Chapter 13
The carriage ride to the castle was awkward and uncomfortable.
On the bright side, she did not have to ride with the king and queen. They had already left and were a few hours ahead.
On the not so bright side, she rode with the Grand Duke.
Papa and Maris saw her off at first light. He hugged her, squeezing so hard it was as though he expected her not to return. Maris did her best to look happy for her, but Serena could tell the little wench was pea green with envy.
She didn’t sleep at all that night after leaving the stranger behind on the mountain.
Since then, her gut had been in a tight knot, her chest ached, and she felt she might be sick at any moment.
When King Leonidas told her she was to ride with the Grand Duke, the blood whooshed from her head so fast she saw black dots in her eyes.
“Are you well, my dear? You look pale?” the duke had said. His expression was one of smug satisfaction. Like he was looking forward to exposing her for the fraud she truly was.
She muttered under her breath she was fine as she climbed into the most luxurious carriage she had ever seen.
Her clothes paled in comparison to the richness of the nobles. Her threadbare cloak. Her worn-out shoes. Her woolen dress that had seen better days. All drab in color. At least her wool stockings did not have any holes.
Thankfully, though, her hands had stopped glowing gold. She worried about that at first when she returned home, but by the time she reached their cabin they were back to normal.
Normal.
What was normal anymore? From the moment she made the decision to find the Well of Wishes, her life had been turned upside down.
Across from her, the Grand Duke kept a steely eye on her.
Sometimes he gazed out the window. A few times he dozed off.
But Serena remained stiff and tall in the plush velvet seat with her hands clasped in her lap.
She looked everywhere but at him. But sometimes, she would catch his glittering gaze and it sent a jolt through her.
And not the good kind, either.
Not that kind she felt when she stood in front of the stranger when he looked at her with his mesmerizing eyes. In them, she saw so much depth, so much emotion. He spoke to her silently that way. That last moment they shared together, she was certain he regretted granting her wish.
She regretted it, too.
She glanced down at her clasped hands. Every now and again, a slash of pale sunlight would come through the window of the carriage when it turned a corner. When it did, and the light landed on her hands, she noticed her skin shimmered.
It had never shimmered before.
The carriage rattled over cobblestone streets. Her heart leapt into her throat as her head snapped up and she peered out the window. She was too shy to move toward it, to peer out with unabashed curiosity. If Maris were here, she would do it without hesitation.
“Ah, we are arriving in the capital,” the Grand Duke said. The first he’d spoken since they boarded the carriage. He motioned to the window. “Perhaps you’d like to see?”
Serena said nothing as she scooted closer to the edge of the bench to look out.
There she got her first glimpse of Ebonvale Palace, rising like a crown upon the distant cliffs.
Its spires pierced the wintery sky, pale and ethereal against the swirl of falling snow.
Heraldry of plum and gold snapped in the cold wind from every turret, the roaring lion of Leonidas emblazoned proudly as if to remind all who entered whose power reigned here.
They passed through Ebonvale Village. Onlookers lined the streets despite the late hour and the cold to watch the royal processional pass through. Children smiled and waved, their eyes wide and round with wonder.
The carriage headed up the slope of the hill to the gates, through them, and then halted at the front door. Serena waited, shivering. Not from cold. From nerves.
She was unsure of protocol and did not want to misstep. The Grand Duke pulled on his gloves and scooped his fur-lined cloak from the seat next to him. He cast her a glance and then something in his expression shifted from smug to…kindness?
“Here. It appears you need this more than I.” He held out his cloak to her.
She gaped at him. “Oh, no, your grace. I couldn’t—”
“I insist. Your cloak is not thick enough for the winds on the mountain,” he said.
Her jaw clenched. Hesitation clawed through her as she looked from him to the cloak. The fur looked so soft, so warm. It was hard to resist. She reached out and took it from him.
“Thank you, your grace.”
The footman opened the carriage door and stood aside. First the Grand Duke exited, then, in another surprising move, he held his hand out to her. With her heart in her throat, she clutched his cloak to her chest and took his hand, stepping out into the late afternoon.
The cold wind immediately bit through her. The duke was correct—the winds were stronger here than in her village. She quickly wrapped the cloak around her, pulling it tight around her shoulders.
“Shall we?” He motioned toward the palace.
She turned to look at it and lost her breath.
The palace was enormous, stretching as far as her eyes could see from one side to the other.
Its walls loomed high above her, white stone shimmering with frost, the sheer scale making her feel no bigger than a speck of snow drifting at its feet.
