what was the pupil. Did it even matter? She wouldn’t be falling for his eyes. Wouldn’t be blinded by the fire that blazed within them.
“Allow me to think on this.” She didn’t need to think on anything. It was the best she could ever do. He would be the one she would be able to take back to Kalthanen. They would marry and she would kill him after they were crowned.
“Of course,” Thomas stood then, taking her hand as he did. The fluidity of his movements made her wonder if perhaps he had some Fae in his bloodline. He brushed a kiss to her knuckles before releasing her hand and disappearing into the night. She didn’t know if she was grateful to be alone or not.
She could hear the couple fighting from earlier. The man telling the woman off for hiding a weapon in the lining of her gown. Arya was almost impressed that she had managed it. The woman seemed to think it was nothing. Their voices drowned out the sound of footsteps coming from behind her.
“You disappeared,” his voice caused an unwelcome chill to go through her spine. Her hands gripped the bench, her white knuckles hidden by her voluminous skirts.
“I needed air,” lying came so naturally to the manipulator. The would-be-queen knew that she didn’t need to lie to him. But it was easier than admitting to what had just transpired. “The gardens are quite beautiful at night. I don’t know why you hadn’t thought to bring me before.”
“I saw Lord Middleditch with you,” he ignored her words. Arya bristled at that, but he continued before she could say anything. “You can’t trust a word that man says. He’s the closest thing to evil I know.”
“Careful, Galan,” she refused to look at him. “You almost sound jealous.”
A sharp intake of breath came from him. Arya wanted to look back and see his expression but she did not allow herself to. It was none of her concern what Galan Ashryver thought of who wanted to know her.
“I doubt I have anything to be jealous over,” he said as he moved to sit beside her. “You have better taste than him.”
“You don’t know me well enough to know that,” Arya spoke softly, still refusing to catch his eye. She didn’t want to see the grin on his face. Didn’t want to see what the moonlight did to him. If it made Thomas look beautiful, she was certain that Galan would look ethereal. Those Ashryver eyes would surely be brighter than stars, his smile would look as though the gods themselves had blessed it. It was too much for her to take. “I nearly married Dorian Havilliard. That should tell you everything about my taste.”
She felt him stiffen beside her, his arm tense where it brushed against hers. She knew that it was not due to the muscle that had been built up by years upon years of training.
“Then I know that you deserve better,” his voice was soft. Barely a whisper. Goosebumps rose along her skin at the very tone of his voice. She hated it. Hated how she reacted to him.
“You don’t know what I deserve, Galan. You barely know me,” she stood then, clenching her fists to avoid him seeing how her hands were shaking. She didn’t want him to ever see her as weak. She didn’t need that from him. “Don’t pretend to know me. It will only lead to you being dreadfully disappointed.”
“Nothing you could ever do would disappoint me, Arya,” he stood with her, taking her hand in his. She hated how it felt. His calloused hands were bigger than her own, rough and ready to fight at a moment’s notice. Without his crown and the way he carried himself, one would never realize that he was a prince. She wished he was more like a prince. Like some pompous ass who she would sooner put a blade through than bed.
“He asked me to marry him,” Arya nearly winced when Galan’s hold tightened. It did not hurt. It had just been unexpected. The look on his face, however, was not.
Galan’s easy smile had been replaced by a wounded look. Though his square jaw was set, his lips thinned, and the tendons in his neck were showing he did not appear to be angry. His eyes burned with a fire that told her the truth. He hated to think that anyone else would ask her for the time of day. But what right did he have? What right did any of them have to expect anything from her?
“Did you say yes?” She hated how his voice didn’t break, hated how he could sound so solid despite his eyes betraying him. It made everything far too easy and yet also made it the hardest thing she’d ever done.
“Yes,” another lie. All she had ever done was lie to him. Their entire relationship was built on the fact that he couldn’t trust her. That no one could trust her. “We’ll leave for Kalthanen soon enough.”
