I wake with a gasp, sitting upright and blinking away the sleep. It’s my first morning in Burkewood palace, and the sunrise from this high tower is dazzling. I move to the window, still wearing the gown from last night--the gown I raised for Prince Roark. My cheeks color at the memory of him, the way his hands held so much power, like he could dominate me with the slightest effort, with just the slightest thought he could make my will his own.

I breathe out, trying not to think of him. If I’m going to survive in this strange, absolutely crazy place that might just be my new reality, I have to be careful. I’ve already learned enough to know anything involving Prince Roark is far from careful. He’s a dangerous man, even if he is mouth-wateringly handsome and darkly mysterious in exactly the right ways.Just thinking of the sharp lines of his jaw and the subtle way his lips curl up when he’s amused make my legs feel like they might give out. And those eyes… A shudder runs through me. Prince Roark is dangerous for me. Very dangerous.

The city bustles with activity below, but from this height it’s like watching a cross section of an anthill. Red light from the rising sun bathes everything in view, from the rounded roofs of buildings to the criss crossing streets choked with people going about their morning business. There’s a distinctly modern feel to this place, but the lack of cars adds a charm I can’t quite describe, as if there’s a hint of the past here. A hint of simpler times and simpler lives. I can almost imagine I’m living back in medieval times, but with proper plumbing and air conditioning.

If nothing else about the Shrouded Kingdom appealed to me, I can at least get behind the idea of simple.

The sound of footsteps echoes up from my staircase. I step back involuntarily, clasping my hands in front of myself and breathing hard, at least until I think back to the slow, steady pace of Prince Roark’s breath and I force myself to his speed. Calm. I may not be able to control much here, but that’s how life has always been for me. I can control myself, and I can make sure I’m calm and composed. This may be a new place, but eighteen years of misery shaped and prepared me for this.

I let out the breath I was holding when I see Marcella, Kadene, and Niera come gliding up the stairs. They all pause to look at me like I have three heads when they see me.

“You slept in your dress?” asks Marcella with a disapproving tone.

“Last night was… difficult,” I say.

The women waste no more time, swooping in on me like a flock of busy birds, stripping my clothes without embarrassment and unpacking equipment that looks like a portable makeover set. Niera fills up a tub at the edge of my room, keeping her shy eyes down as she works. Kadene is chattering my ear off so quickly I’m only able to catch bits and pieces.

“...will look so good blonde,” she says.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, still nowhere near used to being stripped naked in front of three women, not to mention in full view of the circular windows in my room that would give any bored city goer with binoculars quite a show from below.

“Princess, did you fall on your bum?” asks Marcella. “It looks a little red.”

My cheeks immediately burn. The memory of Roark and the paddle come back to me. I can still hear the smack of leather against my skin. “Y-yes. I sleepwalk. I tripped on the stairs.”

Marcella makes a sound of disapproval. “That will not do. We’ll have to have a door or a gate put in front of those stairs to keep you safe.”

“Prince Titus is hardly going to be able to keep his hands off you,” says Kadene, who is openly admiring my naked body, despite my futile attempts to cover myself.

“Kadene!” snaps Marcella. “You’re speaking to the Princess!”

“It’s okay,” I say. “So, um, what is the protocol on that anyway? The touching part, I mean.”

“If you want to get technical,” says Kadene. “You’re not to be touched by anyone, including your groom-to-be until the wedding ceremony. If any male but Titus touches your skin, he has the right to a blood challenge or they will be thrown in the dungeons to rot.”

“That sounds a little extreme,” I say. “What is a blood challenge?” I ask.

“Kadene!” hisses Marcella, who this time sneaks a look at Niera.

I follow her eyes, and notice that Niera looks on the verge of crying, but she’s trying to hold herself together.

Kadene winces and mouths “sorry,” to Marcella.

After a few moments pass, Marcella leans close to me, speaking in a low whisper. “Niera’s parents were killed because of a blood challenge, which is how she wound up here working as a servant. A blood challenge is issued when certain laws are broken--justice isn’t met until blood has been drawn, but more often than not a blood challenge ends in death on one side.”

A chill runs through me. “Even if the touch is innocent?” I ask. “It still means all that?” My mind goes back to yesterday when Calian walked me into the palace. Surely he touched me at some point, didn’t he? What if someone saw and he’s in danger now?

