"I can't get married."
Kaya paused where she was adjusting the folds of Delilah's gown, and didn't meet her eyes.
"Your silence tells me you think I have no choice."
They had a precious minute alone before the delegation arrived to fetch them. The handmaids had only just left.
"Find a way to blackmail him," Kaya suggested. "Whoever he is. You must control him, or he will control you."
Delilah scowled. Her stomach was an eel's nest; standing still while her ladies had dressed her had been unbearable. Nervous energy coiled like springs in her muscles, begging for release.
The door opened and Kaya stepped away from Delilah with a carefully crafted blank expression, as if she was a stranger to the princess.
"Are you ready? Good." Zehra filled the doorframe in rich, violent purple, her dress like boiling clouds in the moment before a lightning strike. The Oanu girl smirked as she beheld Delilah, drab and faded in comparison, her dress muted orange bordering on beige. They'd been forced to dress her in Pelenan colours, but they had tried to give her the most unassuming outfit possible. The plan was for her to blend in among the other royals today.
That wouldn't happen when her hair shone like a beacon of flame and the city folk would be baying for her blood.
"I do love your dress sense," Zehra sneered. She knew perfectly well Delilah wasn't in charge of her outfits or her life anymore. "It really screams 'princess turned commoner'."
Sensing Kaya's attentive eyes, Delilah lifted her chin and straightened her spine, assuming the posture of a ruler which had been beaten into her as a child. With a surprising amount of dignity, she swept past Zehra, roughly brushing her carefully-arranged skirt folds and sending them into disarray.
"There is a difference between those who are royals through marriage... and those who are born into it," she said, clasping her hands behind her back. "No flashy dress can cover that up."
Zehra's face curdled like milk but Delilah swept ahead. She could almost feel Kaya's silent glee shivering in the air.
The small victory was chased away by the roaring in her ears by the time she reached the palace entrance, where the royal procession already waited. Kaya trailed behind, ready to serve, and an elite unit of knights stood to attention around the party, all wearing Pelenan black and red armour with the salamander emblazoned across their chests. All except the Silver Knight, who watched her draw closer.
"We'll be travelling on horseback through the city until we reach Lord Caldor's estate," Gaol announced. Aylin and Alana were to remain behind – the heavily pregnant woman would not be able to make the journey, even in a litter.
Thank the ancestors we will not be in litters, Delilah thought as she swung herself into a saddle. There was something appealing about being carried by other people, but she hated the enclosed boxes. And now, if there was trouble... a litter would be a death trap.
Finias cleared his throat.
Delilah raised an eyebrow.
"Princess..." He gestured to her, then to Zehra.
Delilah realised she was astride the horse like a soldier, her dress riding up to her knees, while Zehra was seated in perfect side saddle.
Clenching her jaw as everyone looked at her, she quickly shifted and pulled the dress down to her ankles. She refused to blush, refused to be humiliated.
Before they exited the main gates, Finias attached a chain from his saddle to hers, giving her an apologetic look as he did so. Delilah's grip on the reins turned white-knuckled.
Her chest locked up as they rode out of the main gates and into the city. Gaol hoped to show his people the strength of the royal family as they visited one of his most trusted lords, but thoughts of marriage kept invading Delilah's mind. Lord Caldor hated her, he would never agree to marry her. She was fairly certain he already had a wife. But what if he didn't? What if they forced her to marry him? Since she'd spied on the council meeting, dark, treacherous thoughts had taken root.
Pelenans crowded the sides of the street, kept back by a line of guards. A thunderous noise erupted from the masses when they spotted the royals, battering Delilah's skull as blinding sunlight struck her face.
She was back in the Valley of Mist. That roar was the sound of thousands of men running to their deaths. The clash of spears and swords, the thud of arrows severing vital veins...
She swayed in the saddle and pulled herself back into reality.
A dark figure caught her eye as it disappeared over the roof of a building. Nell. Delilah knew she'd only spotted Nell because the Sun Warrior wished it: she'd wanted to show Delilah she was following, staying with them. It brought a little comfort.
At first the crowd cheered for their king and their young, strong prince. When they spotted her, a ripple spread through the city folk. Accusing, burning, angry stares bored into her, recognising her face even though most had never seen it before, except for the time she'd burned it into the palace gates.
Delilah the traitor, the turncoat, the criminal. Delilah the villain.
The cheers turned into a low, angry rumble. People hissed and spat. Delilah's heart was in her mouth as the sheer force of thousands of people's anger concentrated on her. She felt light-headed, aspects of the scene blurring and reforming as the horse trotted steadily on, pulled by Finias.
In the crowd she saw scars slashed across faces, and people's limbs were missing, marking them as some of the casualties of the war. Many groups stood clothed in black, still mourning for their fallen brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, husbands and wives.
"Traitor!" someone screamed.
"Valian whore!"