Galan dropped her hand, staring straight ahead at the maze of roses. “Stay, Arya. You … You should stay. At least until the season changes and it’s safer to sail.”
Arya stared at him for a moment, shaking her head slightly. “I should go. It’s growing late,” her voice was strong despite the fact that she wanted it to break. She wanted to be able to show that she felt something. But she couldn’t. She didn’t. She’d been trained for years to avoid anyone ever seeing her. From anyone being able to touch her in a way she didn’t like.
She slipped away from him, avoiding her chambers and Calanon. She walked down corridors that were filled with laughing couples and sconces blazed with warm, friendly light. She passed them as though she were a ghost amongst them. She didn’t want to be one of them. She had always wanted to be the one who rose above everyone. She wanted the power, the responsibility. She wanted to change the world. To protect Kalthanen from every bad thing that would ever happen to the island nation.
Even if it meant selling her soul.
Arya caught sight of Lord Middleditch as she passed by the ballroom. Her feet ached, her chest felt as though it was breaking, and she could barely keep standing. He, on the other hand, looked as fresh as a daisy. His smile was radiant, his laughter hollow as he drank from a golden goblet.
She walked back into the ballroom, her chin held high and her back as straight as she could make it. She didn’t care anymore. This whole mess with Galan needed to end. The looks they sent each other, the way she felt when he was around her. She couldn’t handle him. Couldn’t handle what she felt around him. That was why she needed to do the one thing she was sent for.
“Lord Middleditch,” the name fell from her lips as easily as a lie. They would, after all, be spending the rest of their lives lying to everyone. “Might I have a word with you?”
“Of course, Your Highness,” he gave her a small bow before he excused himself from his friends. Arya led him towards a small alcove that overlooked the high windows at the back of the room. Moonlight poured through them, giving the appearance of a sanctuary.
“I’ve thought over your proposal,” she knew it had been too fast. She knew she should have waited until the next day to speak with him. But Galan had left her flustered. She never wanted a man to leave her flustered again. She was supposed to be the one in control. She didn’t care if Calanon was angered by not knowing of the plan. She didn’t care what he did to her. Luna would take care of him if he became too much of a problem.
“And?” Thomas looked at her curiously. His dark eyes were not just a dark color. They were black. She wondered if it was a warning sign of sorts. But she was beyond thinking clearly.
“I accept,” she didn’t bother to smile at him. Didn’t bother to pretend to be happy about their betrothal. It was business not pleasure. They both knew it. They could pretend for the rest of the world, but she would not pretend with him. It would be stupid to let him think she would ever care for him.
As soon as he was no longer useful, he would cease to breathe.
He lifted his goblet then, a grin on his lips. His teeth were straight, blindingly white. A sinking feeling filled her gut as he stared down at her. Had this been a good idea? Would she grow to regret it? Arya didn’t allow herself to think of this. She wouldn’t question her own choices. Not when there had been nothing else for her to do.
“Long live the queen.”
{WARNINGS: adult language, fantasy violence, woman owning her sexuality and her body, woman using her sexuality and body as a weapon, woman saying “fuck emotions i’m scared”, manipulation mentions, toxic main character but she learns, toxic parents, self-harm in the form of self-poisoning, self-hate, fucked up family}
The ball came too quickly for Arya’s preference. It seemed as though she had slept once and then was being woken by her maids to prepare. There had been no time to prepare a conducive plan. She was rather anxious that things were going to go horribly wrong before the night was ever over.
She did not know how she was supposed to handle the night. Dancing in front of whatever fae representative would make her look ridiculous. But the art of seduction had always relied on a dance for her. Dance and then ignoring her partner for the better part of the night.
“Settle down, miss,” Miliana huffed as she pinned a thick red curl to the back of her head. “I don’t want to restart your hair again.”
“The dress is ridiculous,” Arya seethed as she reluctantly quit moving about. She had never been so anxious. She found it hard to quit repositioning herself, to quit tapping her fingers against her thighs. This one night would determine the rest of her life. She felt rather sick to her stomach.
