Chapter 22
Before we’re given access to the chambers, we have to partake in one of Bernwood’s traditions for new guests.
According to this tradition, I’m told to take a gold coin, then they prick my forefinger, and I smear a drop of my blood on the coin. After that, we’re given individual crystal bowls with shards of alvanite stone inside them, and I place my coin in my bowl.
If the gray stones stay their natural color, it means you have good intentions for the kingdom. If it turns black, however, it means your intentions are malevolent and could lead to being detained or, worse, executed.
Everyone passes the test…but then it’s Thane’s turn. He’s the last to go, and to say I’m nervous for his outcome is an understatement. I watch with bated breath as he drops his bloodied coin into the bowl. The stones go unchanged, and I blow a sigh of relief.
After that, Kelrean takes pride in showing us the interior of the castle, pointing to certain doors and letting us know what lies at the end of the ornate hallways.
“If you follow that corridor,” he says, pointing to a stretch on our right, “it will lead you to a steam room.” He winks down at me.
I bite my lip, fighting yet another blush.
When we finally reach our designated floor, the women are split from the men. I walk with Rynthea and Kelrean to one of the four doors at the end of our wing.
“When you’re done, return to the main hall on the first floor and take the right corridor all the way down,” Kelrean instructs as he watches me push the door handle down. “The side entrance will be there, and a chariot should be around to take you to the village square.”
“Thanks, Kelrean.”
“Of course, Zaira.” He strolls away. It’s hard to ignore how great his ass looks in those fitted pants.
“Don’t do it.”
I turn to the sound of Rynthea’s voice. “Do what?”
She stands in front of the door across from mine, the handle of her scythesword relaxed in her palm. Sheera had taken her weapon, too, but, unbeknownst to his father (or Sheera), Kelrean found it and gave it back to her. He trusts Rynthea a lot, I realize.
“Don’t bother with Kelrean. He’s charming, sure, but also the most conceited person I’ve ever met. He’ll sleep with any woman who has legs.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.” I laugh. “I don’t have time to sleep with charming, conceited princes right now. My mind is much too crowded with the idea of my sister being on the brink of death.”
“Well, just so you know, this fete is all about drinking and partying. Good times are bound to happen.” Her eyebrows do a little wiggle. “It’s easy to slip up and do things you never thought you’d do.”
“Have you been to one of the fetes before?”
“Only once. That was enough for me.”
“So you’re not going tonight?” I ask.
“No. I’ll probably have a bath, then find a place to practice with my scythesword afterward.”
I’m a little disappointed to hear that. I was hoping to hang out with her a bit more. “You should have some fun, Rynthea. At least while we’re stuck here waiting for the king to give us the details about The Shallows.”
She turns to fully face me, seeming disheartened. “You probably haven’t noticed, but a lot of beastials aren’t partial to minotaurs.”
I frown. “Why wouldn’t they be?”
“Because they know how sacred we are. Envy, I think, and also greed. Whatever their reasons, they hold bias against us. I’ve visited Bernwood three times.
The last time I came was about two years ago to obtain medicines for Torjack.
I traveled to the borders, so it took longer to get here, and because the trip was so long, I stayed a few days in the city to rest. While I was here, a group of beastials attacked me in an alley and called me an abomination.
They broke two of my ribs, one of my fingers, and nearly broke off one of my horns.
If Sheera hadn’t shown up to stop the attack, I’m certain I would’ve died and that horn would’ve been sold. ”
“Oh, Rynthea. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was like that for you or other minotaurs.” I shift closer to her, wanting to hug her, but she turns her body sideways and her shoulders tense, like a hug is the last thing she wants. “I always assumed minotaurs are highly respected among the beastials.”
“We used to be. But when our numbers dwindled and the healing properties in our horns became more important than our existence, we became nothing more than prey to many.” Her head drops as she studies the hardwood floors.
“There was a time when beastials used to look out for each other. There was hope, you know? But now? Now, we just turn against one another for something as simple as a coin. It’s beastials who’ll sell each other out quicker than the mortals will. ”
I stare at her, unsure of what to say. The chandeliers highlight her thick, pointed horns as she lifts her chin and draws in a breath.
“Anyway.” She exhales through parted lips. “Enough about that. You should know that I won’t be able to thank you enough for saving me in that swamp, Zaira. King Draedor is right. You are noble.” She gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I pray to Orvena you never lose your principles.”
She smiles, and my heart warms for her. Rynthea truly is beautiful. She appears so strong—so indestructible—yet there is a softness to her. One that makes me want to get to know even more about her.
I place my hand on top of hers. “Get some rest, Rynthea.”
With sagging shoulders, she enters her chamber and shuts the door behind her.
I don’t allow myself much time to take in the silk curtains and oversize canopied bed when I step into my room. The moon has made its debut, and its silvery light floods through the double doors leading to a stone terrace.
I drop my rucksack on the floor, not daring to touch anything for fear I’ll soil it with the stench of swamp monster.
Now that I have a moment to myself, my thoughts are much louder. I think of Analla trapped in Seferin’s keep, of her fear as she realizes her life is coming to an end. Is he feeding her at least? Giving her water? He can’t be that cruel to deprive her of mortal necessities, can he?
My hands shake as I recall the attack in Kamtaur, the swamp monster, and Dulan’s death. The urge to cry is at an all-time high, but I swallow it down and lift my head.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Come on, Z. Pull it together.”
