13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
M y head kills.
I roll over when the morning light cuts through my window. It stings my eyes, jabbing my skull.
My ladies’ maids flow into my room. I groan.
“Good morning,” Tiffy chirps. Her expression tightens when she sees me. “Oh, Miss… You—shall we leave you?”
Yes , I want to say.
“We can tell His Highness that you’re unwell today,” Tiffy continues when I don’t respond.
“No,” I grumble, mustering the energy to sit up. If I stay in bed all day, Viridian will know that he was right about the wine. The thought of denying him that pleasure is enough to motivate me. “That won’t be necessary.”
Tiffy eyes me up and down. “Are you sure? You look dreadful, Miss.”
I press my lips together to stop myself from saying something rude. “Could you help me look less dreadful?”
“I’ll do my best,” she says, giving me another once-over.
I exhale. Perhaps I should have stayed in bed today.
Tiffy washes my face, braids my hair, and dresses me. When she finishes, she steps back.
“Much better,” she assures me. Her words are much too cheery and over-emphasized, that I know she’s only trying to make me feel better.
“Oh gods,” I mumble, wiping my face with both hands. “Still that bad?”
She winces. “Um, well, yes. But don’t worry,” she adds quickly, “with a day’s rest, you’ll be good as new!”
“Yes,” I say, purposefully avoiding the mirror. “You’re right.”
Perhaps a day’s rest and a little help from the gods themselves , I think dryly. My abdomen lurches. I feel as awful as I look.
Tiffy bows, and then she and the other ladies’ maids exit.
I emerge not too long after them and make my way to the kitchens in search of something to eat. Toast should do nicely for my uneasy stomach.
When I get there, the kitchens are bustling with servants. Lymseia is here, too, spreading some kind of fruit jam onto a slice of bread.
“Miss Thurdred.” She bows her head. “How are you this morning?”
“All right,” I tell her.
“I bet.” She smirks. “The wine will do that.”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You heard about that?”
“I did.” Lymseia laughs. “Don’t worry. Viridian only told me to keep an eye on you. No embarrassing details, I swear.” She motions to the bread and jam. “Want some?”
“Yes, please,” I say.
Lymseia cuts a slice and adds a generous helping of jam before handing it to me.
I take it. “Thank you.” Sinking my teeth into it, I find the bread is still warm from the oven.
“That pairs quite nicely with Lydia’s herbal tea blend,” she says, gesturing to one of the women behind her. “It’s the only cure for wine-induced headaches.”
My lips curve into a half-smile. “Speaking from experience, are we?”
“Oh, yes.” Lymseia nods, emphasizing the motion. She leans forward, eyes glinting with mischief. “I’d say it’s a mistake I’ve only made once, but that would be a lie.”
I snort, throwing my head back. “I’m shocked to hear this from the Captain of the High King’s Guard,” I say, feigning surprise .
Lymseia holds up both of her palms. “It does come as quite a shock, doesn’t it?”
We laugh and both take another bite of bread.
“How did you become Captain of the High King’s Guard?” I ask, and my tone shifts, becoming more serious. “You’re a Lady.”
“Well, as the second-born, I had more freedom to forge my own path,” she says. “As heir-apparents, Myrdin and Viridian’s courses have been charted since birth. For Myrdin, to one day become Head of House. And for His Highness, to become High King.”
Her words strike a chord within me. I’ve always thought of the noble fae as pretentious, that they couldn’t want for anything. That they led easy lives, free of restrictions.
I’d never considered that such luxury could also come with chains.
Lymseia glances at me before taking another bite of bread. She swallows. “My older sister, Vestella, shares that burden. So, when I came of age, I chose to train as a warrior. My predecessor took me on as her apprentice. When she retired, the High King appointed me as her successor at her recommendation.”
My voice softens. “What happened to her?”
“You need not worry. She’s not dead,” she says, waving me off. “She simply decided she’d served the crown long enough.”
“Oh,” I say, adopting a more light-hearted tone .
Amused, Lymseia raises her brows. “Did you think we served until we died?”
“No,” I lie. Embarrassment heats my cheeks, and I rub the back of my neck. “Not at all.”
Lymseia chuckles. “We’re not barbarians, Miss Thurdred.”
“Of course not,” I shoot out. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right.” Lymseia pats my arm. “Truly.” She shoves the last of her bread and jam into her mouth, in a way that strikes me as very unladylike, and sets the used butter knife on top of a pile of dirty dishes.
“I must be off.” She turns back to me and points to my bread. “Enjoy.”
