Chapter 12 - Facets of a Prince #2
His lavender eyes were like daggers slamming into Magdala’s stern stance. I wasn’t sure it was wise to stand up to Prince Callan. He didn’t seem accommodating to the preferences and frankly, the lives of others. A muscle in his jaw feathered as she tipped her chin in defiance.
“I won’t be giving her any assignments. She will be at your entire disposal, Highness.”
Disposal. As though he intended to use me up and be rid of me.
After an impossibly long moment, Prince Callan gave her a curt nod.
It was done, then. I was to help the prince with imbuing gems and would be set free as soon as I was successful.
There’d been no conversation about what would happen if I wasn’t successful, but I’d secretly decided that wouldn’t be the case as I absently stroked Fynn’s fur.
I would imbue his gems, and I would earn my freedom. I would accept nothing but success.
“Come, Wrenora, I’ll find you a room. I’m sure you could use some uninterrupted rest,” Magdala said as she gave the prince one more pointed glare.
I stood and followed, glancing back at Fynn who had woven himself around Prince Callan’s legs as he glared after us.
––––––––
After being sold off, bought back—nearly freezing to death—then essentially fought over by the prince and his advisor, I spent the next week wandering back and forth from my new quarters near Magdala’s to the staircase leading down to the main hall.
The fortress seemed empty on this level.
The only people I saw were Magdala and a servant who brought me meals each day.
His Royal Broodiness had disappeared, and at first, I assumed he had princely things to do, but by the end of the week I grew concerned. Not concerned enough to ask Magdala, or actually go anywhere near his study, but enough I thought of him entirely too often for my liking.
Getting used to freedom again was strange, too.
I had a bedchamber to myself with a washroom and multiple dresses to choose from each day.
Privacy after months of sharing everything almost felt selfish.
I’d read a few manuscripts on imbuing, trying to mentally prepare myself for the task after so long away from my studies.
I wasn’t restricted to the lower level any longer, and I was almost brave enough to wander as I grew more restless.
Fynn often joined me, prancing happily along beside me with endless meows as I paced.
After a particularly long and lonely day, I lay wide awake in the middle of the night.
The strange pulling that had lulled me from my cot when I’d first come to the fortress tugged again.
I dragged myself out of bed, stepping into a pair of slippers before yanking a warm dressing gown around my chemise.
The wisplights flickered low, illuminating the long hall from my quarters to the staircase.
I stood at the top, listening for any sounds of someone awake in the fortress—some piece of my soul being led along an invisible path.
I was starkly reminded of the night I’d inadvertently melted the frozen woman, and my curiosity got the better of me.
I descended as quietly as I could, creeping down the main hall until I came to the door that led into the throne room.
There I found him, standing perfectly still, gazing out the windows to the mountains in the distance.
He wore a simple tabard and matching pants that shimmered in the light with each breath he took.
His white hair hung loose around his shoulders, each strand soaking up the glow of the wisplights.
I should have left—I should have turned and fled back the direction I’d come—but something held me in place. The way he stood perfectly still, never moving, enthralled by the light of the moon as it sprinkled diamonds across the expanse of snow.
The moon! It was a cloudless night after years of murky skies, but before I could think further on that, he turned without warning, stopping short when he saw me.
I took in a sharp breath, unsure if I’d broken some rule in being here, but remembering the last week had been spent with Magdala reminding me that while I still wore the shackles of a slave, I wasn’t one.
He wasn’t usually on this level without a mask and gloves, so I was surprised to be able to see his entire face. The column of his throat bobbed, his jaw tightening. I took a breath to speak, but no words came to me.
He tipped his chin, taking several long strides toward me, his lavender eyes never leaving mine.
I didn’t know what to say. He’d paid for my freedom in exchange for my help, then left me to my own devices.
And still, he stared, the soft sadness in his expression pulling at my heart, a sharp pang of regret sharing the space where my hatred of him still rested.
Why...why did a thread of hope pull tighter the closer he came?
I swallowed hard. I needed to say something to shatter the silence, but it felt like dragging the words up from the pit of my soul.
“Why was I able to melt the woman before?” I wish I hadn’t asked, because as soon as I did his expression changed, brows furrowing, leaving me staring at the broody prince I’d been used to seeing. The one I was terrified of. The one who killed thralls for the smallest offenses.
“I don't know.” He turned to gaze out the window again.
We stood together in silence, gazing out across the frigid landscape. It was cold and unforgiving and gorgeous. As much as I hated it, a sliver of me wished I could appreciate the true beauty of it without shivering.
“It’s beautiful,” I said without thinking. Why did I say so many things I should leave tucked away when I was around him?
He nodded, his eyes remaining firmly on the world beyond these windows. There was so much longing in his expression. “I wish more people could see the beauty in it and not just its deadliness.”
“Perhaps it needs only to let the summer back in.” I hadn’t known what I was saying until I felt his glare burning into me.
“You speak like it’s so easy.”
“If it were easy, we would not have the winter blight,” I said, glancing over at him. “But every winter needs a summer, Your Highness. Our world cannot exist without both.”
He stared at me for a long time, letting my words settle in the cold air between us, a twinkle of amusement or hope—or both—in his eyes.
“I need to take you to Dyga to have your shackles removed.”
There was something about the dim light that sharpened his voice in my mind.
“We leave tomorrow.” And still, he stared, his lips parted in a way that drew my eyes to them. “There’s only one person who can remove them.”
My gaze snapped to his. One person? So that’s why I was told I’d wear them forever. If there was only one person on the continent who could remove them, they were likely carefully protected.
Without another word, he walked past, leaving me standing alone in the throne room, the thread, which had pulled tight between us, melting into the ice at my feet.