I make my way to the washroom to start a bath, cleaning myself up thoroughly by using the luxurious soap that smells of lavender and a hint of spice.
I give my hair a good wash, too, threading my fingers through the thick curls to detangle them before I comb out most of the kinks.
Afterward, I moisturize it with a smooth hair butter that makes my curls look luxurious.
“Wow,” I murmur, studying the glass container of hair butter. “Royals have the best hair products.”
The queen mentioned there being clothes we could select in the wardrobes. I didn’t expect them to be filled to the brim with gowns, skirts, corsets, and bodices.
There are too many options to choose from. A person living in this castle is one thing. But deciding what to wear on a daily basis is another entirely and has to be mind-boggling. All the garments are high quality and bursting with color.
Since it’s the night of the fete, I decide not to go with my usual leggings, tunic, and earth tones and instead pluck out an ivory underdress with threaded gold-and-purple flowers embellishing the hem. It pairs well with a rich purple bodice and overskirt that’s laced with delicate gold ribbons.
I slip my arms into the billowy sleeves of the underdress, then put on the underskirt, allowing it to flow in waves to my feet. Next, I toss on the bodice and tie it as tightly and comfortably as possible.
Standing before one of the mirrors, I grab a handful of the skirts and twirl around with a grin. I’ve never worn a gown this lavish—so vibrant and full of life. I could never afford one as gorgeous as this.
I feel royal myself right now.
There are several jeweled clips in one of the drawers of the wardrobe.
I select a few that match, do a quick braid design on the right side of my hair, and pin the ends with the clips.
As I gaze into the mirror, I can’t help but wonder who this room belongs to.
Are all these clothes Queen Jenia’s? Perhaps they’re all outfits she no longer cares to wear…
or maybe there’s a princess around somewhere?
That can’t be likely, though. I assume she’d have made an appearance downstairs when Kelrean did.
Plus, the king said Kelrean was his only heir.
Once I find a pair of boots my size, I leave my room feeling ten times more relaxed. I pause in front of my door and stare at Rynthea’s. Through the gap at the bottom, I spot her shadow.
“I can hear you breathing, Zaira,” she calls.
I stand taller. Right. Beastials have impressive hearing.
“Sorry.” I laugh nervously. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”
Her door cracks open, and she sticks her head out. Her hair is loose, damp, and curly. She appears so innocent this way. “I’m fine.” She laughs. “Have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow, after the king has a hundred drinks and is ready to spill his guts. He’s surprisingly more lenient when he’s hungover.”
I smile. “Okay.”
She closes the door, and I drift through the corridor to reach the intersecting hall. As I approach the carpeted area, I spot a familiar person in all black on the opposite side.
Thane.
And, of course, my traitorous heart thumps several beats faster.
He’s wearing a laced-up black leather waistcoat over an ivory tunic with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The tunic has a shallow V-cut at the chest that reveals a slice of his silky brown skin. He looks refreshed.
“What, no buffers tonight?” I ask as I approach.
“They’re being washed.” He taps his waistcoat. “And this has buffers sewn into the lining. It’s the only one I could find in that wretched wardrobe,” he grumbles. “I don’t understand how anyone can wear such colorful clothing every day.”
“Not everyone wants to live out their days in all black like you.” I do my best not to focus on the broadness of his chest. The tunic he’s wearing right now is much more fitted than his other clothes. His pecs are… Well, let’s just say he takes great care of his body.
He’s wearing a necklace I hadn’t noticed before, a round black pendant with a scorpion in the center attached to a silver chain.
I start to ask about it but decide against it. He’ll probably give me a smart remark or ignore my question altogether, and I’m not about to let him ruin my mood or my night. Plus things are still a bit weird between us since the swamp.
“Well…I should get going. Getting kind of hungry.” I pass him and start for the curving staircase.
“I’m waiting on one of the helpers to bring me a pair of boots that fit,” he says, as if noticing my hesitation.
I nod. “See you at the chariot, then.”
“Yes. Unless, of course, you need me to guide you down the stairs, oh sweet one?”
“I’m certain I can handle a flight of stairs,” I call over my shoulder, but I still take each step down carefully, clinging to the handrail.
I can hardly see the steps beneath the skirts.
If I trip, it’s a long way to the bottom.
Breaking my neck falling down a flight of stairs is not how I want to die after everything I’ve already gone through.
I look back to find Thane still watching me.
He looks disturbingly handsome with his freshly washed hair—all thick and coiled—his clean skin, and non-threatening attire.
Even the scars on his face aren’t as menacing, but more so just a part of him.
He’s much more relaxed, too—still vigilant, of course—but not as tense as he was outside of Bernwood.
That could be because we’re tucked away in a kingdom that’s far too busy celebrating a fete to bother with us.
The front gates are guarded, and I’m certain the village is swarming with soldiers keeping an eye on their people as well as the royals.
We’re as safe as we can be…and if anything happens, we know damn well to run.
I finally turn my eyes away from him when his gaze becomes too much.
Stop staring at him, Zaira. Don’t be ridiculous.
I feel like I walk down a hundred steps before finally making it to the first floor. As I look for the chariot, each step feels heavier than the last without Thane escorting me.
I can’t believe I’m this hung up over a man like him.