Chapter 8: A Sonata of Secrets
Quellin's music rippled through the grand hall like waves on a moonlit sea, each note sharp, deliberate, coaxing memories from the dark corners of my mind. I stood just inside the door, gripping my skirts in tight fists. He hadn't seen me yet—or if he had, he chose not to acknowledge me. His eyes were focused on the keys, fingers dancing over ivory and ebony with the precision of a man who had practiced far too long to play for anyone but himself. The sonata was exquisite. Haunting, even. It carried an ache, one that pressed against my chest like a weight I couldn't quite shake.
"Your Majesty," I said softly, stepping forward.
The music did not stop. It wrapped around us like smoke, lingering, curling into every crack in the stone walls. I let the sound settle into me for a moment longer, before quietly delivering the news. "I asked the locals about you. Just like you instructed."
His amber eyes flicked toward me at last, bright and watchful, gleaming beneath the cascade of dark hair falling over his brow. I couldn't quite read what flickered behind them—amusement? Disdain? Or something else entirely? He gave the faintest nod for me to continue, fingers never missing a beat.
"They said…" I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. "They said you're a monster. A tyrant. But they speak of you as if you are both curse and savior."
A bitter laugh escaped his lips—sharp as a dagger edge. "That sounds about right." His gaze dropped back to the piano, as if the keys alone understood him better than any living soul ever could. "A monster and a savior. What else would a king be?"
I shifted uneasily. "I suggested the circus might be a way to soften their opinions. They need distraction, Your Majesty. Something to make them feel joy again."
He paused mid-note, his hands hovering above the keys for just a breath. "A circus," he murmured, his voice distant. "Yes… yes, that would be wonderful."
The sonata resumed, quieter this time, almost contemplative. I stood there, awkward in the growing silence between us, until the gentle music drew me closer to him, step by step, as if enchanted. "The piece you're playing…" I whispered. "It's beautiful. Who taught you to play?"
"My mother," he said, his voice soft in a way I had never heard before. There was no arrogance now, no mockery or malice. Only the remnants of a boy who had once known love.
He continued, as if the music had unlocked some private corner of his memory. "She played every night. When I was small, I would curl up by her feet and fall asleep to the sound of her playing. She used to say that music tamed beasts—dragons and men alike."
I smiled faintly, imagining a boyish Quellin nestled against his mother's skirts, soothed by the same melodies that now filled the grand hall. "What happened to her?" I asked gently.
His mood shifted in an instant. The music turned dark, slow and heavy, mirroring the shadows that fell across his face. "She died," he said flatly. "In childbirth. Bringing Evander into the world."
A sharp pang twisted in my chest. I had never seen Quellin like this before—so exposed, so vulnerable. "I'm sorry," I said. "I never knew my parents either."
Quellin gave a humorless chuckle, as if the idea amused him. "Perhaps it's better that way, Amaris. You can fantasize about who they might have been. Believe they were kind. Or noble. The truth," he added bitterly, "is rarely so kind."
For a moment, I saw him not as the cruel king who owned me, but as a man—a deeply wounded one, hidden beneath layers of armor forged from loss and power. The shift in him made my chest ache in ways I didn't want to understand.
He gestured toward the bench beside him. "Come," he said. "Sit with me."
I hesitated, but there was something in his voice that made it impossible to refuse. I lowered myself beside him, close enough to feel the warmth of his body but not quite touching.
"Do you know how to play?" he asked, tilting his head toward me.
"A little," I admitted, resting my hands uncertainly on the keys. I pressed a few notes, a soft, hesitant melody that wavered like my breath.
Quellin reached over, his large hands covering mine, guiding my fingers across the keys. "Like this," he murmured, his voice low, almost hypnotic. His touch was both commanding and oddly tender, and the melody he coaxed from my hands was unlike anything I could have played alone.
"Music is like dragons," he said softly, his breath warm against my ear. "Wild and untamable. But if you learn to move with it, you can create something beautiful."
The moment felt… different. Strange and fragile, like something precious that could shatter if either of us moved too quickly. I could feel his presence beside me, closer than I should have allowed, and yet I couldn't seem to pull away.
But then, as swiftly as it had begun, the tenderness between us vanished. Quellin's hand slid from mine, and the air between us turned sharp and cold.
"You're mine," he said abruptly, his voice hard and unyielding. "Not his."
