CHAPTER FIVE
A FINAL LULLABY
he crowd parted before me, conversations hushing momentarily as IT passed.
I felt Valen’s eyes on my back, tracking my progress across the floor, but I did not turn. Instead, I fixed my gaze on Isolde’s familiar form and moved steadily toward her.
Behind me, I heard Valen being approached by a member of his entourage, their voices too low to make out the words. Good. That would occupy him while I slipped away into the relative safety of the palace corridors.
As I reached Isolde, she turned without a word and led me through the side passage, away from the feast and the music and the man who would soon own me in name if not in spirit. The heavy oak door closed behind us with a satisfying thud, muffling the sounds of revelry and leaving us in blessed quiet.
Only then did I release a deep breath, my shoulders sagging slightly as the performance of a princess fell away. Isolde’s eyes met mine as if silently asking, Are you ok? I gave her a slight nod. I was well enough, considering.
“You looked like you needed air,” Isolde whispered once we were safely away from the feasting hall, the sounds of merriment fading behind us. “I’ve never seen someone maintain such composure while being devoured alive.”
A humorless laugh escaped me as we moved through the dimly lit corridor, our footsteps echoing against ancient stone. Tapestries depicting
Vareth’s bloody history hung on the walls, their embroidered figures seeming to watch our passage with hollow eyes.
“Is that what it looked like? I felt more like a mouse being batted between a cat’s paws before the final bite.”
Isolde’s gray-green eyes flickered with concern in the torchlight. “He barely took his eyes off you all evening.”
“I noticed,” I murmured, suppressing another shudder as I recalled the weight of Valen’s gaze. “Did you see how he touched me during the dance?
As though I were already his property.”
“Everyone saw,” Isolde replied, her voice dropping lower as we passed a pair of guards. We both nodded politely, waiting until they were well beyond earshot before continuing. “The court will speak of little else for days. Some already whisper that he’s enchanted you.”
“Enchanted?” I scoffed, though the memory of his touch, warm and possessive, lingered uncomfortably on my skin. “Abject terror can be easily mistaken as enchantment, I suppose.”
We paused beside a high window that overlooked the palace gardens.
Moonlight spilled across the perfectly manicured hedges and silver-leafed trees, casting long shadows that seemed to reach toward the palace walls like grasping fingers. In the distance, the lights of Anorath twinkled, oblivious to the political machinations that would soon bind their princess to a monster.
“I need to clear my mind,” I said, pressing my fingers against my temples. The wine’s pleasant numbness was fading, leaving behind a dull ache. “I think I’ll visit Lysa tonight.”
Isolde gave me a sidelong glance, concern etched in the furrow of her brow. “It’s quite late. Are you certain that’s wise, with everything tomorrow brings?”
I smiled thinly. “I’m not sure how many more nights I will have with her.”
Isolde’s silence acknowledged the truth of my words. After a moment, she sighed, reaching for my hand and squeezing it gently. “Do you want me to come with you?” Isolde asked, though I could see the reluctance in her eyes.
“No,” I said, offering her a small, genuine smile. “I’m thinking you might have other plans…” My voice trailed off deliberately, my fingers reaching out to pinch her arm teasingly.
A flush of color rose to Isolde’s cheeks, and she glanced furtively down
the corridor before swatting my hand away. “Must you be so transparent?” she whispered, though I could see the smile she fought to suppress as she tugged me further away from the main corridor into a shadowed alcove where ancient stone saints watched with blind eyes.
“Oh, you know you cannot hide something like this from me,” I replied, my lips fully curving into a genuine smile for the first time that evening.
“Your hair is too perfectly arranged, and you’ve been fidgeting with your sleeves all night. The last I saw you this nervous was when you were caught stealing tarts from the royal kitchen.”
Isolde smoothed her hair self-consciously, though not a strand was out of place. “Tomas and I... we’re just meeting to talk,” she insisted, though the heightened color in her cheeks suggested otherwise.
“Talk?” I arched an eyebrow, momentarily distracted from my own troubles by her obvious discomfort. “Is that what they’re calling it these days? I suppose his hands will be doing quite a bit of... talking?”
“Mireille!” she hissed, scandalized yet unable to hide her smile. “It’s not like that. We’re just...”
“Just what? Discussing the proper way to groom horses at midnight?
