Chapter 6: A Doll and a Puppet

(CORRINE)

Sigrid dresses me for the mating ceremony.

I once attended a noble’s mating ceremony, and I still remember how flamboyant the event was. Mine is not even remotely the same. Mating ceremonies are considered marriages in the shifter world.

The final step is for the male to give the female his mating mark. This is something that ties them together for eternity. The mark can be given immediately after the ceremony or in private.

For royal matings, the mark is usually given in public, but today, when the officiant carries out the ceremony and asks Locke to give me the mark, the king refuses.

I stare at his chest, a hollow feeling in my own. Why am I not surprised?

“Princess Ravenna.” The officiant, an older man, glances at me, his gaze filled with contempt. “You are now queen of the North. Please lower your head so that I may place the crown upon it.”

Asking a queen or a princess to lower her head in front of anybody, even an officiant, is an insult. I’m very aware of that. But I’m also aware of the fact that I may now be the queen, but I am also a political prisoner.

So, when King Locke does not intervene, I lower my head. Aside from a handful of people, there is no one in attendance; the few that are, I hear them snicker at my action.

I stare blindly at the floor.

They consider this humiliation? They should ask me what humiliation truly is. It’s to have your clothes stripped off in front of soldiers, to be whipped in front of them in your private areas. It’s being asked to perform degrading acts for the spectators. It is to be forced to eat off the floor after the food has been tainted. It is to thank your tormentor for being allowed to live.

It is to have your dignity stripped from you in every way.

Asking me to lower my head? That’s nothing.

I feel the crown placed upon me, and just as it is, Locke says abruptly, “Alright. This is done. I have work to do. Derrick, have the announcements sent out, and let’s review the damages from the battle.”

He walks away, leaving me standing at the altar with the officiant.

I feel my face burn as I stare at the ground. Everybody else is leaving, as well.

“Pity,” I hear someone murmur. “She was supposed to be so prideful and arrogant. Look at her now. She’s nothing now.”

Nothing indeed.

“Come along, Your Majesty.” A kind voice speaks softly, and I feel Sigrid’s hands on my arms as she guides me down from the altar. “You should change and eat. Then we’ll arrange for some suitable dresses for you. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

“Yes.” As I let her lead me through the doors, I hazily wonder how long I’ll have to carry out this charade. Maybe once I give Locke his heirs, he will get rid of me.

A small, weary smile crosses my lips.

I hope that happens soon.

***

“You and the king will not share a bedchamber. Yours will be next to his, however.” Sigrid opens the door of the room that will be mine. It is almost bare. I look toward the fireplace.

“Am I allowed to have a fire in here?”

Her eyes widen. “Of course, ma’am!”

She hurries to start a fire, and I wander over to the bed and sit down on it.

I can see myself in the vanity mirror from here, and the white dress I’m wearing makes me want to tear it off. If it were easy to switch off one’s emotions, I would have done so long ago.

I wipe my eyes and fold my hands in front of me.

Once Sigrid has started the fire, she approaches me. “Would you like something to eat?”

“I’m not hungry, but thank you.”

“You have to eat,” she insists. “You have to take this, as well.”

I eye the small vial in her hand with some tired interest. “Is that poison for me?”

She frowns, displeased. “Of course not. It’s an antidote for the poison in your system. You were being fed poison in the East, Your Majesty.”

“Ah.” A glimmer of understanding. “I’m afraid that antidote won’t work on me.”

Sigrid blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

I shrug, keeping my tone nonchalant. “I was fed that poison from a very young age. The king doesn’t have to worry; it hasn’t taken away my ability to bear children. Nor will I die from it. It was meant for an altogether different purpose. You shouldn’t waste the antidote on me. I’ve taken it a couple of times. It has no effect on me anymore.”

Sigrid’s hand tightens around the vial. “Ma’am, who gave you the poison?”

I give her a small smile. “It’s not important anymore.”

I take off my crown, and as I do, I hear her ask, “Was it Princess Ravenna?”

My body freezes at her question.

When I look at her, her voice is gentle. “I’m aware that you’re not the princess. King Locke has appraised me of the situation.”

“I see.” My heart is thudding in my chest. “Then”—I glance at her, confused—”why are you treating me with so much respect? I don’t expect you to—”

“You are still a person, Your Majesty. And you’re the queen of this kingdom now, as well as the king’s fated mate. You are the strongest person in this kingdom after the king.”

