Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I descend several winding staircases until I finally find the small room that houses the servants. They are busy washing and folding clothes, cleaning, and doing other small tasks. I scan the room for Serafina, but I'm unable to find her.
An older woman stops before me, bowing slightly. “How may I assist you, Highness?”
“Is Serafina here?” I ask. “I require her assistance.”
The Elvarran turns. “Serafina! At once!” she calls loudly across the room, her voice booming with authority.
Serafina dashes from around the corner, a dirty rag in her grip as she approaches us. Her eyes slightly widen at the sight of me, but she quickly curtsies.
“Thank you,” I reply softly. “I’ll be needing her for a few hours.”
“Of course,” the woman coos.
Turning, I stride out of the servant's quarters and back into the main halls. Serafina trails behind me like a shadow, gaze locked on the floor. She stays deadly silent the entire walk to my room, entering shortly behind me.
I close the door to my room and open my wardrobe. “I need you to help me dress.”
“Yes, Highness.”
“Thank you,” I say, sorting through Rowena’s gowns and picking the best one.
It’s not as grand as the one I wore to the ball, but it will do nicely. The dark navy fabric hugs my frame with quiet elegance, the high neck lending an air of poise while the long sleeves trail delicately to my wrists. Simple silver embroidery traces the cuffs and collar, catching the light.
Serafina helps me remove my day dress, leaving me in my chemise. She then bends down to guide the formal dress around my ankles as I pull it on. Sliding the thick fabric over my arms, she tightens the corset strings in the back.
“I asked for you specifically…” I break the silence, hoping she will speak to me. “Because of the other night.”
Serafina doesn’t reply.
“I wanted to make sure you were all right,” I say softly. “As someone who has also experienced that… my heart is heavy with you.”
What Olav nearly did to me in Avelisar left a permanent stain on my soul.
I’d never felt such horror and dread as in that moment when he shoved me down into the bed.
His hands are like a brand on my skin, and no matter how many times I scrub myself in the bath, I can’t shake the sensation of his forced touch.
The edges of Serafina’s eyes start to water as her composure wavers. “Thank you.”
“Does he hurt you?” I ask, treading a fragile line.
A tear rolls down her cheek. I can see her struggling to keep her composure, her breath ragged as she keeps her gaze pinned on the floor.
Turmoil rumbles beneath the surface, moments away from erupting.
Serafina stands, wiping away her tears. She refuses to look at me, her hands coiled so tightly that her knuckles turn white.
I place a hand over hers, causing her to lift her eyes.
“Nikolas killed my parents. He torments me every time he visits.” Serafina finally speaks, her voice filled with sorrow.
“You used to be a lady?” I ask in disbelief.
She nods. “My father used to be the duke of Thalvar.”
Her words stun me. Serafina was born into a lavish life, attending parties and social events; her only worry was catching the eye of some handsome lord. Now, her days consist of scrubbing floors and folding laundry, her back aching from labor.
“Would you like to hurt him back?” I say gently.
Serafina watches me closely, searching my gaze for any sign of jest. I allow her to see the ferocity within me and the keen focus of my resolve.
Nikolas is my target. He will rue the day he ever thought himself above me.
I stitch every thread of vengeance with care, and I will stop at nothing until his rebellion ends by my hand.
Serafina gives me a curt nod. “Yes.”
“Slip this in his drink tonight at the party.” I move over to my satchel, pulling out the vial of Scorpion’s Haze and handing it to her.
The liquid is slightly green in hue and is thick and viscous.
“You should also slip a little into a few other cups as well, particularly the Duke of Valneth, if you can. It will make it seem less like a targeted attack. Do not get it on your skin and toss the empty vial immediately out a window.”
She nods again, her sadness slowly fading into a determined resolve.
“I will handle the King,” I tell her. “You will stay in the shadows.”
“I understand.” She tucks the vial into her dress.
“Good,” I reply firmly. “You are dismissed.”
Serafina gives me a small curtsy. “Thank you… Princess Raelys,” she says before exiting my room.
Moving quickly, I rummage through my belongings, pulling out the riding outfit Rowena made for me.
I set it just beside my cloak and boots, and then toss all of my notes and letters into the fire, leaving no remains.
I place my two copies of the Warlord Chronicles on the bedside table, my fingertips lingering over the cover.
Once Serafina poisons Nikolas, he will be incapacitated and won’t be able to kill off Khalessor’s troops when they arrive in Thalvar.
The extra troops will stay here, and the rebellion won’t be able to attack without their leader.
With the rebellion squandered and the North destabilized, I can slip away in the chaos and finally be free.
I have enough money from Kaia to pay someone to take me far, far away from here.
I dream of a place where no one knows my face or name, and neither duties nor curses can bind me.
