The Raven: Prince of Iron and Blood.

Numeris Aštuonioliktas

The announcement of Zaryiah's marriage to the Prince set Harrow Hall in uproar.

Every night was a fit of hysteria and all the servants hovered outside Lady's door, listening close.

"I won't marry him! I won't." Angry tears slid down her face. Her rage was bursting over the surface, just like her mother's.

Marija slapped her viciously across the mouth. Zariyah swallowed the biting sting of the red bruise shaping over her face. Her tongue darted out and licked up the thin line of blood coming from a cracked lip.

"I. Won't. Marry. Him." The words came out between grated teeth.

Ear pressed to the door, Gabi drew back, hands over her ears to block out the sounds of more striking. Peter gasped. Zariyah was suffering. Zariyah had been locked in the Blue Room, day and night. No one was to let her out. Not even to urinate. A bucket had been provided. She could only walk in that room, not even to Enea. Gabi was only allowed to tend to her and give her meals. After that, the door was bolted and Tobi stood in front of it. Gabi had pleaded and begged with Tobi, but the islander giant did not budge.

Ronan checked Zariyah's meal trays for any knives or notes. Marija had thought her daughter to attempt to kill herself.

"HE'S OLD AND NOT EVEN OF ROYAL BLOOD."

"HE'S GRAFTED INTO ALISS' FAMILY."

"What she has left if she doesn't murder him," came the dark mutter.

"You speak like that again and I shall put you with the dogs for the night!" The threat had come between Marija's teeth. "Do you understand?"

Zariyah clenched her hands into little fists, her burning cheeks slicked with tears.

"What your father and I do, we do it for the good—your own good, and if you had some sense. For the good of the Faryn."

"TO SELL YOUR OWN DAUGHTER OFF! LIKE A COMMON WHORE!" Zariyah screamed.

The next strike was like thunder and knocked the girl off her feet. She hit the floor, her forehead striking the wood. Hot blood trickled from a small cut above her eyebrow, steeling her.

"You can hit me. Hit me all you like."

"Ronan. The lash." The command came from soft lips.

The hovering servants fled from the study door as they heard the stomping boots. They picked up the fallen girl, swung open the door and dragged her out, her legs slipping against the wood.

Peter hurried down the hall. This had been going on for five days. How long could Zariyah hold out? The lashing would rip her back to pieces!

"Enea, wake up!" Peter whispered urgently, his voice barely audible over the soft rustling of the curtains in the late morning light. "You must wake up!" He nudged as hard as he dared, eyes wide with mounting fear.

Enea groaned, his dark hair sticking up in every direction as he rolled over to face him. "What is it?" he mumbled sleepily.

"You must stop my lady! She has gone mad," he exclaimed, her eyes shining with tears. "It's Lady Zariyah."

Enea sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What is it?" he asked. Again.

"WAKE UP, MY LORD, WAKE UP!" And he poured steaming water from the porcelain bathtub onto Enea's head.

Enea shot out of bed like a screeching cat. The water steamed up, filling the room with a warm, mist that seemed to cling to the velvety drapes and the fur-lined rug beneath his feet. And then he saw it—a scroll of ink tucked into the folds of a velvet chemise. His heart raced as he reached for it, his hand shaking. A letter No. Letters. Her sister's desperate pleas for help smuggled under the noses of the retainers.