Comparing notes on the quality of Varethian hay?” I teased, enjoying the distraction her embarrassment provided. “You know I would never judge you, Isolde. I’m quite pleased you’ve found someone who makes you smile like that.”
Her expression softened, fingers absently tracing the embroidered pattern on her sleeve. “He does make me smile,” she admitted quietly. “And he listens, truly listens when I speak. Do you know how rare that is?”
I squeezed her hand once more before releasing it. “Go to him. I’m capable of finding my way to the nursery on my own.”
Isolde hesitated, torn between desire and duty. “Are you certain? I don’t want to leave you alone tonight of all nights.”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Lysa. And I promise I’ll be in my chambers before you return. Go.”
After another moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning. Bright and early.”
“Enjoy your stablehand,” I called softly after her as she turned to leave.
She glanced back over her shoulder, a mixture of affection and exasperation in her expression. “Goodnight, Mireille,” she replied, and then she was gone, disappearing down a side corridor that would lead her
eventually to the stables and her waiting lover.
With a sigh, I turned and continued toward the nursery wing. The palace grew quieter as I moved away from the public areas, the sounds of the feast fading until I could hear only my own footsteps and the occasional creak of ancient stones settling. My thoughts circled relentlessly around what awaited me tomorrow. Not just the ceremony that would bind me to Valen, but the journey afterward to a kingdom I had never seen, ruled by a man whose cruelty was legendary.
The nursery was silent when I reached it, the corridors dimly lit by a single lamp that cast long shadows along the stone floors. I moved quietly, knowing that Lysa’s nurse was likely asleep in her own adjacent chamber.
The woman was notorious for her deep slumber, a fact I had exploited many times when visiting my half-sister after hours. Still, caution was warranted. I paused outside Lysa’s door, listening intently for any sound that would indicate the nurse was within.
Hearing nothing but silence, I carefully turned the handle and slipped inside, closing the door silently behind me. Lysa’s room was painted in soft blues and silvers, a night sky recreated on the walls and ceiling. A small lamp burned low on a table near her bed, casting just enough light for me to see her tiny form curled beneath the covers. Her bed still had side railings, though she had recently begun insisting she was “too big” for such protections. The sight of her there, so small and vulnerable, made my chest ache with a fierce, protective love.
I moved to her bedside, studying her sleeping face. She looked so much like our father in repose. The same straight nose, the same determined chin.
But her sweetness, her uncomplicated joy, those were entirely her own.
Unlike me, Lysa had been born into love and security. Queen Ira might be cold to me, the unwanted remnant of her husband’s previous attachment, but she adored her children.
Carefully, I lifted Lysa from her bed, blankets and all, cradling her against my chest as I carried her to the cushioned chair in the corner. She stirred slightly, her small body warm and trusting against mine. I settled into the chair, arranging her in my lap so that her head rested against my shoulder, and breathed in the sweet scent of her hair. Soap and honey and something indefinably Lysa.
Gradually, her eyes fluttered open, confusion giving way to recognition and delight. “Miri?” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. “You came!”
“Of course I did,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Did you think I would forget?”
She shook her head, small hands coming up to wrap around my neck in a fierce embrace. “Never-ever,” she declared with a child’s absolute certainty.
Then, pulling back to look at me, she asked, “Is it true?” Her small forehead creased with worry. “Nurse was whispering about you going away. They stopped when they saw I heard.”
I felt my heart constrict at her innocent question. How to explain the diplomatic manipulations that would tear me from her? How to tell a child that her sister was being sacrificed for the good of a kingdom?
“I will be going on a journey,” I said carefully, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “To a place called Nocthar.”
“But you’ll come back?” Her eyes, so like her mother’s, searched mine with desperate hope.
The lie stuck in my throat. I wanted to promise her the stars and moon, to swear I would return before she could miss me. Instead, I pulled her closer, breathing in the scent of her hair one more time.
“I will always be your sister,” I whispered, the closest thing to truth I could offer. “No matter how far away I go.”
“But I don’t want you to go,” she said, her lower lip trembling. “Who will tell me stories? Who will make the right voices?”
The simplicity of her concern, her fear of losing her storyteller, made tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them away, refusing to let Lysa see me cry.
“When we’re together again,” I promised, tapping the tip of her nose gently, “I’ll have even more stories for you. Adventures from far-away places with dragons and knights and princesses who save themselves.”