“It’s beautiful,” Genevive smiled kindly at her, her hands busily folding linens. She’d already helped Arya to dress and had done her makeup. “You look like a queen.”
“Yes, but not of Kalthanen.” Arya stared at her reflection in the mirror. She hardly recognized herself. Her lips were not painted in the normal shade of red, instead opting for a brown-toned nude lip paint. Her eyes had been lightly lined with kohl with a gold shimmer on her eyelids. Her imperfections powdered away, color brought to her cheeks by heavy pinching. Her gown was not of Kalthanen design, but one of Wendlyn’s. Heavy skirts, a tight bodice, sleeves of lace that felt trapping. Luna and Nox would not be coming because of this. She did not want her darlings to be against anything that was not her skin.
Arya did not feel like herself. Everything that had made her Arya had been stripped and polished away. But that night she was not supposed to look like herself. She was supposed to be anything other than the woman she had become.
Wendlyn’s lordlings would fall in love with her. The perfect princess they couldn’t have. Whoever hated Galan would do whatever they could to get her on their arm. Yet, those were the men that would need to be avoided. Unless their hatred made them biddable. Oftentimes, men were blinded by the hate in their hearts. They would do whatever was deemed necessary to combat whoever had made them feel that way.
Arya just didn’t think anyone could hate Galan. She had certainly tried. He was too … Likeable. His sharp edges did not exist. He was charming, full of warmth, he could make even the bleakest days bright. She wanted nothing more than to despise his bleak optimism. She hated herself for not hating him.
“Once this is all over, you’ll be the queen we all deserve,” Genevive assured her, a kind smile on her face. “I just know it.”
It seemed more people in her life were dripping with optimism that she herself did not possess. She wondered what it was like. How did it feel to see the bright side of life? To look at things and just know it was going to work out? It didn’t seem as though it was a good way to live one’s life.
Life was not butterflies and rainbows. Life was harsh, bleak. There was never anything that mattered. Just going from one goal to the next. Arya just needed to find what mattered to her. Something that wasn’t just Kalthanen and the throne. She knew that was not all that she could hope for.
After all, even she was not heartless enough to kill her own brother. She could perhaps convince Calanon to do it, but the guilt would eat her alive. The only thing that would keep her sane was knowing that Kalthanen would thrive under her hand. Even if she would never get the throne. She’d have bigger challenges than just her brother.
“We’ll see,” Arya spoke softly as Miliana finished her hair. Half of it had been pinned up, the rest curled and falling past her waist. The long, red locks would look like fire in the warm light of the ballroom. They’d be perfect to capture attention.
She dreaded feeling Galan’s fingers in her hair. Dreaded knowing how it would feel, dreaded dreaming of it. There was absolutely no reason for this stupid little princeling to be the reason she failed. He didn’t matter in the long run. He was just a distraction. Someone who would cost her a kingdom and perhaps her sanity. She wasn’t someone who he could love. She wasn’t worth it.
Arya had always known it.
She stood slowly, the skirts of the dress falling gracefully as she did. They seemed to envelop her in a mountain of silk and taffeta. She hated every second of it. It was too bulky, too big. There were far too many layers if she wanted to bed someone or run. It was no wonder Galan had been drawn to her scant outfits and the sight of her bare legs.
Her maids did not follow after her as she headed towards the door to her chambers. Despite her anxiety, her hands did not shake as she reached to open the door.
Just as her hand brushed gently against the knob, a soft knock sounded.
Arya took a soft breath through her nerves, painted a smile on her face, and opened the door. Galan stood there. His fist still raised from the gentle knock, an amused smile that made his blue eyes brighter was playing on his lips. She tried to ignore the way it made her stomach knot.
“You certainly don’t waste any time,” he teased as he moved to bow gracefully to her. It almost felt as if he were asking her to dance with him already. “You look beautiful, Arya.”