She wished she could sling a leg over the other side of the horse to keep her balance. She felt like a glass ornament, ready to fall and shatter at any moment, and the horses were already getting restless with the noise.
A stone struck her cheekbone.
Delilah flung her arms around the horse's neck to stop herself sliding off as her entire face went white-hot, then numb as adrenalin dulled the pain. She couldn't feel anything. Had her cheekbone broken, or was it just bruised? Another rock hit the back of her head, something slashed her arm, and a projectile thudded against her lower back. The crowd swelled against the line of guards, shouting obscenities. The words felt like poison despite being mere air, weakening her and sapping her resolve.
And she had foolishly thought she could become the queen of such people, these people who wanted to tear her limb from limb.
As more stones flew, Delilah dragged herself upright, tensing every muscle and righting herself every time a blow sent her tipping dangerously. Her horse was shaking, ears flicking, but the chain kept it moving forwards. She fixed her eyes on the back of Finias's head and tried to block out the world.
Step by step.
"I'll kill you for what you did!" a man roared as she passed.
Brick by brick.
The horse jumped when a rock glanced off its flank. The jolt ran through Delilah's body, aggravating her sore, tender muscles.
Just keep breathing just keep breathing just keep breathing...
Delilah sunk deep inside herself, searching for the cool, calm darkness that writhed in her heart. This was just one more form of torture she had to endure. One more challenge to get through without breaking down. One more obstacle in her path.
After what felt like hours, they reached the grand riverside estate on the edge of the city, surrounded by sweeping, fertile fields. Lord Caldor and his family waited on the ornate bridge which served as their front gates.
They'd passed out of the city centre, but the crowd followed, howling for her execution.
Fear crisped her skin. They wouldn't stop until they saw her dead. More guards were rushing towards them, pushing the crowd a safe distance away, but how long could they protect her? There were far more people in Rhydderch than guards. Even as they drew close to the river, Caldor's own household guard joined, trying to extend the circle.
Caldor's face had paled. He turned to two women beside him – his wife and young daughter – speaking rapidly. Both women began to hurry back across the bridge.
We aren't going to make it, Delilah thought numbly.
An arrow arced out of the crowd and, missing the procession, found Caldor's daughter's leg.
The girl screamed and toppled sideways off the bridge, landing in the river.
"Kiri!" Caldor bellowed.
The mother's ear-piercing shriek of pure agony rose even above the crowd's bellowing.
Delilah didn't think. The adrenalin which had numbed all her pain gave her lightning speed as she slid from her horse's back, wound nimbly through the procession, dodging hooves which could snap her spine, and reached the riverside.
The current was strong, roaring and rippling with white foam, and the lord's daughter had disappeared.
Delilah plunged in without even pausing.
The river filled her ears, rushed up her nose, stung her eyes. The current battered her, whisking her away in its unrelenting grip. In this freezing grey world, the crowd couldn't reach her. The scream which had been building inside her burst from her mouth, a flurry of bubbles, a cry of pain and frustration no one else could hear. When she'd run out of breath she stopped, and her lungs ached, but it was worth it.
The rapids tossed her like a fish. Her head broke the surface – she sucked in air – before being dragged back under.
The river had her in its clutches and it wouldn't let go. It slammed her against a rock and stars burst behind her eyes.
Dragging herself higher, deadened hands slipping on moss, Delilah spotted a girl's broken figure splayed across three rocks. She clambered over her stone and flung herself towards the girl. The current snatched at her dress, trying to pull her away, but she struck out with all her remaining strength and the river sent her crashing into the girl.
Delilah snaked an arm around her midriff. Part of her wished she could just let go and let the river carry her far, far away, but that would be giving up, and she was not going to give up.
She swam towards the opposite shore, gritting her teeth. She couldn't feel her arms or legs, and the river was carrying them downstream unnervingly fast, but finally they reached a rocky bank.
Small sharp rocks sliced her arms and legs as she dragged the girl higher before collapsing, heaving for breath.
She swam in and out of consciousness until trembling hands touched her face.
Delilah sat bolt upright.
"Thank Kane," Nell whispered, her eyes wide with fear. "You're alive."
"'Course I'm alive," she grumbled. "The girl?"
Nell turned to the sodden, limp girl, who looked more like a doll, and checked her pulse. Delilah watched her friend begin to pump her hands on the girl's chest, until Caldor's daughter vomited river water and coughed.
"Take her into the woods," Delilah ordered, standing with a groan as her legs protested. "Keep her still and silent."
They were of one mind, Delilah and Nell. Nell didn't ask any questions.
With her hair plastered to her skull and her dress clinging to her body, Delilah strode through the trees fringing the riverbank until she spotted the bridge and procession in the distance. The gates had been closed, keeping the crowd at bay, and the royals ushered inside. Caldor's guards were running along the riverbanks, shouting.
Perfect.
A wraith of pale flame, Delilah stepped soundlessly through the woods, and began her first hunt.