Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(16)

Atoc bends his head and examines his fingernails.

“I want your assurance that the Illustrian prisoners will go free. That was part of the deal, right?”

“It was,” he says mildly. “But you see, one of my cousins never made it back to the castillo.”

My feet twitch as if preparing for flight. “Primo?”

Atoc’s lips curl into a satisfied smile that could have belonged to a jaguar. “The messenger.”

I’m cold all over. He’s going to hurt Ana because I’d been reckless. Sofía’s mother. My friend, who always made sure to save me a cup of coffee after lunch. Who baked cu?apes on my birthday and taught me how to plant cinnamon trees. “I didn’t know. Por favor, the Illustrians must go free,” I say, hating how my voice cracks, sounding like a plea.

He stares at me, hand still raised as if he finds what’s under his fingernails more interesting than our conversation. I wait, holding my breath.

Something in his expression shifts, as if an idea has taken root. “All right, Condesa. They will be permitted to leave the castillo.”

I nearly sink to my knees in relief. My thanks burns on my tongue, wanting to be said, but I hold on to the words. He never should have taken Ana and the soldiers to begin with. Why should I thank him for their release?

Rumi ambles down the steps of the dais. The guards grab my arms again and haul me back up the aisle lined by the disdainful faces of the Llacsan nobility. Such as they are. We’re almost to the tall doors when Atoc’s voice echoes in the throne room: “Oh, and, Condesa?”

I turn, wary, his men still holding on to both arms.

“You belong to me now. Never forget that I can round up more Illustrians if you don’t fall in line. On this, do not tempt me. I own you.”

His words skid along my flesh, creating goose bumps. The guards push me forward; the doors slam shut behind me and the sound reverberates in the hall. I’m conscious of Atoc’s cousin standing behind me, the guards crowding me, and my jaw clenches.

“How does it feel being His Radiance’s possession?” Rumi asks. “I imagine the loss of control is devastating.”

“I belong to no one,” I say quietly.

Rumi silently stares back at me, his expression inscrutable.

I raise my chin, wanting a fight, but he doesn’t give one. Atoc wants to humiliate me, bend Illustrians to his will, amass power and legitimacy, and force us into compliance. If the condesa becomes his queen, Illustrians will have to fall in line.

It’s fortunate, then, that the false king will marry her decoy instead.





CAPíTULO





The guards maintain their tight grip on my arms as we follow Rumi’s lazy strut.

“I can walk on my own,” I snap.

“I have no doubt,” Rumi says over his shoulder. “But you’re not allowed to.”

That’s right. I’m their wild animal not allowed loose in the castillo. I clench my jaw and forcibly remove their hands from my body. When one of the guards reaches for me again, I snarl. He retreats a step and glances at Rumi.

“If they touch me again,” I say, “I’ll break their noses. Watch me.”

Rumi throws his hands up in the air. “You’re a menace.”

I smile at his turned back. It’s a small victory, but a victory nevertheless. We walk down a long corridor and up one staircase then another. The helplessness of my situation gnaws at me. Searching for the Estrella will be impossible if I’m constantly guarded. Is there a way to get Atoc’s primo to talk?

“So you’re the king’s cousin,” I say, stepping over a chicken. Yes, a chicken. On the third floor. They belong in a pen, not a castillo.

These people.

Rumi makes no comment.

“You must be proud,” I say, after turning down another corridor, chicken-free this time. “If he dies, are you next in line for the throne?”

He whirls to face me, thunderstruck. “Is that a threat to the king’s life, Condesa?”

And because I know it’ll annoy him, this Llacsan who worships the usurper, I smile. “It was just a question. Or are those not allowed either?”

“Gods, you’re going to be insufferable throughout this, aren’t you?”

“All signs point to it, don’t you think?”

He mutters something about spoiled idiots and turns away.

I don’t know what’s come over me, or where this sudden impulse to sass the king’s cousin stems from, but I enjoy annoying him. Perhaps because the only thing I can control at the moment is what comes out of my mouth. Without my daggers or my sword, it’s the only weapon I have left.

“Am I allowed to leave my room?” I ask as we pass narrow window after narrow window. “How do you keep warm during the winter if none of these windows have glass?”

I’ve only visited the castillo once and it was during the wet season—hot and unforgiving temperatures amid stormy afternoons that feed the earth and turn it green.

A flash of bewilderment crosses his face. “Why do you want to know about the windows?”

“Making conversation,” I say. Each annoyed expression that crosses his face is a small triumph. A triumph that can’t be measured, but it bolsters my confidence nevertheless. “I suppose we could talk about El Lobo.”