“Why thank you, Galan,” her smile reached her eyes for the briefest of seconds. At least until she realized she was not faking that smile. “I assumed Calanon would be waiting to escort me.”
“He was,” Galan’s cheeks turned a shade of pink that would have looked sickly on another person. The heat in his face highlighted his high cheekbones, the upturned corners of his lips. It made him look alive in a way she had never been. “I told him he could take the rest of the night off. I thought that we’d be more comfortable without your chaperone.”
One of Arya’s brows rose slightly.
“Not that I think we’ll be doing anything improper,” Galan quickly stammered out, his cheeks turning more red instead of that lovely pink flush. “I just meant I thought we’d be able to speak without worrying. I meant no offense.”
“None taken,” she told him, offering him her hand.
He took it gratefully, his smile coming back in full force. He seemed as though he was nervous for this whole ordeal. She didn’t understand it. Galan was, by all counts, handsome. His thick, brown hair hung just to his shoulders in waves that she wanted to run her fingers through. He looked strong. His shoulders were broad and his arms filled his tunics rather nicely. He was a prince from a fairytale.
That night he looked especially promising.
He wore a crisp white shirt with a cobalt blue jacket and black leather breeches. His boots went to his knee and were polished enough that the torchlight reflected off of them. For the second time, she saw him wearing a small crown. The gold matched his hair rather nicely, making it appear almost brighter. Arya hated herself for thinking of how beautiful he looked.
“Shall we?” He asked, nodding his head once to her.
“We shall,” Arya looked up at him. Despite being a tall woman, he seemed to tower over her. Far more than Dorian had. More than any man ever had.
She prayed that it was a common trait for Wendlyn men to be tall. Maybe then he wouldn’t stick out as much in her mind. Maybe then she could ignore him and the way her heart pounded when he smiled at her.
It was ridiculous that a boy was wrapping his way around her. There was no reason for it. He wasn’t any more charming than Dorian had been. Nor was he better than anyone she’d ever spent time with. He was no different than the boys she had already taken to her bed. Yet, something felt different. Something made her want to be beside him. That something needed to be squashed.
By the end of the night, she hoped it would be. Praying would do no good. The goddess had already betrayed her.
“So are Wendlyn balls any fun?” Arya found herself questioning him as they headed down corridors and down staircases. She never realized how far her chambers were to the ballroom. It gave her time to quell the roaring anxiety.
“Are Kalthanens?” Galan responded, one brow rising slightly.
“Perhaps you’ll find out one day.” The smile that graced her features was more sultry than she had meant it to be. It sent another flush through his cheeks. She wondered if it was so easy to make him blush for anyone else.
She didn’t need the answer.
“Perhaps,” he told her as the sound of violins began to reach them.
The light coming from the ballroom was bright and warm. Already she could hear laughter and the gentle music of a soft waltz. The scents in the air were of pine and cinnamon. She would have assumed they were winter scents but it was only early fall. Still, the air had begun to turn chilly. The scent was enough to remind her that things could still be wonderful despite the cold.
Arya knew this was silly. She didn’t care about scents or sweets. She cared about her throne. Her kingdom. Without her at the helm, Kalthanen would surely fail. She didn’t trust anyone else with her home. With her crown. Galan was just someone who was in the way. She could not worry herself over any silly boy. Could not worry herself over what might happen if she did break his heart.
He deserved it. She just was unsure why.
It must have been because he dared make her feel anything. No one was supposed to get inside of her head. No one was supposed to make her feel as though they were enough for her. She was supposed to be better than that. But with Galan … She felt as though she wasn’t. She felt as though she was another silly girl who would fall for any boy with pretty eyes.
“Presenting His Royal Highness Crown Prince Galan Ashryver of Wendlyn and Her Highness Princess Arya Nostariel of Kalthanen,” a man in the Ashryver livery called from the balcony.
All eyes fell on the two. This was normally where Arya shined the brightest. She adored having attention placed on her. Loved it when she knew who she was tricking into submission. Although, this was an entirely different battlefield. It was harder when she felt unlike herself.
