12. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Lillith
A s I slip back into the garden, I notice that Prince Asher is watching me intently. His blue eyes seem to bore into my soul, making my heart race with a mix of fear and uncertainty. He doesn't look angry about the spilled tea, which I find odd considering his usual penchant for perfection.
"Your Highness," I say with a small curtsy, catching my breath as he approaches me. "I hope everything is well."
"Quite well, thank you," he replies, his voice warm and surprisingly gentle.
A slight smile plays on his lips, and it is difficult to read his emotions. Is he grateful or simply bemused at the chaos I have caused?
"Did you enjoy your tea?" I ask hesitantly, wondering if he has caught on to my little charade .
"Ah, yes, the tea," he muses, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "It was certainly an... interesting experience." His eyes sparkle with amusement, though I can't tell if he is laughing at me or with me.
"Interesting?" My brow furrows in confusion. "I can assure you, Your Highness, my intentions were pure."
"Of that, I have no doubt," he says, his gaze never leaving mine, "but one must always be prepared for the unexpected, don't you think?"
"Indeed," I agree, swallowing hard.
I search his face for any sign of reproach or suspicion, but all I find is a strange sense of camaraderie, as if we are partners in some great adventure, bound together by a secret only we share.
"Your Highness," I whisper, daring to speak my true thoughts, "why are you not angry about the spilled tea?"
Prince Asher leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Because, Lilly," he murmurs, "sometimes a little chaos is just what one needs to shake up the monotony."
When he pulls away, he winks conspiratorially, leaving me both flustered and relieved.
***
"Ah, freedom." I sigh, stepping into the bustling town market .
It’s been nearly a week since the party and escaping the castle is surprisingly easy.The cacophony of vendors hawking their wares mixed with the lively conversations of townsfolk provides a welcome change from the stifling silence of the castle.
The familiar scents of coffee and baked goods waft through the air, furthering my determination to explore the town. I have no set destination in mind, but my nose seems to be guiding me toward a small cafe tucked away among the stalls of vendors selling fruits and vegetables.
I step inside the cafe and am immediately greeted by the warm atmosphere that seems inviting after my long walk. The smell of freshly brewed coffee permeates the room, making me crave a cup even more than before. After taking a seat near a window, I eye the menu with great interest.
My choices quickly narrow down to one item—a maple pecan latte with some sort of flaky pastry on the side. It arrives at my table within minutes after I place my order.
My eyes widen in delight as I take my first sip of the warm beverage. The smooth, creamy flavor swirls across my taste buds, and with each sip, I find myself wanting more.
"That was delicious," I exclaim to the barista behind the counter.
He gives me a friendly smile before thanking me for my order .
I continue to savor every last drop before turning my attention to the flaky pastry in front of me. Taking a bite, I am overwhelmed with joy at the sweetness and crunchy texture that fills my mouth.
"Wow this is amazing," I rave between bites, not caring who hears me.
My mouth waters with anticipation, and I quickly finish off the delectable treat and look out toward the bustling market.
I grab my things from the table and thank the barista again before heading into the market square.
This time, however, I am armed with an energy boost that allows me to take in all of the sights and sounds without feeling overwhelmed. It is easy to get lost in conversation with merchants or just admire their colorful displays of goods.
This is the life.
I watch vendors haggling over prices, children playing tag around their parents’ stalls, and people bartering for goods they don’t need but want anyway.
I laugh out loud as a little girl snatches fish from her father’s basket and runs away cackling while he chases after her. “Come back here! You have to help me sell these!”
A nearby stall where two men are loudly debating over the price of an antique vase catches my eye. One man lowers his offer, while the other insists on a higher one until finally they agree on something in between both their prices and shake hands in agreement.
Behind it all, the little movements draw my attention the most. Sleight of hand slipping a coin pouch from one especially robust man whose hair appears almost glued back into a tight ponytail at the nape of his neck. Another hand slowly tucking an apple from a produce vendor into their pocket as they pass by. It feels like home for the first time since I have arrived at the prince's gates.
I’m drawn to a stall filled with an assortment of trinkets and baubles. The vendor, a plump woman with rosy cheeks, beckons me closer.
"Ah, Miss Grimsbane, right?" she asks.
I nod, wondering how she knows my name.
