I'd never known such torture as I sat at the dining table with my parents, brother, and Cassian. Mor had returned to the Hewn City and Azriel hadn't made himself seen since the morning he walked into the bathing chamber. It had been three days. My brother and his friends planned to return to Velaris the next day. It used to sadden me to see them leave, but now I couldn't wait.
Cassian had been casting glances at me as though he could see what plagued my mind. I had a constant roll of shivers down my spine with each look. I hadn't seen Mor, either, and part of me feared that they'd wanted her to stay away from me because of what I'd confessed to Azriel.
"Freyja, darling, you haven't touched your supper," my mother announced, poking her fork in the direction of my full plate. My gaze travelled over the roasted chicken, pasta, and vegetables. My stomach roiled at the thought.
"I don't feel well," I muttered, glancing between her and my father. His gaze was scrutinizing. I think he knew something had been wrong with me but I didn't have the nerve to stay around him when we were alone. I was afraid to find out if Azriel ended up telling him my secrets.
"If you do not feel well, go to your room. Better than to infect us all," my father scolded, his thick brows furrowing. I nodded, glancing to Rhys before I slid my chair back.
"What is wrong with you?"
My brother's voice filled my mind. I ignored the urge to turn to him and fall to his feet in sobs. This was not a problem that he could fix.
"Nothing, I'm fine."
"You're a terrible liar. I'll come to your room after supper."
There was no use in arguing. I left the veranda and trudged down the corridor. My mind felt as though the cruelest of sicknesses had taken over. Like my mind and soul shriveled within me and left me no more than a body. I guessed that was all I would ever be. Was there any use in trying to have separate thoughts than those that were planted in my mind by my parents? I'd never be more than a warm body for a High Lord's son.
My eyes snapped to the bedroom that my mother often used when she didn't want to be with my father. A servant that I knew as Leona slipped out. Her hair was a mess, her lips swollen. My brows furrowed. Where did she plan to go looking like that? My mother would have her by the tail if a single hair was out of place. I opened my mouth to question her, but another body slipping from the door had the words dying on my tongue.
Azriel followed Leona from the bedroom, his gloved fingers combing through the messy curls on his head. He had a sheen of sweat over his forehead and his lips were also swollen. My cheeks flushed when his eyes met mine. Gods, why did I feel so jealous of a servant? It was a shame those fingers couldn't touch me when he settled for the servants. His lips parted but I turned away before he could say anything.
I didn't want to hear any excuses, nor did I deserve them. I was not important to him. I was his best friend's younger sister. I was no more than a name and a passing face. I slipped into my bedroom with that thought heavy on my chest. The room was dim, lit only by the cast of moonlight through the open window.
I wanted so badly to fall to the floor and cry like the child I felt like, but nothing would come. I felt no tears, only the hollowness in my chest as though my ribs would splay open to show an empty cavity. I felt like the ghost I was raised to be. Silent but my presence known.
I turned to my wardrobe, desperate for anything other than the awful feeling in my chest and stomach. I dropped to my knees, tearing open my trunk. My stomach dropped as I stared into an empty space. My stashed wine was gone. I could've sworn there was two more bottles the last time I'd opened it. I fell back on my heels, grinding my teeth as I stared. It had to be Cassian or Azriel. If my father had found it, I would've been getting scolded in his study by now.
Anger brimming, I slammed the trunk shut. Mother, I wanted to hurt someone. I liked that I could feel the anger, but I didn't know what to do with it. I wasn't allowed to go spar with the males, I wasn't allowed to train on my own. All I had was an empty trunk and endless screaming in the back of my mind.
I rose to my feet, slamming the wardrobe shut. I raised my fists, beating them into the intricate wood carving on the front of it. I didn't care who heard me. I wanted to scream, and so I did. I let out a furious shriek, sending my fist into the wardrobe. I knew I looked crazed or dramatic, but I just wanted to hurt.
"Freyja? What's happening?"
My brother's voice filtered through the screaming in my mind- or the screaming that I had been doing. I couldn't tell what was real. I turned, pressing my back into the wardrobe. My brother stood in the doorway, Cassian on his heels. I hated the sight of the damned male. If he'd ignored me when I had foolishly shown up on the veranda, none of this would've happened. I wouldn't feel like this; so nervous that someone would strip away the last of me.
