Chapter 4
Between the haze of tangled visions and dreams—so entwined I couldn’t discern what was real and what wasn’t—I must have eventually slipped into a restless sleep. My next awareness opened up to a sliver of dawn peeking through the satin curtains.
The first thing I noticed through groggy and disoriented senses was the ache filling every inch of my body, as if I’d spent the night undergoing brutal martial arts training in my dreams. I groaned as I tried to sit up, pain flaring across my muscles.
I pushed up my sleeve and blinked at the trail of dark bruises mottling my skin, splotches of purplish-grey blooming like ink spills.
Further inspection revealed more along my arms, my legs, my torso—and based on the throbbing tenderness, also all across my back.
I always had a scattering of bruises from my ventures, and last night’s encounter with the guards had doubtless added a few more, but I’d never experienced this sort of full-body ache that reeked of magic.
A bitter curse escaped my lips. I’d known the bed was rigged—some cruel test or twisted punishment prior to my inevitable execution.
I was lucky to have survived the night. I needed to escape as soon as possible…
but every movement sent fresh pain lancing through my limbs.
And the fact remained there was no way out of this cage guised as a guest room.
A knock sounded, and the same guards who had escorted me the night before entered. They halted at the threshold, their expressions shifting from practiced detachment to something closer to shock—as if they hadn’t expected to find me alive.
That told me everything.
The pressure of exhaustion, pain, and the echo of whatever enchantment had possessed the night, and how closely I’d toyed with death cumulated, shattering what little patience I had left.
“So this is your idea of hospitality?” I snapped, forcing myself to a full sitting position despite the pain. “Escorting your guest to a disguised torture chamber? Was this supposed to be an amusing, a final jest before my execution?”
Instead of the expected reprimand, the guards exchanged long glances before Tomas tilted his head. “I take it you didn’t have a pleasant night?”
I snorted. “That’s the understatement of the century. No one could enjoy such a night unless they were a masochist.”
“Impossible,” Garrett murmured. “It can’t be…
not her.” He strode forward suddenly. “Begging your pardon.” Before I could protest, he seized my hand and shoved up my sleeve.
His eyes widened as he took in the line of bruises marring my skin.
The imprint of his fingers on my arm from the previous night was clear, but paled in comparison to the angry purple marks blooming across my skin.
The blond guard joined him, gawking at the evidence of my battered skin like it was a prophecy come to life. “There’s no mistaking it. We have to take her to Their Majesties. Immediately.”
I yanked my arm back with a wince. “I’ll pass, thank you. I don’t enjoy being gawked at like a sideshow.”
His tone hardened. “With all respect, miss, you don’t have a choice. That isn’t a request, but an order from the highest authority in the land.”
The royal family.
I clenched my jaw. Even cloaked in grief from their son’s disappearance, the king and queen still wielded more power than I could afford to defy. And if I wanted any hope of escaping whatever I’d stepped into, I had to play this game carefully.
Tomas gestured for me to rise, but before I could gather the strength to force my aching body upright, Garrett stepped forward in protest. “You cannot be serious; she’s a thief.”
“Orders are clear: any who pass the test must be presented to the king and queen. No exceptions.”
Test? Had I entangled myself in a survival game conducted for Their Majesties’ sadistic pleasure?
I yearned to protest, but whatever enchantment had woven itself through the night seemed to have drained me of my usual stubborn will.
Though questions burned my lips, the best way to gather information was to watch and wait.
I didn’t know what powerful charm had been buried beneath all those mattresses and evaded my careful investigations. Whatever the details, one fact remained certain: no matter what I faced, I would emerge conquerer.
With slow, aching movements, I dragged myself out of the deceptively comfortable bed, made a feeble attempt at smoothing the rumpled clothes I’d slept in, and reluctantly followed the guards’ escort.
The long trek through the castle gave me time to arm myself with information.
I’d paid close attention the previous night, but today they were taking me in a new direction, deeper into this palace that had trapped me in a living nightmare.
The corridors were quiet, but not empty—strange signs of life whispered from the edges of my vision. Fresh-cut flowers with drops of dew still clinging to them, a tea tray waiting outside a closed bedroom door, the scent of cinnamon buns wafting from a distant kitchen.