Strongest, huh? I want to laugh. Instead, I look away. “Okay.”

“Would you mind telling me your name?”

“Ravenna.”

She chuckles softly before kneeling by my side. “Your real name.”

I look at her, my heart aching as I whisper, “I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you that.”

“I am to be your most trusted maid, Your Majesty. Unless you give me a reason to, I will not betray you.”

I stare at her. I might get into trouble for this, but the idea of having my identity completely stripped from me is suddenly unbearable. A tear slips down my cheek as I answer hoarsely, “Corrine. Corrine Hale.”

“That’s a lovely name,” Sigrid says kindly, and I nearly sob. “I—Thank you.”

“Would you like to eat something, Miss Corrine?” My head jerks up at her use of my name, and she smiles. “When it’s just the two of us, would you like me to call you Miss Corrine?”

“Are you sure you won’t get in trouble?” I ask hesitantly.

Her smile broadens. “Of course not. Why don’t I fetch you something to eat, and then I will show you around the castle and the nearby villages?”

I nod.

“Bella Asher is going to be your royal assistant. Every queen has a personal maid and an assistant. Bella has been managing the affairs of the castle, but she is going to hand them over to you over time.”

I nod again.

Sigrid gets up and pours me a glass of water. “I know King Locke seems a little harsh, but he’ll come around eventually.”

I concentrate on the water. Come around to what?

I remember the way he looked at me, the unconcealed disdain in his eyes. I know enough about the North to know that they value the purity of blood. The royal family has never mated with commoners. I may have been taught everything Princess Ravenna knew, but at the end of the day, my blood is not royal, and I am nothing but a mere substitute.

The fact that I am his fated mate means nothing to him.

Sometimes it’s best to simply appease the people around you.

Does Sigrid really expect me to argue with her? She could tell me the sky is green, and I’d go along with it. A doll and a puppet. Those have always been my roles. Why should this time be any different?

My hands tighten around the glass in my hand. “I understand.”

She leaves to find me some food, and I wander over to the window.

The room overlooks the garden. It’s a bare landscape. None of the warmth of the East here.

At least back home, the gardens were always lush and green, with a variety of flowers blooming in every corner. The chirping of the birds is a constant background. When I would hide out in those gardens, seeking solitude, I learned to differentiate between the different bird calls.

It used to be my favorite pastime, one that allowed me to relax.

But there are no birds here, the gray skies and frostbitten trees painting the picture of a dreary wasteland.

The door of my bedroom opens, and I turn around, expecting to see Sigrid. To my surprise, it is the king.

He stares at me. “Why haven’t you changed?”

My wolf, who had perked up on seeing him, lets out a confused whine. “Sigrid wanted me to eat first.”

King Locke tightens his jaw. “Fine.”

Why does he look so irritated? Maybe he doesn’t like seeing my face. “I just came to tell you not to kick up a fuss over this.”

I blink slowly, trying to follow what he’s saying. “Over what?”

“The separate bedrooms.” He sounds impatient.

“I have no problem with it,” I murmur. When he looks angry, I wonder what I did now.

“And I don’t want to hear any complaining about the mating ceremony.”

“I understand.”

Why does he look even more irked now?

“You are a stand-in for the real princess,” he says harshly. “Don’t expect the same treatment that Ravenna would have received. And don’t think you will get the same privileges. You are simply a substitute, so know your place. Don’t let your position go to your head. This room was designed for the real princess. You are not her.”

My wolf flinches, the harsh and vicious rejection making it whimper in bewilderment.

How do I explain to an animal that only understands instincts that our mate doesn’t want us?

This isn’t a fairytale where the king rescues us from the evil princess, and we get to live happily ever after. The king did rescue us, but he wanted the evil princess.

“I understand,” I reply quietly.

Does he expect me to argue with him over my rights? What rights? I never assumed I had any.

He stares at me for a few seconds and then snaps, “Change that outfit and stop eating all the time. The servants aren’t here to accommodate your every whim.”

With that, he slams the door shut and leaves.

I gaze at the door, trying to calm my wolf. “It’s fine,” I whisper. “You’re alive, aren’t you? That matters.”

But I don’t know if I entirely believe it even as the words leave my mouth.

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