Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
MORGANA
I woke to gentle hands yanking the blankets down my body after what felt like mere minutes of sleep. My eyes shot open and I thrashed out of their hold, nearly jumping onto the balls of my feet on the cushioned bed. Two servants stared at me wide-eyed, their hair covered by gray wimples. I breathed heavily, the skin beneath my eyes heavier than my weak hands.
I was exhausted.
“The prince has called for us to wake you, Lady Kyllingham,” said the one on the right.
“Indeed,” came the second one. “We apologize for the crude awakening. You sleep harder than stone.”
“Lady Kyllingham, the crown prince requests your presence in the training hall immediately,” the first servant added, her voice devoid of emotion.
I nodded hesitantly before wobbling over the edge of the bed and onto the ground. The cold stone floor stung against my bare feet, a harsh awakening from the meager comfort of the bed. Suppressing a shiver, I straightened my nightgown and followed the servants into the adjoined washroom.
The portraits had gilded frames, and the window was clean of dust and debris, sheer curtains shielding us from any wandering eyes below. There was a marble tub, a fireplace nestled on the nearest wall with fire blooming beneath copper bins full of water. Shadows danced along the walls like eerie specters, and I followed them with intent. Despite the servants’ silence, their presence weighed heavily on me as I toyed with my sleeve. One of them approached my side, silently asking to aid me. I looked at her, wide-eyed.
“I can wash myself,” I whispered.
The servant stared at me as if that was an unheard-of concept. She shook her head slowly. “It is customary, Lady Kyllingham. It is said that dirt holds the demons of Vespera.”
I blinked once. Twice. I broke out in a fit of laughter, leaning forward and cupping a hand over my torso in an attempt to silence my outcry. “Is that what they tell you?” I muttered between gasping breaths. “Is that what the royals tell you so you can wash their dirt away for them?”
The servant nearest me glanced at her colleague before nodding. “Do you believe it not to be true?”
“I know it not to be,” I said, wheezing, and shooed her toward the opaque folding screen. “If you must observe for your beloved prince,” I said, a cynical twist to my tone, “then you will wait for me to bathe myself over there.”
When neither of them moved, I waved my hands wildly. They begrudgingly listened and disappeared behind the screen, to which I undressed in a haste. The shadows which had been dancing along the corners stilled, as if their puppeteer had vanished, and a wave of relief washed over me. I submerged into the water after grabbing the lavender soap on the table.
“Is the water to the lady’s liking?” one of them called.
“Too warm? Too tepid?”
“Just fine,” I rasped and rubbed the soap over my body. “What are your names?”
The two women hesitated before one responded. “I am Anabel, and this is my sister, Vera,” she answered in a soft tone, as if afraid of disturbing the tranquility of the room.
As I continued to lather the soap on my skin, my mind raced with questions. The superstitions and beliefs ingrained in these servants fascinated me, their blind loyalty to the royals both admirable and concerning. I couldn’t help but wonder what they truly thought behind their obedient facades.
“Anabel, Vera,” I repeated their names, testing the way they rolled off my tongue. “How long have you been serving in the palace?”
Anabel hesitated for a moment before answering, “We have served the crown since we were young girls, Lady Kyllingham. It is an honor bestowed upon us by our families.”
I paused my scrubbing and stared at where their bodies would be through that folding screen.
Anabel and Vera’s silhouettes were faintly visible through the screen, their shapes obscured by the delicate fabric. Their responses hinted at a lifetime of servitude, a duty passed down through generations with unwavering loyalty. The weight of their words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken truths and hidden stories.
“Do you enjoy your service here?” I asked, breaking the silence that hung between us like a heavy shroud.
Anabel’s voice wavered slightly as she responded, “It is an honor to serve the crown, Lady Kyllingham. Our families have always been loyal to the Sinclair line.”