The spires pierced the gray sky, vanishing into cloud, and along the ramparts the lion banners of Ebonvale snapped and cracked in the wind, their golden thread flashing like fire against plum silk.
The air was heavy with the mingled scents of wood smoke and horse, and somewhere deeper inside the walls, she thought she caught the faint drift of incense.
Guards in gleaming armor lined the gate, their halberds crossed in rigid precision, eyes cold as flint as they watched her.
The black iron doors were bound with silver, tall as a forest of trees, and when they groaned open on massive hinges, the sound echoed like thunder in her bones.
Serena clutched the duke’s cloak tighter, every instinct telling her to shrink back, but her feet were rooted to the icy cobbles.
The palace radiated wealth, command, and judgment, and standing beneath its shadow, she felt as though the walls themselves were deciding whether to let her in… or to crush her where she stood.
“This way, Mistress Serena,” the Grand Duke said.
She followed him inside. The moment she crossed the threshold, warmth enveloped her, taking the bite of winter with it.
The hammer-beam ceiling, cut from the finest timber in the realm, in the entry hall soared upward.
Brightly lit candelabras were scattered about the room.
The marble floor beneath her feet was polished to a high shine.
Rich tapestries draped the walls, woven in gold and plum, each depicting the lion of Ebonvale mid-roar.
Statues of kings and queens stood in alcoves, their stone eyes watching her as though they expected her to bow.
And everywhere—on pillars, on archways, on the steps leading deeper into the palace—there were flourishes of wealth.
Gilded carvings, veins of silver set into stone, rugs dyed with colors so deep they looked alive.
Her fingers clenched into the folds of her cloak. She had never imagined such grandeur existed outside of the pages of her father’s books. It was beautiful. And terrifying.
Because beauty like this was a reminder—power this great demanded payment. And she had already given too much.
“Mistress Serena, I bid thee welcome to Ebonvale Palace.” The booming voice startled her.
She’d been so taken with her surroundings, she never saw the man with the pinched expression approach.
He bowed low in greeting to the Grand Duke. “Your grace.”
“What news, Jameson?”
“The physician is with his highness now.” Then to her he said, “His majesty requests you attend him at once.”
The Grand Duke took her by the elbow. “Then we shall go at once.”
She had no idea who Jameson was and didn’t think it prudent to ask questions as she was hustled up the grand staircase and through echoing corridors flanked by guards with swords at their sides.
She tried her best to keep her gaze forward and not gape at her surroundings—she wasn’t here for that, after all.
They halted at a massive chamber door where the man, Jameson, knocked once quickly and then opened the door.
The room smelled of sickness and death. It accosted her.
She made a choking sound in the back of her throat and then regretted it when all eyes turned on her.
Two guards were on either side of the door and peered at her with bored curiosity.
Several attendants were scattered about, on edge and ready to take orders.
The king stood to one side, his arms crossed over his thick belly.
Next to him, the queen with her pinched expression that said she would rather be anywhere but there.
“Ah, the miracle girl has arrived at last.” The king surged forward, holding out a hand to her.
She was suffocating in the duke’s thick fur-lined cloak.
But propriety and politeness kept her from throwing it off even as sweat trickled down the middle of her back.
She had no choice but to take the king’s hand.
He tugged her toward the bed where a man stood next to it wearing dark robes and a sour face.
Dark circles smudged under his eyes. This must be the physician.
In the bed, a young man. Not much older than her. His face was pale and drenched in sweat. His lips were dry and cracked. His skin was yellow. His dark hair was damp and stuck to his head. He wore a white tunic that clung to his thin frame.
He looked like death.
“Who is this?” the man next to the bed said.
“The one I told you about, Ferris,” the king said.
Ferris looked down his hawkish nose at her, his dark eyes narrowed and his face lined with suspicion. “Forgive me, your majesty, but you mean to tell me this…girl is going to heal his highness?” He punctuated that with a sniff of haughty derision.
“She is.” Then to her, “Aren’t you, girl?”
She did not like being called girl. But when she realized everyone stared at her waiting for a response, she cleared her throat, dipped a low curtsy to the king. “I will try, your majesty. It is all I can do.”
Because, truthfully, she hadn’t a clue how the magic in her hands was supposed to work. As she turned toward the bed with the dying crown prince, she hoped the price she paid was worth it. Her palms tingled, and she swore she felt the stranger's voice whisper in the back of her mind.
The price is always too high.