“It’s a little more complicated than that. It is up to the promised groom to make issue of a touch. He is the ultimate judge of innocence or guilt. Among commoners or lesser nobles, a royal representative is brought in to arbitrate, but Prince Titus would not have to answer to anyone. He could challenge or jail any man who touched you if he wished.”

Like Roark. Even though Roark said he was going to issue the punishment to the guard, I’m beginning to think he wasn’t acting purely out of my best interests or his brothers. He definitely put his hands on me. Or did he? I can't even remember now. Maybe he only touched me through my clothes and with the paddle? But even so, we were behind closed doors and I’m sure if Titus wanted to lay an accusation against him, he would have a case.

“There’s no one he has to answer to? Even his older brother or the queen?” I ask.

“Well, I suppose Prince Roark and Queen Korinthia could intervene, but it would be an immensely insulting thing for them to do. I doubt Prince Titus would be on speaking terms with either of them after something like that.”

I shake my head, trying to take it all in. “So this is normal here? Blood challenges and people being thrown in the dungeon over minor crimes?”

Marcella clears her throat, neglecting to answer me because Niera is approaching to help lead me to the bath. These women treat me like I can’t walk on my own, but I have to admit it’s nice to be fussed over. I used to watch my mom fiddle with my sisters’ hair or worry over their small cuts with envy. I’d imagine what it would be like to be in their shoes instead of my own, where I was left to figure out hair styling for myself and to find my own bandages.

I want to like it here. In so many ways, this bizarre world is an answer to everything I’ve ever hoped or wished for. I’m important here. I’m looked after. I’m not ignored. I’m wanted. But then again, that’s also the problem. Everything seems to tell me that being wanted by Prince Titus is more curse than blessing.

The women lead me to the bathtub and hold my arms carefully as I step into the warm water.

“This water smells amazing,” I say.

Niera nods her head slightly, cheeks flushing. “I’m glad you like it,” she says quietly.

“Now,” says Marcella. “We need to dye your hair. Make yourself comfortable, Princess. This will take a bit.”

I stand in front of a full length mirror, looking at a version of myself I never imagined I’d see. It’s like someone took the old me and made her more… just more. My hair is dyed platinum blonde and styled into curling ringlets that bounce with the slightest movement of my head. My makeup is done expertly to look like it’s not there at all, accenting my natural features. The green in my eyes pops against the new hair color, and they have me dressed in a slim, almost athletic dress that still manages to hold on to some of the elements of a regal dress while also feeling light and maneuverable. There are cute puffs of fabric that add a roundness and height to my shoulders. There’s the customary plunging neckline and an open back with crisscrossing straps. And though I haven’t seen anything but dresses that reach the ankle since coming here, this dress cuts off at mid-thigh and fits snugly.

“So women wear dresses like this when they play fielding?” I ask.

Marcella grins as she circles me, plucking at the fabric on my shoulders to fluff it more. “You don’t play fielding, Princess. You field. Or you go fielding. It’s a very well-respected sport among the nobility.”

“You’re sure he knows I’ve never played this game before?” I ask for the tenth time.

Marcella smiles reassuringly. Kadene and Niera have gone out to the fields to prepare my “tent”, whatever that means, but Marcella stayed behind to explain the rules. “It’s a dreadfully simple game,” she says. “They’ll give you a bat thingie and you’ll swing at the ball until you hit the target.”

“So it’s exactly like golf. But with a bat?” I ask.

“Well, no. The target is in the air. Like basketball? Except it’s not a hoop.”

I sigh. “I guess I’ll just figure it out. And is it really called a bat thingie?”

Marcella sighs. “I swore I knew enough to teach you the rules, but once I got to explaining it, I feel like I don’t actually know that much.”

Great, I think. Inviting me to play this game with him is apparently Prince Titus’ idea of an icebreaker, and I have to give it to him, I’ll probably feel more at ease outside playing a game than I would in some ballroom or over dinner, even if it’s a sport I’ve never heard of.

When I step out on the field after the winding journey through elaborately decorated halls of the palace, I’m shocked by how beautiful it is. Burkewood Palace has a rectangular courtyard and the entire space is apparently the field for this game. In many ways, it looks exactly like a golf course, complete with rolling hills, rocky outcroppings, sand traps, and even a water hazard. I see what Marcella was failing to explain now, too. There’s a blue circle that looks a lot like a floating bullseye at one end of the field. Along one side of the field, there are half a dozen tents set up and teeming with servants who appear to be doing everything from setting out equipment to preparing cocktails. I spot Kadene and Niera under one of the tents--my tent, I guess--scrambling around with towels in their hands as they clean up an apparent spill.