Galan did not release his hold on her, a bright smile crossed his features and made him appear every bit the handsome prince.
“Friends,” his voice carried over the ballroom despite the fact that he had spoken at a normal tone. It was clear he commanded respect in a way that she had never known. She just had to figure out how he did it. “Thank you again for coming to the celebration. I know this has been a hard year for all of us. Adarlan continues to attack our borders, we have only Doranelle as an ally. But we have made friends with Kalthanen.”
He looked to her, raising her hand while he spoke. His eyes shone in a way that made her heart hammer and her palms sweaty. She knew for a fact that this was untrue. Galan was likely hoping for a friendship. Or something else entirely. She had no clue of his intentions.
“We will be able to hold off Adarlan and keep our borders closed to those who would do us harm. I promise to keep your sons safe. Now, enough discussion of politics and war. Please, enjoy the festivities.” Galan lowered their hands then. Before he began to lead her down the steps and into the ballroom proper.
The lights seemed to glitter as they bounced off of ladies’ jewels and men’s shining cufflinks and other subtle hints of their wealth. Only a few in the back seemed untouched by the lights. But they gave off something of their own. A power that she had never felt before that was paired with almost ethereal beauty. She did not have to be told who they were.
“Would you care to dance?” Galan asked her, his breath gently caressing her ear. She almost shivered.
“I would be delighted,” she spoke honestly as she looked up at him. Arya had never been one for balls, often finding the dancing tedious and repetitive. But it was quite challenging not to want to be enveloped in his strong arms. She felt quite stupid for thinking so.
Galan’s smile radiated far more than any jewel in the room. He looked nearly as ethereal as a Fae when he smiled. It was wide enough to show the dimple on his left side. That stupid dimple made him more handsome than any man she’d ever laid eyes on. How dare he be beautiful.
He led her to the dance floor. His left hand found her waist while his right took hers. He brought her close enough to remain proper but she could still feel the heat of him. She could smell the scent that clung to his skin. The breeze of the sea, the winds that had swept salt into his hair, and the musk that she found clung to many men. She hated how much she loved it.
As the music began to fill the room, Galan swept her into a dance. He was the perfect partner. Calm, gentle, a smile always on his face, yet strong. He would not let her fail. She found that it was too easy to let go of her determination to lead. She would let him have this moment.
“You’re a beautiful dancer,” he broke the spell that had been cast over her.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” Arya told him with a gentle smile. “You fight alongside your men, you know flowers, and you dance. Is there anything you cannot do?”
“I promise you my faults outweigh my accomplishments,” he chuckled softly.
His laugh was beautiful. Soft like a Kalthanen lullaby. She found herself wishing she could sing him one while running her fingers through his stupidly perfect hair.
“Mhm,” Arya mused as they twirled around the room. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Then I pray you never see the weaker parts of me,” Galan seemed to be watching her carefully. As if he truly cared what she thought of him. That or he had seen past her own disguise.
“I assure you, I’ve seen much worse.” She had been much worse. She wanted to be a good person, wanted to make things better for her people. But she couldn’t do anything without a crown. Getting the crown would mean being able to change the world. For now, being someone who everyone else would hate was her only course of action.
“Perhaps you’ll see those parts of me later,” his hand tightened just slightly around hers. She could feel how clammy it was. “If things go well.”
“Do you see things going well?” Arya rose a brow as she peered up at him.
“I’m not a fortune teller,” despite his words his cheeks were flushed. She was rather amused by it. “But I can certainly hope for it.”
Arya laughed softly as he spun her out, the music thankfully overwhelming the awkwardness of the conversation. She had no idea how to tell him it could never be. He hadn’t spoken of intentions to court her prior to this. It seemed as though he did have a flaw. Not knowing when to bring up a certain topic. Falling for the wrong girl.
