Chapter 4 Wren
Iwake with the first light of dawn filtering through the heavy curtains. Stretching, I swing out of my narrow cot, open the door, and glance toward the prince’s bed. He’s still asleep, his breathing steady and deep despite the early hour he went to bed.
I stretch again, running through a few quick exercises to limber up. I pull open the curtains. The view from here is mostly blocked, but it’s better than nothing. I stand in the wash of morning light for a moment and let it soak into my skin.
A soft knock at the door signals Anne’s arrival.
She enters, balancing a tray of breakfast. Without a word, she sets it on the table near the window and slips out again.
When she returns, she’s carrying a folded uniform over one arm, a regulation sword at her hip, and a neatly rolled scroll of parchment.
She places everything carefully beside my plate.
“The queen’s instructions,” she says, nodding toward the scroll.
I unroll it with one hand, spearing a piece of fruit with the other. As I scan the neat, elegant handwriting, I consider whether stealing the prince’s portion is worth the risk. He still hasn’t stirred. It’s not like he needs a full breakfast just to lounge around all day.
Anne moves quietly into the adjoining room and begins drawing a bath. Water pours steadily into the tub, broken only by the occasional rustle as she lays out fresh linens.
Cassiel finally stirs. His fingers clench the blanket, then release. He inhales sharply, like he’s waking from a bad dream, then pushes himself up onto his elbows.
“Your bath is ready,” Anne says as she reappears. “Would you like any assistance—”
“I’m fine,” he snaps, voice rough from sleep.
Anne dips her head but doesn’t flinch. “Your food is on—”
“I know!” He shoves the blankets aside and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. When he stands, he wavers for a second before catching his balance and stalking off toward the bathroom.
Anne gives a small bob of her head as he passes.
“You don’t need to do that,” I mutter when the bathroom door slams shut.
“Oh, no, I do,” she replies simply, before slipping out the door.
I sigh and return to what’s left of my breakfast, chewing while I read through the queen’s instructions.
Encourage Cassiel to eat all his meals. He has a habit of pushing food around his plate and claiming he isn’t hungry. Do not indulge him in this.
It is not necessary to maintain eyes on him at all times when inside his bedchamber. Indeed, he doesn’t like to feel that he’s being watched. It is, however, of paramount importance that you stay within earshot. If he orders you away for whatever reason, please inform me directly.
He is not to leave the palace unaccompanied under any circumstances.
I can’t imagine him trying to leave, but I wonder at the Queen’s insistence that someone needs to be with him at all times. He’s not that helpless, surely?
His eyesight does not make him incapable. He does not need coddling. However, should he require assistance, you will provide it without question.
I huff a quiet laugh. The queen must assume I’ll challenge her orders—or ignore them outright. The first one’s easy: if the prince won’t eat, I’ll just eat for him. I eye his untouched plate, considering a bite.
A sharp curse rings out from the adjoining room.
I’m on my feet before I’ve thought better of it. I cross to the bathroom and rap on the door. “What?”
“Get in here,” Cassiel barks.
I push the door open and step inside. Steam thickens the air, soap clinging to the damp warmth.
Cassiel sits in the large copper tub, half-submerged in cloudy water, his hair plastered to his forehead.
Suds cling to his shoulders, his arms, his ribs…
which jut out far more than they should for someone presented with daily bowls of peaches smothered in cream.
Bruises stain his pale skin, some yellowing with age, others deep violet and fresh.
“What are you staring at?” he snaps.
“I’m waiting for you to tell me what to do.”
“I dropped my soap,” he says. “Retrieve it for me.”
I spot it under a nearby chair and pick it up, holding it out to him. He doesn’t take it.
Of course he doesn’t, I realise. He has no idea I’m holding it out.
Remembering how he barked at Anne just for saying where his breakfast was, I take his hand and shove the soap into it—not gently. Task done, I grab a cloth and crouch down to wipe the soap from the floor.
“Get out,” the prince orders.
“I’m just cleaning up the soap residue. You want to slip and crack your head open? Then you’ll be naked and bleeding, which—trust me—is a lot more embarrassing.”
Back in the Moonhollow, the other fey pulled a prank on me not long after I arrived, slipping something slick into the bathing pools. I went down hard, limbs flailing, and came up humiliated, furious, and covered in bruises. It took weeks to live down. Even longer to get my revenge.