Her eyes widened, momentarily distracted from her sorrow by the promise of new tales. “Really? With real dragons?”
“The very realest,” I assured her, grateful for the resilience of children— how quickly they could be diverted from heartbreak by the promise of something magical. “The kind with scales that shimmer like jewels in the moonlight.”
Lysa considered this, her head tilted in that particular way that meant she was weighing my words with all the seriousness her three-year-old mind could muster. Then she nodded, apparently satisfied with my promise.
“I suppose that’s alright then,” she finally conceded, nestling closer
against me. “But will you sing to me tonight? The song about the silver foxes?”
Relief washed through me at her acceptance, however temporary it might be. Soon would bring tears and tantrums when the reality of my departure truly registered, but for tonight, we had this moment of peace.
“Are you sure you want that one? You’ve heard it so many times.”
She nodded emphatically, settling herself more comfortably against me.
“It’s my most-favorite.”
“Very well,” I agreed, adjusting the blanket around her small shoulders.
“The silver fox it is.”
I began to sing, keeping my voice soft so as not to carry beyond the confines of her room. The melody was simple, melancholic yet sweet, a lullaby passed down through generations of Vareth’s children.
“Silver fox, silver fox, running through the night, Moonlight on your fur, so bright.
What are you running from, silver fox so swift?
What makes your heart forever drift?”
Lysa’s eyes began to grow heavy as I continued, her small body relaxing against mine with each verse. The song told of a silver fox, forever running from unnamed dangers, searching for safety and belonging. Verse by verse, it chronicled the fox’s journey through forests and mountains, always hunted, always alone, until at last...
“Silver fox, silver fox, your running days are done,
For look—another fox has come.
Silver fur, like yours, so bright, Two foxes running through the night.
Always together,
never apart.
Safe at last, heart to heart.”
I stopped there, as I always did, leaving unsung the final verses where hunters found the foxes, killed them for their precious pelts, and wore their fur as trophies. The lullaby was meant to teach Vareth’s children that strength was more important than love, but Lysa did not need to know that ending.
In her world, the foxes would always find each other, would always be safe together, would always have their love. I wanted to preserve that belief in happy endings for as long as possible.
In my arms, Lysa had fallen back asleep, her breathing deep and regular, her small face peaceful in repose. I continued to hold her, memorizing the weight of her in my arms, the exact shade of her honey-blonde curls, the way her eyelashes cast tiny shadows on her cheeks. Tomorrow I would be wed, and I did not know when, or if, I would see her again.
Unlike the fox in the song, I would not find safety at the end of my journey. There would be no one waiting for me with matching scars and understanding eyes. I was running toward danger rather than away from it, toward a man who claimed ownership of me with the same casual arrogance with which he claimed his kingdom. And unlike Lysa’s version of the song, I knew the true ending that awaited me. The hunters were coming, had always been coming, and there would be no escape.
I pressed another kiss to Lysa’s forehead, allowing myself one moment of weakness as tears burned behind my eyes. She would not remember me, I knew. Three years old was too young to form lasting memories. In time, I would become nothing more than a name to her, a distant relation who had left and never returned. Perhaps Ira would even forbid my name to be spoken, erasing me entirely from Lysa’s world.
“I love you, Lysa,” I whispered against her hair. “More than you’ll ever know.”
The words felt insufficient, inadequate to express the depth of what I felt for this small life in my arms. Of all that I would leave behind, this loss cut deepest—this innocent child who loved without question or condition, who did not care about politics or alliances or ancient grudges. Who simply saw me as Miri, teller of stories, singer of songs.
Tomorrow, I would marry the Blood King and leave Vareth behind.
Tomorrow, I would become the next Queen of Nocthar, wife to a man whose cruelty was legendary. Tomorrow, I would begin a new life, surrounded by enemies and dangers I could scarcely imagine.
But tonight, I could hold Lysa in my arms and allow myself to believe, if
only for a moment, that perhaps somewhere in the shadows of what was to come, I too might find an unexpected ally. Someone who would run beside me through the coming night.
It was a childish hope, as fragile and unlikely as the happy ending I had crafted for Lysa’s silver foxes. Yet as I cradled her sleeping form, I clung to it nonetheless, a single bright thread in the dark tapestry of my future.
