Prologue

The broken sword lies like a pile of glittering silver stones on the floor of my father’s weaponry hall. I cannot help but wonder what will happen when he discovers that I have shattered one of his best swords by slamming it repeatedly against the wall, though I care less than I probably should about that, and more about what I can do next that will cause him more distress. It is my twelfth birthday today, but no knows of this except my father, and I do not wish for anything from him.

It is not that we do not get along. It is that we mutually dislike each other with a fiery hatred that burns into our souls and eats away at the corners of our minds. It has always been this way; from the very beginning of my life. My mother had not been faithful to my father. This was discovered when she was caught with one of the guardsmen from my father’s very own personal Guard, and when he found her out, she was banished and locked away in a high tower on the edge of the castle grounds. When it became apparent that she was pregnant, she was allowed to give birth, but no one was sure of whether or not the child was one of my father’s. The day that I first opened my eyes, what appeared was not a dark brown gaze like my mother’s, or my father’s, but a clear, steady gaze of the brightest blue; the color of the guardsmen’s eyes. When my father noticed this, he had my mother locked away for the rest of her life in solitary confinement, and I was to be sealed away in the castle depths, always there, but never seen.

I understand that this does not make him my blood father. But since he had the guardsmen hung for treason, he is the closest thing to it. I have never known the guard’s name, nor do I wish to. My adoptive father, I suppose I could call him, has the name of Victor Dragorian, King of the land of Drael.

And what name did he give me? It is a name that is filled with several different meanings. It is sorrowful, and blank and dreary. It is cloudy days, and missed opportunities and bleak outlooks. It is not a name to be proud of; it is a name that is scoffed at, mocked, pitied.

I am called many different things by my father, but to him and to everyone else I am Grey. Grey Dragorian, the bastard daughter of my mother, the queen of Drael, and a faceless guard. Grey, the secluded, hidden, beaten daughter of King Victor Dragorian, whom no one likes and everyone fears.

I am Grey. And I cannot change it. For my name ties with my fate, my shadowy fate, and it is what keeps me in this world. My father gave me the name out of hatred, but to me it is a shelter; something that I can retreat back to. It is my sanctuary.

There is a voice in the hallway nearby, and I quickly duck behind the scarlet and gold tapestry on the weaponry wall and scurry through the secret passageway that is behind it. The passage is lit only by the small torch in my hand and is made of thick stone and mortar. I am the only person in the castle who knows of all its hidden ways, besides Seth. Not even my father, who prides himself on knowing everything, is aware of its existence, which makes hiding from his wrath much easier.

I first discovered the passageways while trying to escape from my father’s whip late one evening. Being around seven, I was crying and the tears were clouding my vision enough that I accidentally ran into what I had thought to be a solid wall. When it slipped underneath my touch, I fell through the sliding door and into a silent, pitch black tunnel. I had crawled through on my hands and knees until I tumbled out on the other side, ending up sprawled on the kitchens floor. All of the servants were afraid of my father, but Cook was different. She helped me up and gave me some soup to eat. After that, I spent a great deal of time in the passages and in the kitchens. Cook would always give me food when my father ordered no dinner for me.

I step from the passage, glancing to the left, then to the right to be sure that I am alone, and then I slip myself fully from its depths. It is what was formerly my mother’s bedroom that I am standing in; a place my father never looks, and since it is right next to where I stay, it is a convenient place to leave the tunnels to.

Only this time, instead of hurrying straight to my room, I look around my mother’s room. It is decorated with rich, vibrant magentas and golden tassels fall from the curtains. Lace is draped across the dressing table and over the bed and its hangings are made from a heavy, embroidered white fabric. The bureau is cut from a rich mahogany wood, and even after all these years, it still shines. I have kept the room clean, dusting when I have the chance, and it looks the same as it did when I first stumbled upon it so long ago.

There is a brush and comb, as well as several elaborate hair pins still sitting on the dressing tabletop. I have never met my mother (I have not been permitted to), but I have heard that she was quite beautiful, with long raven-colored hair and flawless skin, and those brown eyes that I crave to have. It is a curse that my eyes are this intense blue color, a curse that has made it so that I must endure my father’s violent temper and hatred.