The shift in his tone left me breathless. I stiffened as he leaned closer, his expression dark and dangerous. "Evander cannot lay claim to what belongs to me. He never will."
"There's nothing between us," I whispered, my voice trembling under the weight of his stare.
Quellin gave a harsh, bitter laugh. "You can't lie to me, Amaris. I can smell him on you. Hear how your heart races when you look at him. Just like all the others."
His hand shot out, seizing my wrist in a grip that was both possessive and cruel. I gasped in pain as his fingers tightened, the pressure relentless.
"It's treason," he hissed, his eyes gleaming with something dark and dangerous. "Do you know what the punishment is?"
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Death," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes.
Quellin's lips curled into a sickly smile, one that made my skin crawl. "No," he murmured. "Far worse. And you'll wish for death before I'm done."
The threat hung heavy in the air between us, suffocating and unbearable. He released my wrist with a suddenness that sent me stumbling back, clutching my wrist, which throbbed painfully where his fingers had been. His expression shifted to something unreadable, but the cruel edge remained, lurking just beneath the surface.
"Run along now, Amaris," he said softly, almost mockingly. "You'd better remember your place."
I didn't need telling twice. I stood on shaking legs and bolted from the grand hall, my heart pounding as though it would shatter against my ribs. His words echoed in my mind: "Far worse… and you'll wish for death."
I sprinted through the cold stone corridors, desperate to escape the suffocating grip of fear that clung to me. His presence lingered, a shadow I couldn't outrun, wrapping tighter around me with every step. By the time I reached the bathhouse, I was gasping for breath, tears threatening to spill over.
The wooden door creaked as I shoved it open, and a wave of warm, steamy air embraced me. My limbs felt heavy with exhaustion, my mind spinning. I stumbled toward the wood-fired hot tub, tearing at the laces of my gown as though shedding my skin could somehow rid me of his touch, his voice, his threat.
When the dress finally slipped off, I sank into the steaming water, letting the heat swallow me whole. The burn of the hot water against my skin was sharp, almost painful, but I welcomed it. Anything to drown out the ache in my chest, the knot of humiliation and terror lodged in my throat.
The sobs came fast and hard, ripping from my lungs in ragged bursts. I pressed a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it was useless. The weight of Quellin's grip, his voice, his threats—they pressed down on me until I thought I might shatter beneath them.
How had I let this happen?
I closed my eyes, letting myself sink deeper into the water until it reached my chin. For a fleeting, treacherous moment, I thought about slipping under entirely—thought about how easy it would be to let the water claim me, to drift away from all of it.
Would anyone even care if I did?
I shook the thought from my head, but the temptation lingered. The idea of escape—of silence—was so alluring. But I knew better. Quellin's grip on me extended beyond walls and locks. Even death would not free me from him. He would haunt me, just as he haunted the corridors of this cursed palace.
I wiped the tears from my face, though the ache in my chest remained, deep and gnawing. I couldn't afford to fall apart—not here, not now. If I did, he would win. And I couldn't let that happen. I had to survive this… somehow.
Curling my arms around my knees, I pressed my forehead against them, inhaling the scent of the woodsmoke curling from the fire beneath the bath. It was grounding, in a strange way. A reminder that I was still here, still alive, even though every part of me felt as though it had splintered into pieces.
The door to the bathhouse creaked open behind me, and I stiffened, holding my breath. For one terrifying moment, I thought it was him—that Quellin had come to deliver on his threat. But the footsteps that followed were soft, hesitant. A servant, most likely, or one of the palace attendants.
I didn't turn around. I couldn't bear to.
Instead, I stared at the water, watching the ripples shift and swirl with every tremor that ran through my body. The bathhouse was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fire and the occasional drip of water from the rafters above.
And yet, even in the silence, his voice lingered in my mind, low and dangerous: "You're mine. Not his."
The thought of Evander brought a fresh wave of confusion and guilt crashing over me. I hadn't done anything wrong. Nothing beyond exchanging a few glances, a fleeting brush of hands—but somehow, Quellin had twisted even that into treason. And now, every time I thought of Evander's dark eyes, the warmth in his smile, it felt like a betrayal.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, willing the thoughts away. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the sensation of Quellin's fingers wrapped around my wrist, couldn't silence the echo of his voice in my ears.
Far worse…
The water around me rippled as I shifted, forcing myself to sit upright. I couldn't stay here forever. I had to find a way to endure this. To survive.
Somehow.