B y dinnertime, I feel much better. Surprisingly, my headache is nearly gone, with only faint traces of pain left. The thought of food is appealing now, and my stomach grumbles like it should at this time of day.
I arrive at the great hall, and as per usual, Viridian waits for me alone.
“Why doesn’t His Majesty dine with us?” I ask, peering at him.
Viridian’s movements slow. “He prefers to dine alone, in his chamber.”
Raising a hand to my mouth, I think back to what I saw in the East Tower. How could High King Vorr dine in such filth every night? The thought alone is enough to have my stomach threatening to empty itself.
“Has he always done that?” I force myself to banish the image from my mind and continue eating.
“Ever since my mother’s death.”
His words hang between us.
His Majesty started dining alone after the High Queen’s death. That must also be when he stopped attending balls.
If that’s true, then both must share a common cause. Perhaps the High Queen’s death is to blame. Before I saw the East Tower, that would have been enough to explain the High King’s withdrawal from society. But now, something tells me more than just the High Queen’s death alone is at the heart of it. What turned the High King into a recluse? And what role does the decayed condition of the East Tower play in all this?
“I’m sorry,” I tell Viridian at last. “That sounds lonely.”
“It was.” He looks at me, meeting my eyes. The corners of his mouth perk up. “Though, I’m not so lonely now.”
The way he looks at me rustles the butterflies in my stomach.
My gaze drops to my food, and I move it around with my fork.
Neither one of us speaks for a moment. I feel as though I should say something, but no words come to mind.
“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Viridian finally says .
I push away my finished plate. My voice constricts, taut with accusation. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
He leans back in his chair, dark brows knitted together. Though, something tells me he expected this.
“Not here. Walk with me.” Viridian rises to his feet, motioning his head to the door.
I stand, falling in step at his side.
We walk out of the great hall and down the corridor until we reach one of High Keep’s smaller libraries. When we arrive, a human servant dusts the shelves.
She averts her gaze when I look at her. Like she would with one of the noble fae.
I’m not married to Viridian, yet the servants still treat me as if I were. I’m not fae, but to them, it seems like I’m not fully human either.
The thought leaves a sour taste on my tongue.
Viridian’s voice is reserved. “Leave us.”
The maid retracts her feather duster from the bookshelves and bows before making her exit.
“You told me you’d answer my questions.” I cross my arms, staring Viridian down once we’re alone. “Now answer them.”
“What is it you’d like to have answered?”
“Why am I here, Viridian?”
“You are here to marry me. On that, I was forthcoming.” He pauses, touching the tips of his fingers to his chin. “What I still cannot seem to understand is why my father is so intent on this marriage, seeing as you’re not fae of noble blood.”
I scowl and lift the crown of my head. “Yes, I can’t imagine why you’d ever want a common, human bride.”
Viridian’s gaze meets mine. He lowers his hand from his face. “That’s not—I only meant—”
My tone goes cold. “I know what you meant.”
He pauses, looking away from me. Those amber eyes flare. The way he stares at the floor makes me think that he’d burn a hole through the stone, if that were possible.
“I know that you think I’m just like the rest of them.” He purses his lips, furrowing his brow. “And I know you won’t believe me when I tell you that I’m not.”
“Of course I don’t,” I shoot out. Everything he’s done comes crashing into me all at once—that night in the stables, the guards at my childhood home, seeing Loren in that cell, the locks on my chamber door. “From what I’ve seen, you are just like them.”
He just stares at me for a moment. Hurt flashes across his face, as if what I’ve said wounds him, somehow. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it and tenses his jaw instead, the muscles flexing.
“The Heads of House all know something,” Viridian continues, ignoring my remark. “Something they refuse to acknowledge.” He shakes his head while he speaks, as if he can’t wrap his mind around it. “I’ve consulted the royal historian, skimmed the recorded texts, but whatever it is, it’s been well concealed. ”
His words pique my curiosity, and I tell myself that’s the only reason my resentment subsides.
“The East Tower…” I murmur. Whatever secrets Viridian is looking for, they must be there.
“The East Tower?” Viridian echoes. “You’ve been to the East Tower?” His eyes widen, as if he’s putting the pieces together. “Your run in with the guard… You were in the East Tower, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” I say, thinking back to what I saw there. “You haven’t?”
I know that no one but the High King and his personal guards are allowed in there, but seeing as Vorr is his father, I would’ve thought that he’d broken the rules once or twice. That his curiosity would have gotten the better of him, like mine did.
“No,” he says, like he’s never even considered it. “It’s forbidden.”
I swallow. “Viridian, it’s—”
He doesn’t let me finish.
“Show me.”