I want to be free, but if I am being truthful with myself, it’s because I’m not ready to say goodbye.
The bonds I’ve forged in the North are some of my fondest, and I didn’t expect to build such a strong companionship with them.
I can’t stay here. I’ve done too many awful things.
Casimir will never forgive me if he finds out I caused the famine that led his people to starve.
I came to the North because I had no choice if I wanted to survive, but I used this opportunity to play the games of war with Casimir as my opponent—to prove to myself that I am capable.
I swore to him that letting me into Khalessor would be his greatest error, but it is mine.
This mark on my skin was once my plight, but now it’s my salvation, and I’ve crossed the person I’m falling for.
I scan every inch of my room, slowly taking in the space around me one last time. I may never see it again. It feels different than the time I left my room in Cathros. That version of me is practically a stranger; she was kind, sheltered, and naive.
I am not.
Every part of me breeds vengeance. Lies roll off my tongue like sermon. Manipulation serves as my only companion. I hate myself for it because I love it. As I approach the banquet hall, my resolve strengthens. The game of court is one I refuse to lose.
Lifting my chin, I glide into the room with a crafted air of grace and poise, looking for one person in particular.
I take note of the gathered guests, filing the details of the guest list in the back of my mind.
Breaking from the crowd is Casimir, his long steps crossing the room to greet me.
I slip my hand into his, allowing him to guide me through the room.
“The Duke of Corovya seems to be missing,” I say quietly.
“And the Duke of Ashvarin,” Casimir replies in an equally subtle tone. His gloved hand wraps around my waist as his thumb makes maddeningly slow circles across my hip.
Sebastian isn’t here? That is odd. I haven’t seen him since the night at the ball.
Perhaps he traveled back to Rykaris? But that can’t be; now that winter has fully set in, the snow is thick and the land barren, making traveling long distances far too much of a challenge.
Sebastian also wanted me to take his king's deal; he wouldn’t give up and leave that easily, would he?
“Wine?” Casimir nods to a passing servant with a tray of wine.
I lock eyes with Serafina, who only stares at me with silent determination in her gaze.
Casimir reaches to pick one up, and a sudden realization shoots through me.
With Serafina holding trays with several goblets, not serving each glass individually, I have no idea which goblets contain poison and which ones don’t.
“Don’t drink,” I whisper, and his hand freezes.
Casimir’s arm lowers. “You know something I don't.”
“Do you trust me?” I’m stunned by my question.
His grip slightly tightens around my waist. “I do.”
I want to tell him of the attack and Nikolas’ plans to betray him—that he’s the leader of the rebellion—but I can’t.
Eyes follow my every movement like daggers waiting to strike.
I take note of the long table of food, the display of wealth and prosperity, while the town is in shambles.
Highborns never go hungry. I should have crafted a better plan, one that would have had a more direct impact on them.
“Your Majesty.” Barnham approaches us. “A word, please.”
“One moment.” Casimir drops his hand from my waist and walks away.
I’m left adrift in a sea of staring royals. I don’t blame them, not after what happened with Horatio. They are justified in being wary of me. I don’t mind the ones who stare; after all, I’m the human among them.
“Princess.” Someone approaches me.
A man stands to my right. He faces the room, keeping a watchful gaze on the people around him. The man is tall, his short black hair streaked with strands of gray, thin age lines etched into his face. There is a familiar force to his presence… unyielding and powerful, like a violent storm.
Casimir’s father.
“Your Grace,” I comment, returning my focus to the room. “Roderick, correct?”
“You would be correct.” His voice is a low baritone with a stern edge. “A question, if I may?”
I don’t reply right away. The longer I wait, the more Roderick’s magic digs into me like thorns. Clenching my jaw tightly, I inhale a sharp breath as I try to bear the pain without letting it show. He is going to force something out of me, the same way Casimir does.
Roderick can’t find out about the things I’ve done. It will ruin all of my plans. I bite the inside of my cheek and hold my breath, fighting the magic as it claws deeper into me. Roderick can’t know. Casimir can’t know. No one can know the awful things I’ve done.
A scream pierces the room.
The sound of glass shattering reaches my ears, and wine spills onto the floor as Nikolas falls to his knees, his head between his hands.
I spot Serafina slipping out the doors as the entire room focuses on the scene.
Nikolas spirals into a rampage, throwing punches and waving his arms wildly through the air, shoving people over in the crowd.
“Get them off me!” he screams in agony, fingers tearing his skin as he tries to fight off the invisible force that’s swallowing him whole. Nikolas falls over the banquet table, the food crashing to the floor as he knocks it over.
I feel a piercing gaze on me.
Turning my head, I meet the gaze of Duke Roderick Bainbridge.