"I've seen you around the castle. My sister's a maid there, you see."
"Small world," I muse, picking up a delicate silver necklace with an intricate pendant.
"Isn't it just?" she replies, her eyes twinkling. "That one suits you, dear. Only five silver coins. What do you say?"
"Five? That seems a bit... steep." I hesitate, my fingers lingering on the pendant.
"Tell you what," she says, leaning in closer, "I'll give it to you for three but only because you room with my sister."
"Who's your sister?"
"Mairelle! She could have joined the family business but just had to go work for the prince. "
After taking a second look at the woman, I can see a bit of resemblance. She has the same golden hair and delicate nose.
"Ah, Mairelle’s positivity pays off, it seems." I chuckle. "Deal."
"Here you go, dear." She hands me the necklace, wrapped in a small cloth. "May it bring you as much joy as those two bring to others."
"Thank you," I reply, even though I don't know if bringing joy is what I would call my relationship with my roommates. If it saves me a few silvers, it's worth keeping my mouth shut.
As I continue to explore the market, A figure leaning against a nearby stall captures my attention. It is Mrs. Umbernuckle, the head maid of the castle. She is whispering to a mysterious man with an eyepatch. Curiosity piqued, I observe them from a safe distance.
"Mrs. Umbernuckle, fancy meeting you here," I mutter under my breath, hiding behind a stack of barrels filled with apples.
The two speak in hushed voices, and I strain to hear their conversation.
"Meet me in an hour at the old oak tree on the long dirt road back to the castle," the man says, his voice gruff, "and make sure you're not followed. We have business to take care of."
"Understood," Mrs. Umbernuckle replies curtly, her willowy frame tense.
Something inside me clicks. That man with the eyepatch—he had jumped out of a window to escape the castle just last week! They were working together? Did that mean they were working with Mister Rotting Hand?
"Long dirt road, huh?" I muse, my curiosity growing stronger. "Might as well see what's going on."
They part ways, and I trail after Mrs. Umbernuckle, careful to remain hidden. Keeping her just in sight but far enough away that if she turned around I would be difficult to identify. We venture down the long, winding road that leads back to the castle. I push through the thicket of gnarled and tangled branches, wisps of fabric from my shirt catching on their spines. While Mrs. Umbernuckle can stay on the well-cared-for road, I dare not. Every careful step I take threatens to send me toppling down the rocky incline as I keep hidden in the nearby forest, my target just in sight.
"Curse this blasted road," I grumble, swatting away a low-hanging branch. "Why couldn't they meet somewhere less... treacherous?”
Despite the obstacles, I persist in following Mrs. Umbernuckle.
Suddenly, the path is blocked by a throng of white-fleeced sheep, jostling and baaing. I spot her ahead of them, but the chaos quickly envelopes her .
Without thinking, I scramble up the nearest tree, managing to get a tall enough branch where I can see her struggling against the tide of wooly bodies. I have to stifle my laughter. This is too good. Every poke and snag was absolutely worth the scene before me.
Mrs. Umbernuckle stumbles through a sea of wooly backs, her arms flailing wildly as she desperately tries to keep her balance. Each time she regains it, though, the flock's solid booties push her further off balance. Eventually she emerges out the other side.
Time for me to climb down and follow. Of course I will avoid the sheep entirely.
As I near an old oak tree near the rot iron fence of Prince Asher’s estate, I spot Mrs. Umbernuckle and the man with the eyepatch talking beneath its ancient branches. A stocky man I don’t recognize cowers in front of them. The old oak tree's gnarled branches sway gently in the breeze, casting eerie shadows on the ground below.
Whatever this is, it must be important if they choose such a secluded spot.
I creep closer, staying low to the ground and moving as silently as possible. Hiding behind a bush, I strain to hear the conversation between Mrs. Umbernuckle and the one-eyed man. My heart pounds in my ears, making it nearly impossible to discern their words.
Speak up, you nincompoops ! I mentally will them .
"P-please, milady," the man stammers, struggling against the ropes that bind him to the tree trunk. "I d-didn't mean any harm. I was only trying to feed my family."
"Your intentions matter little," Mrs. Umbernuckle says coldly, her voice cutting through the forest like a knife. "You stole from a member of the royal family. You must face the consequences."