Vera hummed in agreement. I hummed in disbelief, standing and reaching for the robe next to the tub. As soon as I had it around my arms, they fled from the folding screen and rushed to my aid, as if I were unworthy or incapable of such simple tasks. One of them grabbed me by the bend of my elbow and guided me to a vanity, while the other fetched a brush and tended to the damp, tangled ends. I watched the one focused on my hair.
“Are you Vera?” I asked. When she nodded, I turned to Anabel as she opened the wooden wardrobe. “And what do you two know of me?” I probed sharply, my tone cutting through the steam-filled air. It was not a question born out of curiosity but out of necessity. I needed to gauge their loyalty, their insight into the inner workings of the palace that had become my gilded cage.
“Apologies, Lady Kyllingham,” Vera murmured as she worked the brush through my tangled locks. Once the tangles were broken, she started to braid my hair, leaving the underlayer loose. “We know only what the palace whispers in hushed tones. That you are the key to… something significant.”
Anabel returned with a pair of fighting leathers and hung it on the wall alongside us. She opened the vanity drawer and grabbed a compact of rouge, rubbing it between her pointer finger and thumb to warm the powder. Then, she applied it to the apples of my cheeks carefully. “The crown prince seems to hold great interest in you, Lady Kyllingham. That is all I know though. His intentions are as obscure as the shadows that dance around us.”
A chill ran down my spine at her words. The mention of Aster Sinclair’s interest in me sent a wave of apprehension through my body. With my heart pounding in my chest, I shifted on the vanity stool, facing them both. “And what do you think of Prince Aster?” I asked, watching their expressions carefully.
Anabel’s gaze flickered between Vera and me before she spoke cautiously, the color flooding from her cheeks. “He is a complicated man, Lady Morgana. It is not my place to offer opinions on the crown prince,” Anabel replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Vera’s hands paused in their task of braiding my hair. “But we have heard whispers, Lady Kyllingham. Whispers of his desperation to break the curse that plagues his bloodline.”
The mention of the curse sent a shiver down my spine, a chilling reminder of the dark magic that entwined itself around Aster Sinclair. The servants’ words only added to the enigma that was the crown prince, weaving a tapestry of intrigue and danger around him.
“That is only gossip though, sister.”
As Vera finished braiding my hair and Anabel finished applying the blush, they urged me to stand and gestured for my robe. My jaw clicked. “I can?—”
Anabel held up her hand and shook her head. “The corset of these fighting leathers is unforgiving to tie alone. Have faith in us.”
Without a word, I allowed them to assist with dressing me in the fighting leathers. Anabel skillfully laced up the corset, adjusting it to fit snugly against my frame while Vera fastened the intricate buckles and straps of the leathers with practiced precision. They didn’t make a note of the scars on my back, but I was no fool.
They saw them.
Once they had finished, I stood before the mirror, clad in the fighting leathers that hugged my figure like a second skin. The reflection staring back at me was a stark contrast to the woman who had entered the washroom only moments ago. My hair was smoother, the wild raven strands that normally framed my face pulled back into the braid. My upturned eyes, although dark from my lack of restful sleep, were bright—the caramel color glistening against the warm light on either side of the mirror. And, for the first time in days, my tawny beige skin had a healthy flush to it. I was by no means happy, but I was rested.
And that was as close to the feeling I’d gotten since arriving.
“Thank you,” I murmured softly. Their faces were unreadable, masks of obedience and loyalty firmly in place. But behind their eyes, I saw surprise. They knew of my station—a prisoner to the crown—but they treated me like I’d expect a royal to be treated. “If we are to continue waking and bathing together every morn, then you must know I can do much on my own. Is that understood?” I asked, flicking my focus between the two of them.
Anabel and Vera exchanged a quick glance, a silent conversation passing between them before Anabel spoke up in a tone that held a hint of defiance. “We are here to serve you, Lady Kyllingham. It is our duty to ensure your well-being and assist you in any way you require.”
I nodded.
