Chapter 2
Gently, Soren guided Princess Cion out of the hallway and back to her chambers. Mona and Thelia had already made the bed, and Jasmen coaxed the princess into the soft piles of pillows and fresh sheets as if she were a child.
Once she was settled beneath the blankets, she stared up at Soren and said in a crackling voice, “Soren, I want you to bring Lady Anabeth.”
Soren furrowed her brow. “The scribe’s daughter, Your Highness?”
Princess Cion nodded, her lower lip trembling. “Please, Soren. Do this for me. Find her.”
Soren bowed her head, not questioning the request further, especially not now. “Yes, Your Highness. I’ll return with the lady as soon as I am able.”
Princess Cion said nothing; she just sank deeper into the pillows.
With a quick glance at the others, Soren hurried from the room.
She had no idea where Lady Anabeth was or why the princess wanted to see her.
She knew the two were friends, but they had never seemed particularly close.
She must have read their relationship wrong, though, if the princess wanted her in a moment such as this.
She tried the library first, only finding Master June, Lady Anabeth’s father.
His head was bent over a thick record book, and he was making tiny marks next to what looked like scrawled names.
He looked up as she approached, his brown eyes a liquid hazel in the candlelight, wire glasses perched on his long nose, his simple linen robes rustling as he stood.
“How may I help you?” he asked in a soft-spoken voice.
Soren bowed her head. “Master, I come with a request from Princess Cion.”
Master June’s expression did not change. He simply nodded. “I believe my daughter is currently in her chambers.”
Soren paused, hesitating. The master seemed to be aware of whatever was between his daughter and the princess.
He must have seen the terseness in her expression, because he said simply, “It is not my story to tell, Soren.”
She met his kind eyes, her own rounding. She knew who he was, but that he knew her by name was odd. There were hundreds of servants in the palace, and she was no one of note.
He stood, offering her a hand. “You are surprised I know who you are.”
Tentatively, she took it, so surprised at the interaction that she blurted out without thinking, “Yes, Master. I am.”
His lips twitched. “The goddess Nyx marked our late prince tonight. You saw the mark, did you not?”
Unease stirred low in her gut, but she whispered, “Yes. How did you know?”
He lifted a shoulder. “You know how information spreads within these walls. Like a blazing fire.” He paused, searching her eyes with a sad expression she did not understand before adding, “The gods of Arcadia abandoned us many years ago. It is curious that such a mark should appear at all.”
She bit her lower lip, worrying it between her teeth. The candle on his desk flickered, wavering and casting shadows around the library.
“I suppose so,” she said after a moment. Then, remembering her task, she pulled back her hand and curtsied low. “I should be going, Master. The princess awaits.”
“Yes, of course,” he said.
She turned, but as she did, he said quietly, “Memory is such a strange, fickle thing. Pay mind to those dreams you have.”
Soren froze then turned slowly and looked back at the scribe. “My dreams, Master?”
His eyes twinkled in the flickering light. “Nothing of consequence, Soren. Not yet, it seems. You should go retrieve Ana.”
His words did nothing to put her at ease, but she bowed and left, heading to Lady Anabeth’s chambers.
As she walked, her mind raced. How did the master know about her dreams?
They had haunted her nearly every night for as long as she could recall.
She hardly remembered them when she woke, usually only an image or lingering feeling.
The dreams were not memories, at least not her own.
In the privacy of her mind, she had always surmised the dreams were pieces of someone else’s life, as foolish as she knew that likely was.
All throughout the palace, servants and lords alike hurried with their heads down and their faces grim. It seemed Master June had been right about one thing: the news of Prince Nell’s death had spread quickly.
When Soren reached Lady Anabeth’s chambers, she stopped in front of the wooden door and knocked twice, announcing, “A request from the princess, my lady.”
The door swung open almost immediately to reveal Lady Anabeth in an orange silk night robe.
Her black hair hung in a sheet of silky strands down her back, and brown, slanted eyes pierced Soren’s gaze, a single brow raising.
It was a shade unnerving, how intently the lady looked at her, as if she could see right through Soren.
“Yes?” she asked in a light, delicate voice.
Soren swallowed. “Her Highness Princess Cion requests your presence in her chambers.”
“Why?”
Soren shifted nervously as Lady Anabeth smoothed her long fingers over the robe. Her red-painted nails gleamed, catching the candlelight.
“It is not my place to say, my lady.”
