Chapter Text
Something felt… off.
That niggling feeling had started when she was told that she would be traveling back to Carsodonia after yet another one of her personal guards had been killed in the line of duty. The Queen had requested her presence, the Crown no longer confident in the Maiden’s safety at Castle Teerman.
If the Queen only knew.
And yet she couldn’t understand why neither of her personal guards were to accompany her on this journey. Perhaps she could see why Hawke Flynn - the tall, indecently handsome guard who had been appointed in Rylan’s absence - would not be tapped for the trip. But not even Vikter, who she had considered something of a father figure, had been permitted.
No, she was to spend multiple days alone in a carriage with Dorian Teerman, the Duke of Masadonia and the man who had apparently appointed himself her chief tormentor and ‘educator’. As if the jagged scars across her face, arms and legs weren’t enough, he had seen to it that fine stripes decorated her back - each stripe a crucial ‘lesson’ to strengthen her dedication to her role in the world. A role she could not choose to take, and a life where even the most basic of emotional needs were privileges instead of rights.
No friends. No close relationships of any kind. Closed-off emotions - no smiles or tears. No literature or reading for pleasure. No conversations or lingering where others may be present. Long sleeves, long gowns, always white. And the ever-present veil that covered her emerald green eyes and waves of wine-colored hair.
As she had gotten older she had begun to wonder, more and more, what the point of it all was. The Maiden was to be the salvation of the Ascended, but nobody could tell her how or why or what she would do. And for all the talk of how precious she was and how important her propriety was to the world, it didn’t keep Duke Teerman and Lord Brandole Mazeen from leering at her exposed flesh as he brought the cane down upon her back. It had felt wrong, all her life, but nobody had ever lifted a hand in her defense or spoken any sort of encouraging word or explanation for how it all would be worth it.
Her few days - and one scandalous evening - with Hawke Flynn had left her with even more questions.
Hawke, with the amber eyes that turned to molten gold when he was angry and the dimple that only made an appearance if his half-grin was genuine. Who had prevented the Priestess from striking her and blanched at the implication that the Duke would beat her. Who had found her fighting Craven on the Rise, called her a goddess given mortal form, and had not reported her. Who had asked her how it feels to wear the veil, and asked if she would run away if she could.
Hawke, who had called her beautiful the first time he saw the pink, dimpled skin of the scars that crossed the left side of her face.
Hawke, who had kissed her, and had wanted to do more.
Yes, he had awakened far more questions within her - about her life, her responsibilities, her future.
She was glad the veil hid her eyes - even more relieved that the Duke had not spun some half-baked objection to her wearing it. Typically she would prefer to tear the gauzy fabric from her head and rip it to shreds, but Duke Teerman would only take the opportunity to express what a shame it was that her face had been marred with those hideous scars when she was a child. And he would not be able to see the lingering sadness and regret that likely stirred in her eyes with the understanding that she would undoubtedly never see Hawke Flynn again.
It didn’t make any sense, her trust of a guard that she had truly only known for days. But she couldn’t deny the pull that she felt. There was something about him that called to her, a connection that both confused her and exhilarated her. She felt a strange pain in her heart when she told herself not to think about it anymore. It was probably silly - the ideations of an inexperienced and naive little girl. Hawke could have any woman in the world, so why would he fall for her? She was, at the very least, woefully ignorant in any matter of intimacy. And, at most, she was off-limits. Untouchable. It would have been far more trouble than she was likely worth.
It didn’t matter, anyway.
Not now, when the carriage wheels creaked to a stop outside the windowless door, the Duke eyeing her as if he were anxiously awaiting some sort of reaction. Her nerves ticked higher into her throat. The door was opened, swathing the red interior in pale moonlight, and revealing a veritable legion of royal guards, each bearing the white stole that identified them as such. She could not fathom why so many were necessary - couldn’t imagine that there would be any kidnapping attempts in the heart of the capital. The Duke’s gaze was heavy on her as her shoulders ticked up.
“For your safety, Penellaphe,” he assured her, voice tight, and she wondered for a moment if he was unhappy to be losing his whipping girl. “We do not want to keep the Queen waiting.”
Her back stiffened at the mention of Queen Ileana. Why wasn’t she here, greeting her with open arms and a gentle smile? She had often thought of the Queen as something of a second mother after her parents had been killed, and she had envisioned her return to Carsodonia with happy tears and hugs and smiles. And Ian…gods, where was Ian?
