Althea’s eyes widened. “But he’ll think you did this.”
“So let him.”
She hesitated a moment longer, but when thunder boomed and the shadows clawed their way up the walls, she choked out a thank-you and fled.
And only just in time. The seneschal stopped before me, a bear of a man with bloodshot eyes and thick black hair that defied gravity. His morning coat was as rumpled as the rest of him, and spittle flecked his beard, as if he’d just concluded a screaming match with some unfortunate soul. “Harlowe.”
“Olivian.”
His gaze flicked to the wreckage at my feet. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“It was an accident. I was on my way to sound the bells and bumped into a pedestal.”
Anger blazed in his eyes, so I squared my shoulders and drew myself up to my full height. Olivian wouldn’t fire me like he would Althea. At least, Ihopednot.
“Did you secure my daughter, at least?” he snapped.
“Of course.” As if I would be standing here, otherwise. As if I wouldn’t die before risking Amryssa. “Her safety comes first. Always. You know that.”
His jaw worked. “Fine. But I’ve sent Merron to sound the alarm, so you needn’t bother.”
The nightmare rumbled. I braced against a wave of vertigo while the seneschal did the same—his chest heaved as he swayed on his feet. Around us, shadows leapt, the darkness coming to life.
When reality finally stopped trembling, I gasped out, “But Merron should be chaining himself. Not dealing with the bells.”
As if on cue, a clang rolled down the hallway, then another, gathering strength until the peals rode atop one another. I imagined Merron working the heavy ropes, his arms flexing while sweat beaded in his brown hair.
Goddess, he needed to get to his room.Now.
“Don’t worry about him.” Olivian’s grizzled features hardened. “You have a different task, tonight. You’ll go downstairs and await Amryssa’s intended. Ensure the prince is safely secured.”
“I’ll...what?” Shit. Olivian might not be firing me, but I hadn’t escaped punishment, apparently. “But there’s no time. Kyven’ll have to take care of himself.”
Olivian glared. “I don’t pay you to argue, girl.”
“Pay me? You don’t pay me at all.”
“Don’t I?” His reddened eyes strayed to the weapon at my belt. “You realize I could give that dagger to someone else, don’t you?”
I flinched, though I knew what Olivian saw when he looked at me—no one special. No one of worth. Just a stubborn, foul-mouthed girl with a mean streak, who Amryssa had chosen as her protectress for some inexplicable reason.
In fairness, I couldn’t argue. I knew I didn’t deserve her. Or this house, shabby and faded as it was. Nor did I deserve the weapon at my waist, which granted me abilities I’d never earned.
But without those things, my life would amount to nothing, so I wouldn’t relinquish the dagger unless I had to.
“Look,” I said, reining in my frustration. “Why don’t I go wait on my balcony? I’ll call down, tell the prince how to chain up. But I won’t go outside. Not even Amryssa could ask that of me.”
“Kyvenmustsurvive this nightmare. He must marry my daughter.”
“Right. So you’ve said. Without once asking Amryssa how she feels about it.”
Olivian’s eyes slitted. A feverish glint festered there, one that never guttered out, even between nightmares. “I don’t need to. I’m her father. I decide what serves her best.”
I ground my teeth, but again, I couldn’t argue, if only because his reasons for this hare-brained match escaped me. I could guess the king’s motives easily enough—a decaying estate on the southernmost fringes of civilization offered the perfect exile for the youngest and most sadistic of his sons. But what did Olivian stand to gain? Political favor? Money to revive Oceansgate’s dwindling coffers? A means to shackle Amryssa to this place by looping yet another chain around her ankle?
I had no idea, and the seneschal refused to explain.
“Enough.” Warning dripped from Olivian’s words. “Go. Now. If the prince dies, I’ll hold you responsible.”
