Chapter 10 Wren
Prince Cassiel is in a fine mood the next morning. He seems well recovered from his ordeal the night before, though he eats his breakfast very carefully.
“Finish it off,” he instructs me once he’s had his fill. “I can sense you staring.”
I don’t wait to be told twice.
“I’m just letting you know,” I say between mouthfuls, “I’m no nursemaid.
If you’re sick again, I’ll call someone else and let them deal with it.
.. or maybe let you suffer through. Depends on my mood.
That being said, I am a terrific instructor, so if you want to learn to fight again, I’ll do a fantastic job. ”
He almost smiles. “Then fetch me my clothes, Thornvale. I don’t need help dressing, but your assistance in locating my attire would be welcome.”
I polish off the last bite and move towards his wardrobe.
Saints and stars and fates beyond.
The doors swing open to reveal a veritable sea of fabrics: fine silk shirts in muted greys and deep blues, soft linen tunics embroidered with delicate, curling patterns, and waistcoats stitched with gold and silver thread.
There are heavy velvet doublets for colder weather, all tailored to fit his broad shoulders, and lighter garments for summer, spun so fine they’re almost translucent at the seams. Rows of boots, belts, and neatly folded cravats complete the display, as if he’s been stockpiling the wardrobe of a minor king.
“Is there something the matter?” he asks.
“There are a lot of clothes in here. How do you ever pick anything out?”
“Well, I don’t. You will. Find me something comfortable, nothing ostentatious. Maybe blue or green—”
“Why blue or green?”
“Because I look very fine in those colours, Thornvale.”
I bite back a laugh, refusing to give him any kind of confirmation, and select a few pieces. I hand them to him directly before I can think of borrowing any of them myself. Green is one of my colours, too. “Your boots are just under your bed.”
“Good. Turn away.”
I obey, turning back only when he summons me. He holds out his arm. “Get me out of here, Thornvale.”
I purse my lips for a moment, then cross to the corner of the room and grab the cane standing there. I press it into his hands.
His eyes widen. “No,” he says, quickly putting it aside. “I don’t want—I don’t want that.”
“You want to be independent, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then use it. It’s a tool. A weapon. And, best of all, it isn’t me. You don’t want to have to cling onto me forever, do you?”
He presses his mouth into a thin line. “I am a big fan of things that aren’t you…”
“Then take the cane. I promise to warn you if you’re about to walk into anything.”
“I’m not entirely sure I believe you…” Even so, he picks it up again, turning it over in his hands, testing its weight. Still reluctant. But when he exhales sharply and pushes to his feet, I know he’s going to try.
The first few steps out of the room are slow and hesitant.
I match his pace, watching how his movements change—the way he tenses when the cane strikes something, how he adjusts when the floor’s texture shifts beneath his boots.
He’s cautious, like he’s expecting the world to throw him down at any moment.
I resist the urge to help. I ought to enjoy the idea of him falling flat on his face, given how rude he is, but I got most of my revenge yesterday, and there’s no joy in watching someone struggle. He’s not Thalia or one of the other fey who was cruel to me. I might enjoy watching them struggle.
Not for the first time, I wonder what he did to enrage the fey who cursed him, before watching him almost stumble and deciding it doesn’t really matter.
Because I’m not sure any action would have deserved this punishment.
“Doing fine, princeling,” I say lightly. “Haven’t fallen on your face yet.”
He makes a disgruntled sound. “Your encouragement is truly invaluable.”
I grin. “I’m grinning at you,” I inform him.
“I’m aware.”
We move through the corridors, Cassiel growing a little more confident with each step, though the tension still rides his shoulders.
He’s listening to everything—his head tilts slightly when servants whisper or people move around in other rooms. He slows at doorways, mapping the space with more than just the cane. He’s getting there.
Then we reach the stairs.
I catch his sleeve before he can walk straight off the edge. “Stairs,” I warn.
He freezes, his fingers tightening around the cane. For a moment, I consider offering my arm. But no—he wouldn’t take it, not now, and I won’t insult him by trying.
I wait.
Cassiel takes a slow breath, taps the first step, then adjusts his stance. I watch as he descends, slow and deliberate, every muscle coiled like he’s braced for disaster. He hates every second of it—I can tell.
But he makes it.
He exhales at the bottom of the staircase, his shoulders loosening slightly, but he doesn’t say a word.
I smirk. “See? You survived.”
“Barely.”
I chuckle and nudge his arm. “Come on. Not too much further.”
What I actually mean is that there are no more stairs, and it’s a relatively straightforward route. Cassiel relaxes almost as soon as we’re outside, his shoulders sloping the second the sunlight hits his face. “It feels like a nice day, today,” he remarks. “What’s the sky like?”
“Medium cloud,” I respond. “A lot of very blue… blue.”
He snorts. “Blue blue?”
“It’s that distinctly blue sky blue,” I clarify. “If you know the one I mean.”
Cassiel pauses, face inclined towards the sky. It’s almost odd, how he doesn’t need to squint. His entire face opens beneath the sun. “I do,” he says wistfully.
He clears his throat, tapping his cane against the stone, and continues on. We enter the building on the other side of the castle grounds.
“Knight’s hall is straight ahead,” I tell him. “Can you hear them training?”
His head tilts. He hears them—the clash of steel, the scuff of boots, the distant bark of commands. Something about it seems to settle him.
He adjusts his grip on the cane, straightens, and keeps walking. I follow, watching him navigate the rest of the way on his own.
He steps into the room. “Good sers,” he begins. “I require the use of this space. Please vacate it.”
I should probably be annoyed at the idea that we can just steal this room from the knights who doubtless need it more, but I will admit I enjoy wielding a modicum of power. Bossing people around is fun.
Maybe it’s a good thing that I can’t glamour people.
Everyone in the hall vanishes almost immediately. Cassiel waits until the door thuds shut behind them.
“Well?” he prompts. “Shall we begin?”