A small group of beautiful women in dresses of a similar style as mine watch me as I’m led toward the princes and queen at the top of the main hill. Envy is clearly written in their eyes, while they look between myself and the princes who wait at the top of the hill. One of the women even pulls self consciously at the patch of her hair that’s not dyed blonde.

I feel guilty seeing their jealousy. These women likely spent their whole lives wishing they could be where I am now, and yet I’m just bumbling through it, probably too uneducated in the culture to even fully appreciate what kind of prize has landed in my lap.

The company at the top of the hill demands all of my attention, though. Not just Prince Titus, but Queen Korintha and Prince Roark. Titus wears a royal blue outfit that fits his muscular frame tightly. It has the same high collared style that is so popular here, but the sleeves are cut off to reveal bulging arms.

Queen Korinthia wears a dress of a similar style to my own, but with with so many frills and puffs of colorful fabric that I’m sure she couldn’t play any sport in it. When I saw her in the throne room last night, I was too overwhelmed to take in much more of her appearance than a general sense of regal pride. Now I see the way the sun blasts through her makeup, putting the fine lines in her skin on display and showing just how hard she tries to hide her age. I’d guess her to be in her late forties, maybe early fifties. Her platinum hair is done up so high and thickly that I wonder if any bees have mistaken it for their home yet.

My breath hitches when I look at Roark. He’s watching me while he leans on something that looks like a hockey stick mixed with a tennis racquet. He’s also wearing a sleeveless shirt with a deep neckline that puts his tanned arms and chest on mouth-watering display. There isn’t an ounce of fat on him, and every muscle cuts across his skin powerfully. I nearly fall on my face as I walk closer, tripping over my feet while I gawk at Roark.

He wears black and it only adds to the aura of mystery that seems to follow him like a magnet. The way the sun falls on his skin makes him look like something out of time, like the subject of a painting you might see hanging in an art gallery--the kind of painting that would make you wonder if such a gorgeous person ever really existed, or if he was purely the figment of an artist's imagination. A beautiful dream so perfect it could never truly exist. No matter how much I blink, Prince Roark is still there, and he only looks better up close.

Prince Titus moves between Prince Roark and I with an irritated expression on his face. He half-turns toward his brother, obviously having caught the way I was staring. My cheeks blossom with heat and I know I need to say something--anything--and fast, but all I can do is open my mouth and close it like a fish out of the water.

“Uh-h-hello,” I stammer.

Titus seems to consider something before he spits to the side and leers at me. “My beautiful Elizabeth,” he says, moving closer and lowering his voice. “You’ll need to learn to control your fucking eyes,” he growls so low only I can hear before stepping back and raising his voice again. “Let me show you how the game is played.” He turns toward a scared looking boy in his teens whose holding the same kind of hockey stick hybrid Roark holds. “Boy! Give me the bat.”

Titus doesn’t wait for the boy to respond. He rips the bat from the boy and turns toward a grassy mound where I stand with Queen Korintha and Roark, who is still watching me shamelessly.

“Titus is one of the best,” says Queen Korintha, as if she’s confiding in me. “Watch him closely. You’ll find no better example of form.”

Titus approaches a small device in the ground that looks like a metal traffic cone. He slaps the side of the cone with his stick and steps back, dropping into an athletic pose like a baseball player, body turned and bat gripped firmly in both of his hands. There’s a huff of air and a golf ball sized object spits up from the metal object. Titus swings powerfully as the ball descends, making contact with a ringing thud that sends the ball flying more than half the distance to the target. He watches it land and then throws his bat to the ground, locking his eyes on me.

“That’s how to properly hit the ball, my love,” he adds, reaching to brush my chin with his forefinger. His eyes dart to Roark as he touches me, and I see Roar’s knuckles go white on the handle of his bat. “Care to show her how not to hit the ball, big brother?”

Roark approaches the metal ball-spitter, dropping into a similar stance. He taps the metal with his bat and waits. The ball fires up, but Roark doesn’t even wait for it to reach its peak and come down. He catches it on the rise in a blur of movement that sends it streaking through the air, to just within a few yards of the target.

There is scattered applause from the servants who wait in the tents and a group of nobles wearing similar uniforms and holding bats of their own, but Queen Korinthia and Titus both look like they just sucked on lemons.

“Can I try?” I ask.