She didn’t want to hurt him. She knew that as she looked into his warm blue eyes. However, she wouldn’t give up the crown of Kalthanen for a silly boy. Even if he was a Crown Prince. How was she to help her people if she ruled an ocean away? How was she to keep her parents’ respect if she went against them?
“Thank you for the dance, Galan,” she spoke softly as she parted from him.
“You’re very welcome, Arya,” despite the smile on his lips he sounded almost hurt. She ached to dance with him the whole night but she knew better. It would cause a rumor of some sort. One that she would not be able to easily dissuade.
She gave him a low curtsey before slipping away from him. She managed to disappear into the crowd, her gown allowing her to blend in with the other Wendlyn nobles. She hated how easy it was. To be forgotten, ignored, unseen. She wondered if she would live her life in the shadows. If her family would keep her from becoming the woman she was meant to. All of it seemed arbitrary.
Arya found herself at the edge of the crowd, breathing as deeply as she could with the damned corset. She had never understood the appeal of them.
Calanon was on the dance floor, a beautiful woman wrapped in his arms. He at least looked as though he were having fun. If anyone was to have a good time, it was Calanon. He didn’t have to worry about his parents’ wrath. Nor did he have to worry about upholding a legacy. All he had to worry about was which plan to kill his cousins would work.
She looked away from him after a moment, knowing that jealousy would do more harm than good. Besides being jealous of Calanon was like being jealous of a gutter. He was nothing to her, nothing that she could not one day soon be rid of. She just had to play her cards right, despite knowing just how difficult that was.
“Excuse me,” a voice from behind her brought her out of her thoughts and contemplations. She turned her head, peering over her shoulder with a raised brow and a demure smile.
“Can I help you?” Arya questioned.
The man’s face was nothing special. He had a broad nose that looked as though it had been broken before, thin lips, and watery blue eyes that she did not wish to look at. His golden hair fell to his shoulders and looked nearly greasy. He was no where near what she wanted.
“I was wondering if you would like to dance with me?” He sounded hopeful. Arya almost felt bad for him. She knew better than to spend her time leading on men who would not be welcome prospects.
Yet, she found that she could not deny a man who was smiling at her as though she was his last chance. Despite the bitterness within her soul, she could show basic human decency. Kindness was not completely unknown to her.
“I would love to,” the smile she offered him was kind. One that she had not yet used on Galan.
The man appeared relieved, as though no other woman would have done so. Or perhaps he just did not yet have the nerve to ask the woman he was truly interested in. She didn’t know nor did she really care to. He looped his arm through hers and led her back to the dance floor.
He was a fine dancer. Yet it was not nearly as remarkable as when Galan had held her in his arms. She didn’t feel anything as they danced. Nor did they spend time speaking. He seemed more concerned about where he was placing his feet.
She could feel someone’s gaze on her as the dance continued. She assumed that it was Galan.
She wanted it to be Galan.
That alone was cause for trouble. She should have wanted Galan to ignore her. To want nothing to do with her beyond some slight flirtation. Galan was to be someone else’s. Someone who actually deserved him.
Not a woman who was fighting tooth and nail to protect her own crown.
The dance ended soon enough, the man bowing gracefully to her. She curtised in response.
“You dance beautifully,” the cool indifference of the voice made her turn. It was not Galan who had been watching her after all.
Instead, it was a man who was nearing six feet tall. His cheekbones were sharper than Galan’s, his eyes dark and filled with a cold fire that matched her own. His nose was thin, his lips the same. Yet, his skin was golden as though he spent most of his time outdoors. He carried himself as though he were a prince, despite only being a lord. She could tell by the fabric of the black brocade he wore. It was not nearly as nice as Calanon’s.
“Thank you, sir,” Arya trailed off, expecting him to give her a name.
“Lord Thomas Middleditch,” he gave a stiff bow before standing. “Might I have this dance?”
Galan was watching now. His Ashryver eyes darkening as he began to approach the couple. The way he was moving swiftly towards the pair was the only reason for her answer.
“Yes, you may.”