“The crown prince awaits you in the training yards, Lady Kyllingham,” Anabel said. “A guard is outside your chamber doors to escort you.”
With that, they bowed and gave me space to exit. I let out a shaky breath and stared down at the leathers on my body, shaking my head once and aiming for the door. As they’d promised, a young, blond guard stood at the exit with an unyielding stance. He greeted me with a shallow bow, turned on a heel, and escorted me down the palace wing in silence. The doors to the courtyard swung open, and what had been stone pathways, benches, and tables had been transformed into training grounds outfitted with sparring posts, manufactured obstacles and balancing beams over the existing grandiose fountains, and a table full of potions. Aster was joined by one other person, and every muscle in my body tensed.
He was dressed in his own pair of fighting attire. The leather molded to his frame, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and the lean muscles beneath. Aster stood with a straight posture, his crimson-tinged eyes fixated on the training dummy in front of him. The man that joined him was slender. The air crackled with tension as I approached, the sound of my boots against the cobbled ground echoing through the courtyard.
As I drew closer, Aster turned to face me with a trifling frown. He studied my attire before meeting my eyes, a hint of fascination bouncing off him. With a graceful gesture, he dismissed the guard who had escorted me. My brow furrowed, turning my attention to the stranger alongside him. He was staring at me like I had two heads.
“Morgana.” Aster’s voice was smooth, tinged with a hint of intrigue. “I trust your rest was adequate?” His words were polite, but there was an underlying intensity to them that sent a shiver down my spine. Dark hair tumbled over his forehead, a stark contrast to the intense crimson of his eyes that seemed to bore into my very soul. I held his focus, trying to maintain an air of defiance despite the unease that coiled in the pit of my stomach.
“My rest was sufficient,” I replied with disinterest.
Aster inclined his head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Six months,” he said with an edge to his words. My brows knitted together, and he leaned forward to whisper it again. “Six. Months.”
I bristled at his words, a flicker of frustration sparking within me. “Do you intend to remain enigmatic, or are you going to elaborate?”
His smile faltered, but not at my defiance. No, I could see through his facade of confidence as the sunlight illuminated the faint lines of exhaustion etched into his features, belying the weight of what truly bothered him. “Six months is how long you have to learn sixteen years’ worth of training. Now, sit.”
I watched him gesture to the bench next to the stranger with narrowed eyes. The urgency laced between his words did the opposite of making me hurry. It made me pause. “You tell me we have six months to train, and then to sit? Which is it?”
Aster snorted and jerked his head toward the bench again. “Sit, little dove. We will train after I appease those watching.”
I turned my head to the right, following the direction his own focus had shifted. The castle was as ordinary as it had been since arriving—and by ordinary I mean opulent, with its dark stone walls, towering turrets that nearly scarred the sky, and stained-glass windows that gleamed like diamonds. The spires were adorned with gilded leaves at the precipice, and overlooking the courtyard below the tallest turrets were stone gargoyles with ruby eyes.
Beneath them was a balcony—double doors opened wide to reveal the royal library. Inside stood three men. Two were gray and wrinkled, but the man between them was younger, with familiar dark hair. It was the man who’d interrupted Erynna and I in the art gallery, if my eyes were not deceiving me.
The stranger, who’d been quiet up until this point, cleared his throat. “Miss Kyllingham, my name is Doctor Edwinson, and I am here to ask you a few questions. Take a few samples.”
I tensed and studied him with a scrutinizing glare. “What questions could you possibly have for me, Doctor Edwinson?”
Though my tone wasn’t the least bit friendly, he smiled and rested his briefcase on the bench’s armrest next to me. He opened it and grabbed hold of a stethoscope. My eyes widened at it, watching as he neared and knelt before me. I hadn’t ever seen one in person, only illustrations in the books I got my hands on in the library. It was a long thing, two black studs that went in the ear, leading down to thin metal rods and ending in a bell-shaped piece that was cold against my skin. The doctor’s hands were shaky, and though he didn’t look me in the eyes, Edwinson had this cowardice to him. As if he were walking on thin ice no matter the season.