When I leave my mother’s room and scamper off into my own slightly less decorated room, I almost forget that I will have to face father at dinnertime tonight. I know he will bring up the broken sword, but he cannot prove it was me, though he will probably beat me anyway. Regardless of the reasoning, my adoptive father is a ruthless, merciless man who tortures his people with promises of peace and then starts the wars himself. He is a bloodthirsty bastard who does not care for his starving people.

As usual, there is a guard sitting inside my room, waiting for me. But it is only Seth Dukeson, the Captain of the Guard, and the one person that I trust wholly in the entire castle. He has worked for my father for almost eight years, but he does not agree with his ways.

Seth is only a little older than I, and at eighteen he is turning out to be extraordinarily good looking, though he thinks of me as his little sister.

“Where have you been?” he inquires as I enter the room and latch the door shut behind me.

“I was exploring.” I lie, but I cannot fool Seth, who has known me since birth.

“Might you have been exploring in your father’s weaponry hall?” he asks lightly, but I can see the tightness of his jaw that implies he is worried, or angry.

I scuff the toe of my slipper into the thick carpeting. “Maybe.” I say quietly, not daring to look up and see the disappointment in his eyes.

Seth lets out his breath in one long sigh, and I hear the chair creak as he stands up. Standing in front of me, he touches a gloved hand to my chin and races my head so that he can look me in the face.

He is tall; much taller than I, and his eyes - so dark they are almost black - bore into my own with the force of a javelin.

“You are playing one dangerous game, Grey.” he says, and I know from the casual way he uses my name that he is not angry with me. When he is mad, he calls me “Milady” or “Miss Grey,” or even “Princess,” though I am hardly to be considered one. When he is merely concerned, I am only “Grey.”

“I do not want to see you get hurt.” he continues, and if it were any other person I would say he is anxious. But Seth does not get anxious. He stays calm and collected, so much that I have a hard time distinguishing what he is feeling. The only evidence I have of his emotions are his use of my name and small things like what I said earlier about his jaw.

“I will not get hurt.” I say, rather disgruntled. “I know the ways of the castle, more so than any other person here. I can survive here; I have lasted twelve years here, after all.”

“You are still so young.” Seth sounds patronizing, which irritates me. He is only eighteen, after all; that is not so much older than I am, and I do not want to hear lectures from him of acting my age. I hear enough of that from my father.

“I am not young.” I say, glaring at him as I bat away his hand from my face. “You should not be so bold as to imply that I am immature, Seth. I can take care of myself.”

“That is not what I was implying at all, milady.” Seth says. There is a vein twitching in his neck that goes along with the annoyed tone of his voice. “I was simply stating that you are still young enough to be considered naive. Do you honestly believe that your father will let these indiscretions of yours go anymore, now that you are twelve years old? In his eyes, you have become a threat to his kingdom, and he is not going to take lightly any more of these youthful actions of yours.”

“Leave me alone.” I snap, and throw myself facedown onto my bed, which is blanketed with a thick, deep purple cover embroidered with an emerald green dragon. I breathe in the scent of scorched cinnamon and smoke that Seth always smells of, and let out a long breath of frustration.

From above me I hear Seth sigh deeply, and feel the bed indent as he sits beside me. A warm hand lands on my back gently.

“Forgive me.” he murmurs softly. “I did not mean to upset you. You understand that I only wish for your complete safety, don’t you, Grey?”

“Yes.” I mumble into the bed. “I loathe this life, Seth.”

His hand strokes my hair, like a parent would a child. “I know. But I have sworn an oath to protect you, and even if it means going against the king himself, I will keep that oath. I will never leave your side, Grey Dragorian; I can promise you that.”

Seth is not like the other guards. He does not blindly watch me, nor does he make taunting remarks about my heritage or spit on the food that is brought to me. He truly cares for my well-being, and if I had not known him for my entire life, I probably would not trust him as much as I do. I do not care for anybody else – except Cook – in this entire household of over a hundred people. The servants, the guards, the ladies-in-waiting – they have all become enslaved to my father, manipulated into believing that he is right in everything. They fear him, and that is why they all do whatever he asks.

But not Seth. Out of all the guards, Seth is the only one who remains unmoved by my father’s attempts to control his entire staff. However, my father still appointed him Captain of the Guard (Seth is clearly the best fighter and the best swordsman out of all the guards), which means that he trusts Seth. I overheard my father talking one day to his advisor, Sinedor, and both of them were agreeing on the fact that they thought Seth was the most likely to stay faithful to my father and his cause.

