Eyes Like The Ocean | A Culled Crown Novella

Chapter 16

Oredison Palace, Gazda.

Malcolm passed out as soon as they reached their suite. He collapsed on the sitting room couch where he stayed until morning. Viera barely slept for fear that he would wake and decide he wanted to consummate their marriage. She was terrified of that—of him.

The royal suite was large, with a private sitting room, spacious bedroom, double balcony, small music room, separate dressing rooms, and a double bathing room. And yet, she had never felt more trapped, more alone. And she was surrounded. There were guards stationed at the door and in pairs down the hallway outside.

If she were to scream for help, would any of them come to her aid?

She didn't know.

They hadn't before—back when she was just a goddess-touched girl and not queen of all Erydia. Viera couldn't look at her new husband without remembering the way he'd beaten her. He had kicked her and whipped her. Deprived her of help. Now he had the marital right to touch her whenever he pleased.

Let him try.

Malcolm had assembled his personal guard with ease, transitioning most of his previous guards up with little more than a few signatures. Meanwhile, Viera struggled to choose even one sentinel she found trustworthy. Most of them had known Malcolm since he was a boy, some having grown up with him. Even the ones who weren't in his official guard were loyal to him. They would follow his orders over Viera's—which was far from comforting.

Days passed and, when she still hadn't finalized her court, the Synod put Malcolm in charge of assigning her guards. No one even told her—she just awoke one morning and had five new bodyguards. She had argued it, fought the new assignments, but the Synod had insisted that the men where good soldiers, all with good marks and strong military pasts. She would be safe with them.

Viera had scars on her back that told her she would not be safe—not with these men. Not if they served Malcolm. He'd once ordered guards like them to hold her down while he beat her—and they had listened. But no one listened when she spoke. Compared to Malcolm, who demanded and reigned with an iron fist, Viera was soft and timid.

She might have been queen, but he had discredited her enough within the past few weeks that it became normal for the Synod to work around her.

They would get her decision and then see if Malcolm approved—which he never did—and then they would do whatever the king wanted. She didn't know how to make anyone listen, not when they thought she was crazy, deranged. Not when she so often felt like she was going crazy.

The only bright spot in her life was that Malcolm was often absent from their suite. She didn't know where he went or where he slept, but it was rarely in Viera's bed and when it was, he was careful not to touch her. The maids talked. She knew that Malcolm had found solace in the arms of a young woman—someone by the name Penelope. According to the rumors circulating the palace, which could neither be canceled out or believed entirely, Malcolm and Penelope had been lovers for some time.

Viera didn't care. If he wanted to sleep with another woman, let him. She just didn't want him in her bed. Every minute he was away was a minute Viera could breathe easier. It was time she could spend pretending that this was not real—that she was not locked in a palace surrounded by unknown enemies.

Days turned to weeks.

It was palace custom for the queen, king, the Synod, and any visiting courtiers or dignitaries to take their evening meal together. This provided a relaxed environment for treaties and friendships to develop. Or at least, it used to be a relaxed environment. Now it was just uncomfortable. This was probably why Malcolm had insisted it continue, despite everything that had happened.