The prince shifts slightly. “I think I’ll take my chances.”
I snort. “Suit yourself, your highness.”
Without letting him know, I wipe down the slickest patches of the marble floor before making my exit. On the off chance my grandmother doesn’t want him dead, it wouldn’t do to have him expire on the second day of the job.
He emerges from the bath not long after, clothes clinging to his damp skin. He finds his way to the table and picks at his food. His fingers twitch softly above every item before picking it up. He smells everything first.
I’ve never thought about how strange it would be not to know what you were putting in your mouth before it was there. It’s probably hard to cut your own meat, to divide gristle from bone. He probably has all his meals precut for him, of course.
I can’t imagine he likes that.
One of my old magic tutors, Moira, is blind. She’s been that way for over a hundred years, though. It doesn’t seem to bother her and you barely even notice. She tends to eat with her hands, feeling around everything. We’re not so particular about table manners.
Prince Cassiel gives up after a few bites.
I suppress a sigh. “Your mother said I’m to encourage you to eat all your meals.”
“I wouldn’t try it.”
“On this point, we agree. I’m offering to eat yours for you so no one notices.”
“Like you ate my peaches last night?”
I try to flatten my smile—then remember he won’t even notice if I don’t. “Astute observation, Your Highness.”
“It’s not astute when you moan every time you’re presented with fruit.” He thrusts his bowl in my general direction. “Go ahead.”
I don’t need telling twice. It’s a bowl of porridge, which ought to be a simple meal, but it’s layered with plums and honey and nuts. “This is so good.”
“You’re only allowed to eat my fruit if you don’t talk about it.”
“You strike a hard bargain.”
I head into my room to try on the uniform. It’s green and edged with gold, bearing the house sigil on the chest. Leather armour has been provided as well, although I daresay I don’t have to wear it when I’m here all day. I try it on just to make sure everything fits.
“How do I look?” I ask, bounding back into the next room.
The prince glares at me. “Is that supposed to be funny?”
I intended to humour him, not offend him, but I find I don’t much care either way. “It could be funny.”
“Well, it wasn’t. I’m sure you look as hideous as your humour.”
The prince is quite literally the only person who has ever called me hideous before.
The fey weren’t able to. Filthy half-breed, sure.
Hideous? Not so much. I’m all lean muscle and slender curves.
My skin is brown, lighter than my grandmother’s, but no less beautiful, the ‘colour of evening light on a piece of polished mahogany’ according to a lover I took once, who fancied himself something of a poet.
My hair is long and dark, quite nice when it’s not covered in mud, though not as soft and silky as I’d like.
I’ve a nice face, strong cheekbones, a proud nose, and my eyes are deep and warm even without the gold flecks in them. I am, by all accounts, very attractive.
I don’t feel the need to point this out to him, though. What would I be trying to prove?
I bite my tongue instead, and walk away.
The day goes on much like the first.
The prince barely speaks. He eats when prompted, though not without sighing, grumbling, and stabbing his food like it personally offended him and swearing if he misses.
He doesn’t try to escape, and he doesn’t ask for help, which means I spend most of my time sitting, pacing, or testing the weight of the sword Anne brought me. Anything to avoid dying of boredom.
In the Moonhollow, I’d be learning with my peers, taming forest creatures, hunting, helping to build or clean or forage.
I’d be dancing through the glade at night, laughing with my cousin Zephyr, listening to tales, riding through the trees on an elkasha—a type of forest creature somewhere between an elk and a large cat.
I don’t think I’ve been this still since…
Actually, I don’t want to think about the last time I was this still.
Anne comes by in the afternoon with tea and fresh linens. She barely sets them down before Cassiel cuts in with a curt, “That will be all.” I want to protest—Anne’s the only one around here who seems remotely interested in conversation—but she just bobs a curtsy and scurries out.
At the end of my shift, long after the prince has gone to bed, Dain appears. He leans against the doorframe, grinning at me like I’m a particularly amusing painting. “How’s the royal babysitting?”
“Riveting,” I deadpan. “I watched him sulk for two hours straight. Then I counted the floorboards.”
“And how many are there?”
“Too many. Not enough.” I sigh. “I might go mad.”
Dain chuckles and pushes off the doorframe. “Careful. That’s how it starts. First, it’s the floorboards. Then the shadows start whispering. Next thing you know, you’re offering your boots as tribute to the fireplace saints.”