Odd. When I’d infiltrated the palace under the cover of night, the place had reeked of sorrow and silence, abandoned in that unsettling, hollow way that meant something once grand had been deliberately vacated.
This was not the same building—life filled these gilded halls, as if I’d stepped into a different version of the palace entirely.
It wasn’t like me to make such a grave miscalculation, not even in my earliest days of thievery. Even the most prestigious treasure wouldn’t tempt me to take such a reckless gamble.
As we walked, I took care not to brush against anything, not even the polished handrails of the stairs. It was partly habit, a thief’s instinct to avoid leaving prints, even when already in custody—but more importantly, I didn’t want to hear the whispered secrets.
I warily eyed the guards’ sheathed swords; weapons rarely carried the voices of their wielders, but instead screamed with the dying cries of those they had slain. Such memories would only burden me, and I needed my wits sharp for whatever lay ahead. I clasped my hands tightly before me as I walked.
As we descended deeper into the heart of the palace, my instinct to observe my surroundings for anything useful had me meticulously searching for clues to arm myself with information in order to not only survive, but remain several steps ahead.
I spotted banners recently unfurled bearing the royal crest in mourning hues of black, silver, violet. Fresh flowers arranged in alcoves, guards posted at key intersections, alert but not hostile. Rather than abandoned and forgotten, the castle had been prepared…but for what?
I had little time to wonder when we reached the massive arched doors at the corridor’s end. They swung open, and I was ushered inside.
The throne room was not the gilded and ostentatious display I expected.
Rather than soaring stained-glass windows or blinding crystal chandeliers, instead I found myself in a solemn chamber draped in velvet shadows and sorrow.
Elegance cloaked in mourning. Pale morning light filtered through heavy curtains, touching the stone with muted reverence.
Braziers flickered low and soft, casting long silhouettes across the marbled floor.
Atop the dais rested two thrones upon which sat the king and queen, their posture regal but wearied by sorrow.
Their sharp gaze bearing the weight of years held me in place.
Two guards stood flanking the dais like statues, and a man I suspected to be the royal advisor stood to one side, hands clasped behind his back, eyes narrowed in watchful suspicion.
The stones beneath my feet shimmered with the memories of all who had once stood in this chamber—centuries of judgment from petitioners, criminals, nobles, and heroes.
For the briefest moment, their echoes sang through me in a rush of voices, pleas, proclamations, and punishments, a whirlwind of memory.
I steadied myself, pushing past the panic in search for one memory among the many that might teach me how to face a monarch in mourning, respect and poise that went against my usual wit and flippancy, an attitude that would not save me here.
I carefully adjusted this new mask as I was led forward, stopping a few paces short of the dais. I did my best not to shift as Their Majesties scrutinized me from head to toe. The queen was the first to speak.
“A dozen young women, hand-picked from the noblest houses throughout the kingdom…and you bring a thief?” Her rich voice sounded frayed, as if it took great effort to emerge from her grief enough to form words.
I deliberated a moment before dipping into a rough curtsy, determined to show off the profession I was so proud of in a good light. Her nose wrinkled, as though my presence alone offended her. “Yet there can be no mistake—the only contestants remaining are those who failed…and this urchin.”
My pride flared. I had to bite my tongue to keep from snapping a sharp retort about the coin I’d earned through skill and hard work, regardless of how it used to be done through dishonest means.
There it was again—another mention of a test. The pieces I’d gathered were too scattered, refusing to fit into any coherent shape to yield understanding.
I’d done nothing to warrant examination, only suspicion, behavior which surely wouldn’t allow me to pass anything prestigious enough to be conducted by the royal family.
I rose from my bow, lifting my eyes in time to see the king nod towards Tomas. Before I could react, the dark-haired guard pushed my long sleeve up, exposing my mottled arm.
The king leaned forward slightly, his narrowed eyes studying me as though searching for any hint of deceit.
“I have little reason to trust someone who trades in lies and makes a living off dishonesty…yet the bruises confirm it. To think a candidate we allowed to participate solely as a precaution would render such a result.”