Grounding the Storm ✓

Chapter 39

After the formal introduction, Renit and I are swept out of the room to regain our ground before entering again—together. Out in the hall, I press my back against the cold stone and take a deep breath. It doesn't come. The only comfort is the solid ground underneath my feet and the distant rumbling of the celebration telling me I'm not actually there.

I swallow the dryness in my throat, to no avail, and squeeze my eyes shut just for a moment of reprieve. I can get through this, it's just one night. My entire life has been decided at eighteen but this is better than being slaughtered young. My parents are dead, my sister is still a threat to face pain as a consequence of my actions, and my betrothed will never see me as something he wants to be with.

This is fine. All of this is fine.

My chest tightens as I try to quell that fear but it slips. I don't want to be here. This crown on my head only makes things worse—although it is beautiful, my eternal doom is snaked in the design.

When my hands shake, I press them against the stone and my power slips off the tight leash to search through the ancient surface. I keep my sanity intact by the one thing I've always had—the power brewing in a witch.

Footsteps sound from around the corner and Renit appears, adjusting the lapels of his coat. "Are you ready?" He asks. Any softness from the formal ceremony is now gone, and he's back to the familiar, cold witch I've grown used to.

I nod, unable to form the words, and take his arm. He leads me back to the open doors of the Great Hall and we stroll through, mixing in with the crowd. I am thankful for the lack of a formal introduction for our second arrival. Now we're supposed to celebrate with these people and spend the night mingling, dancing, and eating.

Some congratulate us right away and I plaster that smile on my face. I look satisfied at Renit's side when really, I'm holding on to him tight so I don't collapse from my weak knees. Is the collar of my dress cutting into my throat? I pull on the fabric but the sense of pressure cutting off my airways remains.

I'm not allowed to think about the challenge because an already drunk man slurs his congratulations in our face before stumbling past to a woman looking all too embarrassed to be the center of his attention. His wife, then.

Renit is kind to the guests and asks many about their personal affairs. How does he know all these people? No one makes conversation with me but to Renit, they're cheerful as much as they can be with the cruel prince. It's not until we finally break away, close enough to the banquet table, that I allow my hand to slip from his arm and move towards the wine. I need something.

I take a chalice with a shaken hand and gulp down the bitter contents. Renit watches me cautiously. "Are you all right?" He asks and takes a chalice for himself.

"Fine," I respond quickly. Another chalice. I hate the taste of wine but this might be the only thing that gets me through the evening. Renit takes gentle sips from his own and with wide eyes, watches as I drink half of the second and take a shuddering breath.

My stomach tightens, a hint of the vomit to come. The sounds of the music and the voices turn muffled in my head, whether from the wine or because of my impending insanity threatening to tear me apart. My body breaks out in sweats and chills all at once and doom numbs me from head to toe.

Anyone that passes us bows and congratulates but I don't see their faces, nor do I hear their voices. They're blurred, every last one of them, and I'm thankful Renit does most of the talking while I stand at his side, slightly leaning against him so I don't topple over. I finish the third chalice of wine and move to grab another but Renit stops my hand with his own.