But she stepped from the carriage and into the chilly night air, not wanting to keep the guards and the Queen waiting. Her skin prickled, and she wasn’t sure it was entirely a result of the weather. There was something reminiscent of dread coating her insides as the guards surrounded her and began walking, that oil coiling into a heavy ball in the pit of her stomach. She had assumed they would be led to the great hall, where Ileana and Jalara sat upon their thrones. Or perhaps the private study, or even the garden - where she had first fallen in love with night-blooming roses. But they seemed to walk forever, winding and winding, up stairs and then down others. She was dizzy from the twists and turns, and she could not say for certain if she would be able to find her way out again.
The realization was… alarming.
Her heart thudded behind her ribs as she tried to control her breaths. There was no need for her to panic. Surely not. This was practically her home. The Queen had tended to her wounds after the Craven attack, comforting her when all she had begged for was her mother. She was safe here, and she would no longer have to fear the cane from the blood forest tree or the leering, lusting, bottomless eyes of Lord Mazeen.
Finally, the cadre stopped before a dark wood and wrought iron door that was pushed open into what appeared to be a sitting room. The leather- and steel-clad guard with his grip on the handle beckoned her forward, guiding her by the small of the back through the opening. In two finely upholstered chairs sat Queen Ileana and a man she had never seen before, and yet looked vaguely familiar. Her shoulders relaxed for a moment, until she heard the clicking of the latch on the door.
Bending at the waist, she greeted the Queen, who didn’t look like she had aged a day.
“Penellaphe.” Even though the voice was sweet as honey, the Maiden had to fight a scowl at the formality of it. Her friends - the people in her life that had proven to care for her more than her title - called her Poppy. Like her parents and her brother had. They were few and far between, but she hadn’t been addressed as Poppy since they departed Castle Teerman.
A stark reminder that she was not among friends. Not anymore.
“Your Majesty,” Poppy answered from behind the veil.
“I trust your journey was without incident?” The words of concern were hollow as they tumbled from lips red as blood, echoing harshly in the dimly lit space. Poppy’s gaze slid to the man in the other chair and found an amber stare fixed upon her. It was intense and hungry, and altogether disturbing. She returned her focus to the Queen, trying desperately to ignore the scalding heat of his attention.
“Yes, your Majesty,” she dipped her chin. “I am very happy to be back in Carsodonia.” And not just for the safety from the threat of the Dark One, but for her escape from the Duke, as well. But that was a conversation for another time.
“Of course. The threat upon your life must have been truly terrifying,” Ileana crooned, her head tilting to study the white-clad woman standing before her. “As well as the Duke’s heavy hand. I wish it hadn’t come to that, but ensuring your dedication to your role has been of utmost importance in your upbringing.”
Poppy’s breathing faltered, and she had to step back to keep herself from falling to the side. She knew? The Queen knew what the Duke had been doing to her. Had condoned it. Her eyes stung, and she was relieved for the veil and the shelter it provided.
“Come now, Penellaphe. You were always a headstrong, curious child. But that will not do for your future. You must be dedicated. Disciplined.” The Queen paused, her dark eyes hard as stone as she chose her next word. “Compliant.”
The Maiden took another step back, fisting her hands at her sides to control their trembling. Air hissed in and out of her through clenched teeth. Queen Ileana continued, as if her words weren’t the harbinger of Poppy’s destruction.
“Your husband will expect a dutiful wife. Your Ascendants will expect a generous donor. The gods and your Queen will expect your unwavering loyalty.” Why did the room feel like it was growing smaller? Poppy felt suffocated, but she knew she couldn’t remember the way out into the fresh air of the city. Maybe it had been intentional, knowing that she had a penchant for misbehaving. What was the queen saying? A generous donor? Her husband? She was to be given to the gods, wasn’t she? “And, should the need arise, any additional lessons will be handled by your betrothed.” The queen lifted a pale hand and gestured toward the dark-haired man in the other chair.
“My… betrothed?”
“Yes, my dear. You are going to usher in a new age of prosperity and might. You are so special, Penellaphe, and you don’t even know yet. But you will.” The Queen smiled, but it was not gentle or encouraging. “Now. Remove your veil, Penellaphe, and meet your fiance. Prince Malik Da’Neer.”