“Simple ones,” he said, moving the piece to the other side of my chest. “Who were your parents?”
I paused here, clearing my throat and earning a wince from him. I bit my tongue as to not make more unprecedented sounds, waiting for him to take the stethoscope away before responding. “My parents were healthy.”
“I have no doubt,” he muttered and let the stethoscope clamp around his neck, pulling a needle from the briefcase. I jumped to my feet and wagged a finger before twisting to Aster.
“Is this a sick joke?” I hissed. “Your doctor is not going to stick me with that… medieval torture device.”
Doctor Edwinson blinked at me. “It should only feel like a pinch.”
“Morgana,” Aster said with a low, growling tone. “I tire of your fight. Please, sit and let him take your blood.”
“I do not see the purpose.”
Aster crossed his arms, brows arching high. “The council wants to see to it that you have no relation to the Sinclair bloodline.”
My lips thinned. “And if I do?”
“That would make our conversation in the forest all the more uncomfortable, wouldn’t it?” he asked. My cheeks flushed, and I turned my head to the doctor. “Now, sit. The sooner you can do this, the sooner we can get on with our day.”
I approached the bench slowly, taking a seat and ignoring the way Edwinson stared at me like I was some sick puppy. He instructed me to extend my arm, wrapping a leather tourniquet that helped exaggerate my veins.
“Your parents, Miss Kyllingham,” he said quietly as he prepared the area. “What ailed them?”
I closed my eyes as the cold tip of the needle pressed against my skin. I breathed out slowly, preparing for the sting it would cause, but he waited. “Many things, Doctor Edwinson. You’ll have to be— fuck!”
The needle sliced through my skin, the glass container filling with my blood as he pulled it back. I’d never seen doctors collect blood in such a fashion—I’d seen leeches, ointments, powders of all kinds. Never a needle of such size, and never for the purpose of collecting blood. What he’d do with it, too, I didn’t want to know.
“They did it to themselves,” I hissed at no one in particular as he removed the needle. I opened my eyes and observed the dark-red liquid—it was almost black. I peered down at the wound he’d caused—a hole far too large with far too much blood. Gods, I was going to pass out. He set the needle with my blood in a container before tending to the wound, his hands gentle against my cool skin. “They weren’t stricken with weak hearts or plagues, Doctor Edwinson. Their sicknesses were man-made.”
“Such as?”
My gaze flicked to Aster, who was rubbing his jaw, his focus fastened on my arm. I let out a soft sigh, wincing as the alcohol stung the spot he’d inserted the needle into. I cursed with my teeth digging into my tongue so hard I tasted blood. It earned his attention, and though he smirked like the bastard he was, I saw a glimpse of remorse. Of sympathy.
“They poisoned themselves,” I whispered. “They drank potions that were supposed to get them closer to the devils they worshiped.”
Aster’s face softened, and he turned away as if he had the manners to stop eavesdropping. As if he weren’t the reason I was practically getting stabbed by a doctor with a needle so large it ought to be considered a blade. The doctor cleared his throat, muttered something about not caring for the “religious injustices” that ruined my parents’ bodies, minds, and souls, before standing and dismissing himself. He didn’t pester me more. Didn’t ask more questions, or take more blood.
He merely said he’d send results in the coming days.
I sighed and stood, bending my arm and walking up to Aster, who’d shifted to a table full of vials and training weapons.
“Now that you’ve tortured me, Prince Aster, I have questions. You mentioned sixteen years of training.” I shifted my weight. “What do you mean by that?”
He hesitated for a moment, as if debating how much to reveal. Finally, he faced me and spoke. “The curse that plagues my bloodline is not simply a matter of magic. It is tied to a prophecy—a prophecy that foretells the breaking of the curse by one who bears the mark of shadows. My sister and I attended the University of Arcane Magics to overcome such a thing, to train and fight and learn how to master the cruelest darkness. Our council knows of you, Miss Kyllingham,” he said, jerking his chin toward the balcony behind me, “and they intend to see your power within six months.”