"I'm fine," I snapped, brushing my hands against the thick skirt of my gown. I winced at the soreness but I refused to make a show of looking at the torn skin. Rhys looked over his shoulder, nodding his head. Cassian glanced between us before sighing and turning away. The door closed behind him, and in that same breath, my brother was in front of me. His hands were on my cheeks and I wanted to cry.
"I can see that something is going on with you. You know you can tell me, Freyja. It's me."
He didn't realize that was the problem. I closed my eyes, trying to turn away from him but he held my face still. Gods, he looked so much older now. He wasn't present much after the war. Before then, he had those rounded cheeks and eyes so bright. Now he was like the rest of them. Shadows under his eyes, face thinner and more tense, and rough hands that scraped my skin.
I missed the boy I ran around with, before he had been too close with Cassian and Azriel, when my mother brought me to Windhaven just to see him. They had hated each other back then, but I was too young to know better. He was too serious now. He was carved with the trauma and ghosts of his past.
"Tell me what's wrong," he urged. My heart cracked.
"I can't," I croaked, falling forward in his hold. My face pressed into his chest as he wrapped his arms around me. I wanted to badly to cry and fall apart, but no tears came.
"Why can't you?" He asked softly. I felt his breath against my hair, his fingers drawing circles on my shoulder.
"Everything will be taken from me," I whispered. It was too far. Too close to the truth.
"What do you mean?" Rhys asked, his fingers stilling.
"Nothing, I-," I cut myself off with a sigh, pressing my face into his chest. "I know of Father's plans to send me to another court for marriage. I don't want to go, Rhys. I can't become someone like that."
His body felt tense under my arms. I had to fight myself to not lean back and see what expression he held.
"How do you know?" He whispered. I can tell he was informed to keep it from me.
"I heard Mama and Father talking a few months back. She didn't want me to go, but she has been preparing me for this my whole life, Rhys. I know that. I'm meant to be a silent bride meant to create an alliance. I want to be more than that. I want to be my own person, I want to spar with you and fight in a battle. I want to be able to save someone else and not be scrutinized for not acting like a Lady."
My brother was silent for a long moment. He didn't know what to say, and how could he? I just told him I didn't want the life that has been planned for me. I'm sure it drew fear. This was the same dilemma that Mor had been in, though hers was different in the sense of her arranged husband. It would've been a child, but mine was entirely unknown to me.
"I'm so proud of you for wanting to fight your own battles, little Frey, but you know there is nothing we can do to stop it. There is very little that we can change Father's mind on. I have been trying to get him to hire Az and Cass into his forces. We've been trying since the war, but he only sees them as any other warrior."
Annoyance flickered through me. This was about me, not his friends. I couldn't care less if Father hired them. I wanted to remain here and not become a damned bride. I pulled out of my brother's arms, brushing my bloody hands on my skirt.
"Well, you're right. There's nothing I can do so there's no point in trying to talk about it. Can we forget this happened?" I asked. I knew it was too obvious of a dismissal, but the need for his comfort fell away the moment he mentioned his friends. How silly of me to forget that they seemed to matter more to him than my future.
Rhys watched me in silence for a moment. I crossed my arms, turning away. I was acting childish, sure, but I had been treated like one my entire life. Why not feed into those expectations? I heard him sigh, and then light flooded my room before he closed the door again.
I didn't want to send him away but as we grew older, Rhysand became a whole other male the more time he spent with them. You cannot control your blooded family, but I believe he found satisfaction in the control he had to choose them as his brothers. I was glad to see that he had another focus than dwelling on the war, but I felt like I was simply part of his past. I mattered when we were children, but now he didn't bother to check in for months. I knew he loved me fiercely, but not as much as he loved them.
My heart cracked a little more. I wondered how much more I could take before I became nothing more than the ghost I am meant to be. Was this the way my mother was broken down? I could see the times she still held her strong personality, but when my father was around, she was nothing more than the silent Lady. Docile and obedient.
I felt like I had no fight left. I was a coward each time I tried to save myself. I hated that there was only one solution to the future I was trying to stop. I hated that my only value was my virtue. I would be nothing more than forgotten trash if I let a male fully take me. How wrong was that? Was I wrong to be so disgusted in it? Nobody else seemed to be, except for Mor, but she would still stop me if she knew what I wanted.
I didn't have a choice anymore. My frustrations were growing too visible and it would be a matter of time before my plans were made known to my brother or father. Then I would be a caged animal, beaten down until my primal instinct to fight was gone. Obedient. Docile.