Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
ALLERIA
I find out the truth by overhearing a servant as she passes the door to my chambers. I’m standing at my window, watching the courtyard below, waiting for a sign that the scouts have returned. So far, I haven’t seen anyone.
“—came back at first light. The king ordered an emergency council session. Clancy was summoned to provide drinks and was there when the captain gave his report. Everyone is dead, and the fae are gone.”
The world goes still. My breath fogs against the glass.
Everyone is dead.
But I can’t claim I’m surprised because I knew … I already knew that would be what they found. I watched it happen. But knowing and having it confirmed are different beasts.
I lift my hands and press them to the window. They’re not shaking. I notice that with a kind of distant surprise. They should be shaking. Instead, they’re steady against the glass.
The dream was real. But how?
My right hand turns over without my permission, and my eyes fall to stare at my palm. The wound there healed long ago, leaving nothing but a faint pink line. But I can still feel the heat of his mouth, the lap of his tongue. The way his eyes held mine while he tasted my blood.
A shiver runs through me.
You carry my blood. And now it seems you are tied to me.
My fingers curl, hiding the scar, and I press my fist against my stomach.
What does that mean?
The door opens behind me, and Nella comes in, a pitcher of hot water in her hand. She pours it into the wash basin, and glances at me over her shoulder.
“You’re still in your night clothes. Are you not feeling well?”
I shrug. “I have no reason to rush into dressing.”
I turn to watch as she lays out my clothes for the day.
“Have you heard anything this morning?” I already know the answer, but I’m curious if she knows more than what I heard.
Nella’s hands still on the dark green dress she’s spreading out. “The scouts returned from the Dell.”
“And?” Maybe I misheard. Maybe I imagined the voice outside my door. Maybe I was wrong.
Please let me be wrong.
She straightens and faces me, her face pale. “It’s worse than the mage said. They found burned remains. All the staff, guards … the huntmaster himself.” She swallows. “They say his head was mounted on a wall with the other trophies.”
The room tilts slightly. I reach back and grip the windowsill.
“Alleria?” Nella crosses to me, her hand pressing against my forehead. “You’ve gone pale. Should I send for someone?”
“No.” I pull away. “I’m fine. It’s just … horrible to think about what happened.”
She’s watching me out of worried eyes full of questions she wants to ask, but dares not voice.
“Help me dress. I think I would like to spend some time in the stables today.”
Nella accepts the change of subject without any comment, and helps me into the dress, pins my hair back in a simple braid, then steps back.
“You’ll do. Though you still look tired.”
I’m always tired, lately.
The walk to the stables takes me through the servants’ wing and out past the kitchen gardens. I choose the route deliberately. There are fewer courtiers this way, and less risk of being stopped. But even here, I can feel a shift in the way people look at me.
A cook’s assistant looks up as I pass, then quickly looks away. Two gardeners fall silent as I approach the gate, their conversation dying mid-sentence. A stable boy I’ve known for years drops his eyes to the ground and doesn’t greet me.
My favorite mare is in her stall, chestnut coat gleaming. She nickers when she sees me and pushes her nose against my palm, looking for treats.
I stroke her neck. “At least you’re happy to see me.”
She doesn’t care about the Dell, or the whispers and looks. She just wants an apple and a scratch behind the ears, and right now that simplicity is the most comforting thing in the world.
I stay with her longer than I should, while the stable grows busy around me. Grooms lead horses out for exercise, a farrier sets up his tools, the master of horse calls instructions across the yard.
Resting my forehead against her neck, I breathe in the smell of hay and warm animal, trying to pretend I’m somewhere else. Someone else.
It doesn’t work. It never does.
When I finally leave, the sun is high and the palace is fully awake.
I can’t avoid everyone forever. Hiding will only make things worse, and every hour I spend out of sight is another hour for rumors to grow, so I make myself walk back through the main halls.
I keep my chin up and my pace steady, and ignore the looks and whispers that stop when I approach.
In the library, I find a chair in a corner and pull a book from the shelf without looking at the title. The words blur on the page, but I turn them anyway, one after the other, maintaining the pretense of reading while my mind circles the same thoughts.
Cowen’s head on the wall. The scouts confirming it. And the overall feeling that when he killed Cowen, part of me had been pleased.
“Princess.”
I look up to find Lady Whitmore standing a few feet away, a book clutched to her chest. She’s older than me by at least two decades, a widow with a sharp tongue and sharper eyes.
“Lady Whitmore.” I keep my voice neutral.
“I didn’t expect to see you out and about today.” Her tone makes it clear she thinks I shouldn’t be. “Given the news.”
“The news affects us all.”