My breath caught in my throat at his words, the weight of destiny settling heavily upon my shoulders. “I thought I was here to help you, not your privy council?”
“In this situation, we are one in the same.” There was such a genuine, raw twist of despair to his voice. At that moment, I wished to press further and understand the sort of training and tests I’d be subjected to. If they were any worse than that gods-forsaken needle, I cared not for it.
He’d promised me a way home, but at this rate, it would not be for six months. That wouldn’t do. Aster cleared his throat and started pacing. “Every morning, we will conduct physical training. Sparring. Obstacles. I will introduce you to toxins and potions that can both aid and ail you. When your heart aches worse than your knees, we will lapse. Come the night, we will study.”
Aster paused, his attention never leaving the ground.
“Your duty will be to master the art of wielding the shadows, to harness your unique abilities, and to prove that you, amongst a few missing artifacts, are the one foretold to break the curse.”
Despite the unnerving nature of his declaration, a small flame ignited within me. The challenge enticed me just enough to push through the fear and uncertainty. But this wasn’t true. No, I shook my head wildly and dared to approach the cruel prince. “No, Aster. There is no prophecy, and I am no curse breaker.” Aster’s eyes met mine, a hint of empathetic sadness flickering in their depths.
“‘ Beneath the mesmerizing starlight, a remedy lies hidden from sight; whispers of ancient lore and forbidden magic, the cure awaits in a realm so tragic. ’” Aster took a desperate step closer, and although his hands did not unclasp from behind his back, I could feel the invisible presence of his power yearning for my submission. A shiver raced down my spine. “Years, I studied this dreaded prophecy. It is a glorified poem that sings my fate, and while you may not be my cure, I have no doubt you hold an answer to it. There is simply no other reason you would be given such divine gifts.”
The words, carefully woven of darkness and desire, wove together the thread of an idea that kept pulling at my thoughts. I could see the flicker of hope in Aster’s eyes, the fire that had driven him to steal me away in the first place. I didn’t believe that he believed in the prophecy, but he needed it.
“Very well,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I reached up to brush the bangs out of my face. At that moment, I felt a shift in the air. The tension between us evaporated, replaced by a quiet understanding. It was a moment of vulnerability that I was not often afforded. “Then we must train, but on one condition.”
Aster’s face twisted in frustration, but he nodded. “Each milestone I make, you must afford me an equal part freedom. I cannot remain confined to these terrible halls.”
Could I trust this man, who seemed to have all the answers, to trust me in return?
“Have I not done so already, little dove?” he asked, his voice far more defeated than I had anticipated. “I gave you a bed and bath after your aid at Lord DeBurne’s estate.”
His words left a bitter taste in my mouth. I wanted him to be wrong, but he wasn’t, and I hadn’t had the clarity to acknowledge it yet. I looked at him, the certainty behind my words spoken faster than my mind realized what it was I sought. Truly sought. “I expect cushioned sheets and clean water, yes, but I also expect a path home. More than anything, though, I require the freedom that truth and knowledge grants. About my powers, about my brother, and about this curse that plagues you.”
The last of my words truly made him pale, but he sighed and nodded once. It was curt, and the tension that cut through the air again made me want to push him, to see how shallow his agreement was.
Instead of accusing him and starting a fight, I took a step forward and clenched my hands into fists at my side. “I mean it, Aster,” I whispered, my eyes bouncing between his. “If you are to understand me, I am to understand you.”
“That is a nearly impossible task, Morgana Kyllingham.”
“Just as impossible as the mere existence of shadow-magic outside the Sinclair bloodline.”
Aster’s lips parted and he breathed out a shallow, shuddering sigh. “Then let us begin.”