Consequences? Since when did Mrs. Umbernuckle become an enforcer of justice? She's the head housekeeper.
As I watch, something strange begins to happen. Shadows pool around Mrs. Umbernuckle's feet, dark tendrils snaking up her body until she is wreathed in darkness. She raises an arm, and the shadows coalesce into a whip-like shape, crackling with an energy that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
"Wait a minute," I mutter under my breath, my eyes widening. That's shadow magic. What I had seen in her bedroom wasn't a trick of the light.
Only one person can do that. Lamira the Wraith!
"Please, have mercy!" the thief cries out as the shadow-whip comes down upon him. He yelps in pain, but his pleas only seem to fuel Mrs. Umbernuckle’s—or, rather, Lamira's—anger.
"Mercy? For a thief who sought to rob Prince Asher?" Lamira sneers, her voice dripping with contempt. "You should be grateful I'm not ending your life right here. Perhaps this punishment will teach you a valuable lesson."
"Oi, Mrs. Umbernuckle!" I shout without thinking. "That's enough!"
Lamira stops mid-strike, her shadowy form wavering as she turns to face me. A cold smile spreads across her lips while she regards me with amusement.
"Ah, Lilly," she coos, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "What brings you out here? Are you lost?"
"Hardly," I scoff, trying to appear braver than I feel. "I followed you and your one-eyed friend here, and now, it seems, I've discovered your dark secret."
Should I give away that I know who she really is?
"Indeed." Lamira sighs, her shadows dissipating as she resumes her guise as Mrs. Umbernuckle. "It appears you’ve seen I’m more than just a maid, but what do you intend to do with this knowledge?"
"Put an end to this charade, for one," I reply, my voice shaking slightly. "The people in the castle trust you, and you're taking advantage of them."
"Is that so?" Lamira asks, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Well, then, it seems we have ourselves a bit of a... situation."
"Indeed. A situation that only one of us is going to walk away from," I say, feigning confidence as my mind races for a strategy. "Tell me, why are you here? Are you after Prince Asher? "
"Prince Asher?" Lamira laughs, the sound echoing eerily through the forest. "Oh, little Lilly, you give me far too much credit."
She steps closer, and I can feel the chill of her presence reaching out to me. My fingers twitch at my side, ready to summon my own magic if needed.
"Then what are your intentions?" I demand, refusing to back down despite my growing fear. "They deserve to know the truth."
"Ah, yes. The truth," she muses, her icy blue eyes locked onto mine. "Such a tricky thing, isn't it? So many layers, so many secrets. I suppose we all have our reasons for hiding them. My own is among the smallest on the castle grounds."
"Enough with your riddles!" I snap, my frustration boiling over. "Just tell me why you're here!"
"Very well." Lamira sighs, a malicious grin spreading across her face. "Call it a second chance. I'm here for the same reason any wraith would be. Power."
"Power?" I echo, my heart sinking as I consider the implications of her words. "Are you here to corrupt Prince Asher? Or has that already happened?"
"Perhaps," she replies cryptically, her smile never wavering. "Or perhaps not. It's all a matter of perspective, really. Maybe he's corrupted me."
"Your games won't work on me," I warn her, my resolve hardening. "Whatever you're planning, I'll stop you."
"Will you now?" she murmurs, her gaze drifting toward the thief still bound by her shadows. "You're hardly in a position to make such bold claims, little Lilly. You are nothing, and you know nothing."
She has no idea just how wrong she is. My fingers itch to wipe that smug smile off her face.
"Fine," I say, forcing myself to sound calm and collected. "We'll see if your perspective changes once Prince Asher and the others learn the truth about you."
"Ah, yes. The truth," Lamira repeats, her laughter filling the air once more. "Some already know the truth. Are you sure you do? But you forget, my dear, some truths are better left buried."
"Then consider me a gravedigger," I retort, my voice steady even as my heart races, "because I won't rest until you're exposed for the monster you truly are."
"Very well," she whispers, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Just remember, little Lilly, some monsters are best left undisturbed."
With that chilling warning, Lamira and Eye Patch disappear into the shadows, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the thief who'd unwittingly become a pawn in our conflict. As I turn toward him, I can't help but wonder what other secrets lurk within the castle walls.