“Does it?” She tilts her head, pursing her lips. “Some might say it affects you more than most. Given your … connection to the creature responsible.”
“I was its prisoner. Not its accomplice.”
“Of course. Though one does wonder what happens to a person, spending so much time alone with one of those things. What they might learn. What they might … become.”
I hold her gaze. “If you have something to say, I suggest you say it to my father.”
Her eyes drop, and she turns away, her skirts rustling. “Do take care of yourself, Princess. I fear we’re moving into dangerous times.”
I decide to take my midday meal in my chambers, alone, because the thought of sitting at a table with my father and Merina, and pretending everything is normal makes my stomach turn. Nella brings me soup and bread and watches me push it around the bowl without eating.
“You have to eat, Alleria.” Her voice is quiet.
“I know.” I take a spoonful to placate her, and have to force myself to swallow.
She tries to talk me into taking a walk through the gardens. I refuse, claiming a headache. It’s not really a lie. There’s a persistent dull throb behind my eyes, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
Tomorrow will be the same. And the day after that. This is my life now, being watched, and whispered about.
What did you do to me?
By late afternoon, restlessness drives me out of my room, and I wander through the hallways, until I find myself in one of the older wings, near the portrait gallery.
This part of the building is quieter. I come here sometimes when I need to escape.
The painted faces of dead kings and queens don’t judge.
They don’t whisper behind their hands or fall silent when I approach.
My footsteps echo as I walk along the hallway, the portraits watching me as I pass. I’m almost to the far end when there’s a soft scuff of movement behind me.
I start to turn. An arm hooks around my waist before I can complete the motion, dragging me backward into one of the alcoves. I try to scream, but a hand clamps over my mouth, fingers digging into my cheek hard enough to bruise.
I kick backward, memories of Cairn grabbing me flooding my mind. My elbow connects with something solid—a chest?—but the hold doesn’t loosen. The body behind me is bigger than mine, stronger. The smell of wine and sweat reaches me.
“Fae lover.” Steel presses against my upper arm, and I freeze. “This is your only warning.” The voice is a rasp, low and rough, impossible to identify.
The blade drags down my arm, parting fabric and skin in one long stroke, pain burning behind it. I try to cry out and the sound comes out muffled, then I’m free, shoved forward. My shoulder hits the wall. I catch myself with my uninjured arm and spin around.
The alcove is empty, nothing but shadows, and the thunder of my own heartbeat.
I stand there, breathing hard, my hand pressed to the wound. The cut runs from below my shoulder almost to my elbow. The blood is seeping between my fingers, dripping onto the floor. My legs are shaking. I lock my knees and lean against the wall, using it to keep me upright.
I need to move. But my body won’t obey my brain’s commands, so I just stand there, bleeding, staring at the empty alcove.
I briefly think about telling my father. Whoever did it has already gone. I have no idea who it was. They won’t be caught, so is there any point? He’d confine me to my rooms for my own protection, and what little freedom I have would be gone.
Pressing harder against the wound, I start walking. My chambers feel very far away, and each step sends fresh pain jolting up my arm. The blood is soaking through my sleeve, staining the green fabric dark. I hold my arm close to my side and pray I don’t pass anyone.
Thankfully, I don’t. The halls stay empty and I make it to my rooms without seeing a single person. Once I’m inside, I lock the door and lean against the wood. My hands are shaking. My entire body is shaking. I press my back harder against the door and focus on breathing.
In. Out. In. Out.
I survived Cairn. I survived days as his prisoner. I survived being dragged through a forest, not knowing whether I’d live to see morning.
This is nothing. This is a coward with a blade who didn’t even have the courage to show his face.
The shaking begins to ease, and I push off from the door and cross to the wash basin, peeling back my sleeve to look at the damage. The cut is ugly. A long, diagonal slash, ragged at the edges and still bleeding. It’s going to scar. I’m going to carry this mark for the rest of my life.
I wash the wound with water that turns pink, then I tear strips from the skirts of my dress and wrap them around my arm, pulling tight enough to slow the bleeding.
When it’s done, I pull my sleeve back down and look at myself in the mirror.
I’m pale, my hair escaping its pins, but my jaw is set and my eyes are dry, and the girl staring back at me doesn’t look broken.
She looks angry.
Someone in this palace thinks they can terrorize me. They think a blade in a dark hallway will make me cower, force me to hide, and stop me voicing my thoughts.
They’re wrong.
I don’t know who did this. I don’t know if it’s one of Maren’s circle, or one of Vessen’s, or someone else who’s decided the princess who doesn’t like how fae are treated deserves to bleed for it.
But I’m going to find out.