Titus turns toward me with an incredulous expression on his face. “You want to take a bat?” he laughs to himself. “Sure, just try not to hurt yourself.” He snaps his fingers and points to the bat he threw down earlier. One of the young men nearby sprints forward, grabbing the bat and presenting it to me like some holy relic.

I take it, testing the weight and finding it’s not dissimilar to a tennis racquet. Thankfully, I played tennis throughout high school--mainly to give me a reason to stay away from home longer. I put a second hand on the bat, gripping it like I’m going for a two-handed backhand, and try a couple practice swings. I move up to the metal object, remembering after a few seconds the way the princes tapped the metal to get the ball to rise up. I do the same, waiting with the bat drawn back.

The ball puffs up and I take a wild swing, missing entirely. The ball plops back into the hole with a hollow sound. I grit my teeth, refusing to be embarrassed. It’s just a stupid game. I’ve never played before, and I obviously won’t be good right away. But this bat is just a different length than what I’m used to, and with a tiny tweak I’m sure I could hit the ball.

“I think we’ve seen enough,” says Titus so loudly I’m sure all the servants in the nearby tents can hear. “Let’s put this to rest before you end up breaking a nail.”

Before he can get closer, I tap the metal again, bending my knees and relaxing, trying to imagine Titus’ smug face on the little ball as it comes spinning out of the hole in the ground. I swing as hard as I can and this time make contact with the ball. My shot doesn’t go nearly as far as the men’s, but it flies straight and judging from the raised eyebrows and surprised gasps, it’s a good shot for a beginner.

“Ha!” cries Prince Roark. “Give her a week and she’ll be beating you, Titus.”

Titus does his best to look amiable, but his eyes linger on Roark after he turns his back for too long. Queen Korinthia claps her hands together twice, beckoning her servants. Within seconds, three servants are at her side, hoisting the chair she sits on and literally carrying her like some ancient ruler across the lawn. She doesn’t even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed by the display--if anything, she’s looking at me like I should be impressed.

I slow my pace as the Queen and her bearers pass by at a speed to catch up with Titus, who is nearly to where his ball landed.

“I know,” says Prince Roark, who walks up beside me as I head for my ball. “You must think us ridiculous by now.”

“N-no,” I stammer.

He smirks. “Worried I’ll take you down to the dungeon again if you misspeak?”

I stop in my tracks, eyes wide.

“Easy, Elizabeth,” he says. “I’m only kidding.”

“Of course,” I say, but I feel the oddest sense of disappointment. Is that really what I want? Do I really want to go back down there with this man who I should be terrified of? If the rumors and mystery surrounding Prince Roark weren’t enough to make it clear that I should stay away, the fact that I’m supposed to be marrying his brother certainly should. Then again, the idea that I could be sold off to marry someone I’ve never met without my consent is an insult, and even if the person I was promised to didn’t seem to be a slimebag, I’d hesitate to make good on a promise like that--if I had a choice, that is.

My eyes wander the courtyard, lingering on the men who patrol the second floor balconies of the palace all around us and the way the sun bounces off the pistols at their hips. I think back to the long walk from the gates to the palace, wondering if I could even find my way out again, and even if I did, there were the guards at the gate--not to mention the hundreds and hundreds of yards worth of open space I’d need to run and hope no one spotted me.

I’m trapped here.

I may not have realized it last night because reality hadn’t had time to sink all the way in, but now I see it clear as day. The only way out of here is by gaining trust. Maybe I can somehow fake my way through this arranged marriage long enough to build trust. Once I’ve built trust, maybe they will give me the opening I need to slip away.

“But if you try to escape again, I won’t have any choice,” he adds with a glint in his eye that is far from threatening.

My mouth feels suddenly dry. “Oh?” I ask. “You would be the one to catch me? Not one of the guards?”

He flicks his eyebrows up, looking down thoughtfully. “You shouldn’t trust anyone here, Princess,” he says, “but there’s one thing you can count on. If you try to escape again, it’s going to be me who catches you.”

He stops walking abruptly and I nearly collide with him.

“Your ball,” he says, tapping the ground with his bat before moving on to his.

“Wait!” I call out. “What do I do with it?”

He turns back and casually flicks his bat down on the ball, making it jump a few feet into the air. Roark mimics a swing and then turns to walk toward his ball again.

“Oh,” I say to myself quietly. “No big deal. Just hit the thing up into the air and then hit it again…”