I grab the thief's shoulder and pull him up with me, my grip firm. He stumbles back in surprise, his eyes wide with fear, but I can see the fight still burning within them. I know that look all too well. He is ready to attack or run.
Mrs. Umbernuckle was a bit too irresponsible, leaving this thief alone after catching him. It will be up to me now to bring him before Prince Asher. I can only imagine the punishment Lamira will have for me if I don't, and I'm not sure I can withstand that punishment without giving myself away.
Holding tight to his arm, I begin to lead him away from the gardens toward the castle gates.
The thief thrashes about in my grasp, uttering angry outbursts as we near the entrance to the castle. "Why won't you listen?" he groans. "Let me go! I'm not your prisoner!"
I can feel his desperation for freedom seeping through my fingers, but little does he know I have no sympathy for anyone who gets in my way. He may have been trying to plead his case, but there is no turning back now.
"Stop struggling," I say firmly, maintaining my grip on his arm as we near the gatekeeper who stands guard at the entrance of the castle grounds.
The thief's protests are cut off as he takes in the sight of the towering gatekeeper, a hulking figure wearing armor and brandishing an impressive spear. He is no ordinary guard. Upon closer inspection, I have little doubt that he is also from the villain world. His gaze is stern and unforgiving as it falls upon us. How did I miss this when I first arrived ?
"What business have you here?" the gatekeeper asks gruffly, his eyes never leaving us.
"This thief has been caught attempting to steal by Mrs. Umbernuckle," I say, my voice wavering despite my best efforts to stay composed. "I'm bringing him before Prince Asher."
The gatekeeper nods curtly in acknowledgment but makes no further comment on our mission when he opens the gates for us to enter.
We continue our march down the winding cobblestone path that leads from the entrance to the castle courtyard.
As we near the steps to the main entrance of the home, the thief twists in my grip. He thinks he can escape? From me? I sneer, jerking him back to face the door.
"Don't even think about it. There are things worse here than the woman you just dealt with."
The thief glances at me warily before turning away, his gaze fixed on something farther ahead of us as if he's found something else that interests him more than our conversation.
When we pass under the archway and into a long hall lined with portraits of past kings and queens, he stops short and gazes up at an old painting near the end of the hall, one depicting a young prince standing in front of a tall window overlooking a wide expanse of water far below us. The prince in this painting is none other than Prince Asher himself. It must be a new one. It feels like new decor pops up in this place daily.
"Where is the prince?" I ask a passing footman.
"In his office," he replies in a gruff tone, pointing toward the door.
I nod and turn back to the thief. "Let's go," I say firmly, my voice echoing off the walls of the hallway as I tighten my grip on his arm and drag him toward the door.
When we enter, the prince sits behind his desk, flanked by Mrs. Umbernuckle who wears a frown of disapproval on her face. The thief finally stops struggling, and his eyes widen in fear.
Prince Asher stands up from his chair and studies both of us silently for a few moments before speaking. "Explain yourself," he says sternly, his gaze boring into the thief's soul.
The man glues his eyes to the floor, refusing to answer.
Mrs. Umbernuckle quickly recounts what she saw, adding her own personal dismissal of any kind-heartedness that might have been present in this situation for good measure.
The prince listens calmly before turning back to address us once more. "You are aware that theft is not tolerated here," he says gravely, his voice low but firm with authority. "Do you have anything else to add?"
The thief shakes his head miserably, unable or unwilling to speak in his own defense any longer, while I remain silent lest my words incriminate me due to our association together thus far in this matter.
After what feels like an eternity of silence broken only by our collective breathing, Prince Asher finally proceeds. "You may leave."
I’m confused. He wants the thief to leave? Nothing is going to happen? I stand dumbfounded.
"Lilly, he means you," Mrs. Umbernuckle adds.
I glance at the prince too. He offers a small nod confirming that yes, that is in fact what he meant.
I quickly leave the office without replying. Everything about this is suspicious. Are Prince Asher and Mrs. Umbernuckle working together? If they are, I know they will never tell me. Rule number eight of being a good villain—only reveal your evil plan if the person you are revealing it to is either needed to help fulfill it or will be the victim of it. I am clearly not in their little circle. Why does that bother me so much?