Chapter 15
Serena was given the finest room in the royal apartments as well as a full wardrobe at her disposal, a bath whenever she wanted it, and food.
Her belly had never been so full nor had she ever slept on something so fine.
Her room overlooked the gardens that were bursting with blooms—even in winter—and an immaculately kept hedge maze.
Undisturbed snow blanketed the ground giving it a wondrous, enchanted feel.
The days passed, and the crown prince—who was named Edgar—recovered from his terrible illness. A malady no one, not even the royal physician, was able to explain.
But as time went on, her apprehension and restlessness grew. She would return to the village and when she did, payment to the Well was due.
Her life for his.
Still, she wondered about his true name. What was it? Where to find it? She’d made a haphazard search in Papa’s meager library but had found nothing about the tithe the stranger paid—eternal servitude. What had he done to deserve such a fate?
One morning, after the maid helped her dress and tie back her hair, there was a knock on her door. The maid scurried to answer it. When she pulled it open, she immediately curtsied low.
Standing on the other side of the door was Prince Edgar.
He looked hale and healthy. His color had returned.
His dark hair was perfectly combed—longer and shaggy about his face, touching the high collar of his midnight blue jacket trimmed in silver with silver buttons.
He wore dark pants and shiny boots. Now that he was well, she saw life in those ocean-blue eyes and it made her smile.
She had done that.
No. She hadn’t.
The stranger had given her the power to do that.
The servant girl rose and stepped aside, keeping her eyes downcast. But Serena looked at him with unabashed adoration. He was handsome, to be sure, with high cheekbones, a pointed chin, broad shoulders and chest.
Maris would love him.
“May I enter?” His warm voice wrapped around her like a hug.
“Yes, of course, your highness.” She dipped a curtsy.
To the servant girl, he said, “You may leave us.”
When she was out of the room, he stepped inside and gazed at her with an appreciation she did not deserve.
Today, she was dressed in a fine gown of pale violet.
The long sleeves came to a point on the backs of her hands.
Her slippers were new—not at all like her well-worn boots that had stomped through the snow and mud.
“I came to offer my thanks,” he said.
“No thanks are necessary, your highness.”
“Please. Won’t you call me Edgar?” He moved closer to her. So close, in fact, his scent wafted to her. Something clean and bright and utterly alluring.
“I don’t think I should, your highness.”
He grinned, though she was aware of the frustration wafting from him. “As you wish, then. My attendants tell me it was quite the spectacle.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Healing you?”
“Yes.” A smile pulled at the corners of his lips. He leaned in and dropped his voice to a fake whisper. “They think you’re a witch.”
She laughed, albeit a nervous one. “I assure you, I am no witch.”
“That’s what I told them.”
He reached for her hand, then, taking it in his warm one.
Such a contrast from when she had healed him and his skin was cold and clammy.
His thumb swept over the back of her hand, sending a tingling sensation through her.
Her pulse jumped at the warmth of his touch, but guilt pricked her skin.
Another’s touch lingered in memory—stronger, sadder, bound to her in a way this prince could never be.
“I’m grateful to you, Serena Windriver. Words cannot express my thanks.”
She did not know why it shocked her that he knew her full name. “You’re welcome, your highness. I was glad to do it.”
Even as she said it, the lie burned through her.
His thumb continued to stroke her hand, his gaze never leaving hers. “They tell me you are the miracle girl.”
“I am not,” she said. “I’m just a girl.”
In fact, once she had healed the prince, the shimmering of her skin had disappeared. It was as though she poured every ounce of magic the stranger gave her into the crown prince to cure him. And that was fine by her. She didn’t want the magic lingering in her hands.
“Well, just a girl. Would you take a stroll with me? I’m restless after convalescing for so long and I’d enjoy some company.”
He was so different from his father. He seemed more congenial and sweet instead of abrasive and harsh and demanding. Perhaps that was what was required of a king. Edgar had not been subjected to ruling a kingdom yet.
The prince glanced toward the window where gray light slashed inside. “It’s a dreadful morning though. Too cold to walk in the gardens but I could show you the palace.”