Little do they know that Seth’s unchangeable moral compass does not point towards them and their death and destruction, but in fact, points towards me. Me, with my hidden, surreptitious life and determination to live without killing.

I fall asleep rather quickly and abruptly, and when I awake, it is dark outside and the room is ensconced in shadows. Seth is sitting in a chair pulled close to my bed, his hands on his stomach. His eyes are closed, but I know he is awake. Seth does not sleep while on duty.

The bars bolted across my window prevent me from seeing the moon and stars. I have always wanted to see them, always yearned to gaze upon the glittering, glowing orbs in the sky, but they are a sign of freedom, of a life outside of these walls. All of the windows in the castle are shuttered, making it impossible to see through them except for thin strips through the slats.

I shift on the bed, yawning and stretching, and Seth opens his eyes.

“Good evening, Grey.” he says, smiling. “Did you rest well?”

I do not answer him. Staring up at the stripes of darkness coming in through the barred window, I lay on my back, motionless.

“Grey?”

“I want to leave.” I whisper.

He starts, blinking his thick-lashed eyes. Seth has darker skin than I, a rich caramel color, and inky black hair that waves over his ears.

“Leave?” he says, as if testing what I have said.

“Can I?” I ask, mostly myself. “Is it truly possible to escape from these walls, from these wretchedly morbid halls and its bloodthirsty king?”

“Grey…” Seth says, and for the first time I see him looking a little uncertain. “You cannot possibly think…you cannot possibly be pondering…escaping?”

I turn my head to look at him. Half of his face is covered in shadows, but the other is lit by a single candle sitting on the bedside table. He looks…confused, almost. Could he be anxious?

“I want to leave.” I say again, and this time my voice has grown stronger with my own self conviction. “I am going to leave. It is not a choice. I will escape from this place, and I will travel the world. I cannot stay here and be a pawn of my father’s any longer.”

“But…” Seth says, in a slightly panicked voice. “There is – I mean, it is impossible! How can you escape?”

I give him a half smile. “Through the passageways.”

He blinks, momentarily mollified. “There is a passageway that leads out of the castle?”

He has me there. I have not yet found a way out of the castle, but I am certain that there is one.

Seth catches my hesitation and narrows his eyes. “You are being reckless.” he says. “If you move without thinking beforehand, something will always happen to prevent you from reaching your goal. I do not agree with the situation, but-”

“Then why do you go along with it?” I snap, suddenly angry. I sit up on the bed and swing my legs over the side so I am sitting facing him. His obvious lack of support for my plan hurts me. “Why do you follow my father, if you do not agree with the reasons behind it? Either you’re on my side, or you’re on his, but you cannot be on both!”

Seth is stunned into silence. He stares at me, his eyes wide. I have never yelled at him before, but I am sick of being kept in this castle like a caged animal that is too dangerous to be let free.

“If you will not help me, then I will do everything myself.” I hear myself say, and stand up. The hem of my emerald gown falls to the floor, which only sets to irritate me more. I do not care for the femininity of my clothes. I have destroyed most of my girlish dresses, ripping off the lace trim, the ribbons, and the puffy sleeves that make me look as if I have radishes for arms. Now all of my gowns are stripped to the barest cloths. It caused my father to go into a great fury when he saw what I had done to all of the expensive dresses, and I received a terrible beating for it, but since I am hidden away in the back room of the castle, he did not purchase me anymore. Therefore, I wear the ruined dresses, but sometimes I wish I could wear trousers, like Seth does.

“Wait.” Seth calls as I reach for the door handle. He stands and walks over to me, towering above my five feet. He seems to be having some sort of internal conflict. Finally he gives a great sigh and sets his shoulders.

“I will help you.”

I feel a relief as palpable as water cascade over my shoulders and some of the tension eases. Truth be told, I probably could not escape on my own. Seth knows many secrets, and has many diverse talents that I need in order to leave this castle, and his willingness (if a little strained) to help me is a great weight off of my back.

“But,” Seth starts, and I feel some of the tension return. Then he says something that leaves me reeling in astonishment.

“I’m coming with you.”