Lady Anabeth pressed her lips together in a thin line but nodded. “Give me a moment.”
She turned, shutting the door before Soren could give a reply. When it opened again a few minutes later, Lady Anabeth was wearing a soft purple day dress, and slippers clad her previously bare feet.
They began to walk side by side in silence until Lady Anabeth asked, “How did you find me?”
“Oh.” Soren cleared her throat. “I asked your father, Master June. I apologize for the intrusion at this hour, but this is a rather…serious matter.”
“Ah,” Lady Anabeth said, watching as a few other servants hurried by, one of them crying softly. “And you still refuse to tell me what this ‘serious matter’ is?”
Soren took a deep breath, calming the anxiety churning in her stomach. “I think it would be best if the princess spoke to you about it, my lady.”
They entered the royal wing, and Lady Anabeth stopped short as she saw the people gathered around the closed door to the prince’s chambers. Her hand raised to her throat, fingers tracing over a thin gold chain that dipped below the neckline of her dress.
“Come, my lady,” Soren said softly.
Lady Anabeth’s voice was thin as she replied, “Alright.”
Soren led her the rest of the way down the quiet hall to the princess’ chambers and knocked once before opening the door. “Your Highness, I have returned with Lady Anabeth.”
The door was flung open, and Mona came into view, her voice frantic as she said to Soren, “I need your help. Now.”
Soren glanced at Lady Anabeth, whose delicate face had paled. They both hurried inside to find the bed chamber empty.
“Thelia is with her. They’re on the balcony,” Mona told them.
Soren’s breath caught, the hairs on her neck raising. If she understood Mona correctly, if the princess jumped from that balcony…
They would all be dead too, but not before being punished in the most severe manner possible for letting the princess do such a thing.
“What is happening?” Lady Anabeth demanded now, the panic in her voice mirroring Soren’s.
“Ana?”
They all turned as Princess Cion spoke. She stood in the doorway to the balcony, her nightgown floating around her, making her look ghostly in the moonlight. Behind her, Thelia mouthed something, but Soren could only make out one word.
Jump.
Lady Anabeth rushed forward, and Princess Cion did too, her body crumpling as she fell into her arms. She sobbed, and Lady Anabeth stroked her hair just as Soren had done in the hall not so long ago.
But there was something different about the way Lady Anabeth held the princess, something tender and intimate.
“Shhh, Cion,” Lady Anabeth murmured. “It’s alright, I’m here. I’m always here.”
“H-he’s d-d-dead!” Princess Cion gasped. “And now I am—” She cut herself off, shaking her head.
Soren’s eyes widened as she realized it. She had been so preoccupied with retrieving Lady Anabeth, she hadn’t even thought of what tonight truly meant for the princess.
Now, Princess Cion was the heir to the throne of Aren.
The realization hit Soren like a blow to the stomach, and she felt for a moment as if her lungs were robbed of air. What would happen now? Princess Cion had to bond with a dragon. That much was clear from the prophecy. But would King Johannas send his heir into the dangers of the war?
She realized another harsh truth as she watched Lady Anabeth hold the princess. The princess would be expected to marry and produce heirs for the royal bloodline now. Whatever this was between her and the scribe’s daughter would have to end, or at least change.
Suddenly, the princess’ tears and panic made more sense. She was not just mourning a brother, who had mostly been absent, a neutral figure at best to her.
She was mourning a life.
“You may leave us,” Lady Anabeth said, looking around at Soren, Mona, Jasmen, and Thelia. “Go to your quarters for the night and do not return until morning.”
“Yes, my lady,” they all murmured, curtsying low before hurrying out of the chamber. None of them spoke, not until they reached the servant’s hall.
When they arrived in the dim cold of the quarters, they were surrounded by several other staff, all asking the same thing.
“Is he dead?”
Thelia and Jasmen slipped away to their room before they were forced to answer.
Mona glanced at Soren, who took a short breath and told them, “He’s gone. I saw it with my own eyes. Now, leave us be.”
The others cleared away, and Mona followed Soren to the cramped room they shared.
It contained but two narrow wooden beds and one tall, worn dresser by the doorway that held their clothing.
A narrow window hung between their beds, looking out upon a courtyard where kitchen shipments were received. They usually kept the curtains drawn.
As soon as they were alone, Mona said sharply, “You shouldn’t have told them the prince is dead. It wasn’t your place.”