How could she refuse? “If you like.”
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Where shall we go first? The armory? The ballroom? The library?”
That caught her attention. Her breath caught in her throat.
She thought of her father’s books of folklore and poetry and how she’d read about the man who made three wishes.
As her gut clenched and a tingling sensation swept through her, the idea caught.
Perhaps, in the king’s library, she’d find something about the stranger.
Some way to break his curse and free him.
Even if it meant she could not free herself.
“You have a library?”
“Oh, yes. A grand one at that.” He beamed, proud. “It’s one of my favorite rooms.”
“May we start there?”
He placed his hand on top of hers. “As you wish, my lady.”
As they left the room, flanked by two guards, her heart clawed to her throat. The prince was charming and chattered on as they headed down the corridor to the grand staircase. But she was too distracted by her own thoughts as hope bloomed in her chest.
“Wouldn’t you agree, my lady?” he asked.
She blinked, pulling herself back to her thoughts and cast him a sideways glance. He was looking at her with a curiosity. She hadn’t a clue what she was supposed to agree.
“I’m sorry, your highness. I was lost in my own thoughts.” She flushed, her cheeks hot as she turned her gaze forward once again.
He chuckled, a deep sound in his chest. “I said, despite the cold, I prefer winter. Do you agree?”
“Oh.” The word came out in a breath. “It's dreadfully cold. I find Spring to be lovely with all the new blooms and the land renewing itself.”
“Spring is nice, but I confess I much prefer winter to any other season.”
“Why is that, your highness?”
“Because I can remain inside with my books. I’m not much for tourneys.”
“My father loves to read, too,” she said. Because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Does he?” He sounded happy about that. “What does he like to read?”
“Old tales mostly. Folklore and myths. He has a small collection. A few books,” she said.
“Well, then, we shall have to remedy that. Ah! Here we are!”
She didn’t know what that meant—did the crown prince intend to give her father books?—but was unable to ask as they arrived at a set of large double doors. The prince released her and pushed them open, the iron hinges groaning with the effort.
His eyes were alight with excitement as he led her inside, proud to show off the room.
Serena stepped through the door and halted, gazing around the room that had shelves of books soaring high to the ceiling.
It was a cozy room, too. A hearth on one end with plush furniture that invited the reader to sit, read, and stay awhile.
The floor was covered in a thick jewel-toned rug stretching from corner to corner, wall to wall.
Walls that did not host bookshelves were adorned with oil paintings of the royal family.
It was everything she’d ever dreamed of for her father, and for a fleeting heartbeat, she wished she could be the girl who belonged here. But she wasn’t. The Well had seen to that.
“Do you love it?” the crown prince asked.
“It is amazing,” she breathed.
He took her by the hand, holding it in his warm one. “I’m glad. Shall we choose a book?”
Her gaze flicked from the shelves back to him. He looked so happy, so jovial, so excited to sit here and read alone…with her. How could she say no?
“If that’s what you’d like, your highness.”
His hand tightened on hers as he drew closer. “I find quiet solitude with a book and easy companionship with a lady is what I’d like. What do you like to read?”
Truthfully, she wasn’t much of a reader.
That was Papa. He was the one with his nose always stuck between the pages.
Her life was far too busy to enjoy such a leisurely activity.
There was the baking and the cooking, the gardening and the sewing.
All to make sure they stayed warm and fed and clothed.
The prince, though, lived a life of luxury and would never understand her hardships.
Or the price she paid to be here with him.
But, with a massive library at her disposal, she had one chance to change all that.
“Do you have any books about the Fae?”
His brows winged upward. “You have an inquisitive mind, I see. I like that about you. We have a few. I’ll show you.”
While she picked several books about Fae folklore, he rang for tea and had a servant built a warm fire. Once he had a book about sea-faring adventures in hand, they settled down together in the seating area to read. It could not have felt more domestic. And, for once, Serena craved it.
But as she cracked open the first book, she knew it was not to be. And for the first time, Serena wondered if saving him meant damning herself.