Chapter 8
After that night, Lord Quinn Navarro was inescapable.
If I went to dine, find a book within the library, or walk about the courtyard, I could expect to find the viscount close at hand…a presence that was increasingly insufferable, as it meant I could not speak beyond the confines of my bedchambers.
I took to hiding within the twisted paths of the garden maze, hoping he might lose his way while trying to find me.
I’d scurry along, hunched over like I was part rodent, and tuck myself into a dead end while the minutes passed.
Certain I had eluded him, I’d settle down with a book, only for his shadow to fall across the pages moments later.
He always maintained a careful distance: close enough to intervene should danger present itself, and far enough to give the illusion of personal space. The weight of his constant gaze made me conscious of things I’d never considered.
Am I holding the fork correctly?
Do I read at an adequate pace?
Most aggravating of all were his performative courtesies. At meals, he would pull out my chair with an exaggerated flourish; in the library, he’d retrieve books from high shelves before I could pull around the ladder.
My father’s wax tablet became an invaluable asset. There was only so much a rude gesture could convey. When the viscount lingered about for too long, I would carve a large “GO AWAY” into the tablet and hold it to his face until the wax grew slick beneath my fingertips.
To my vexation, it only amused him that I hated him so, and while he would obey my command to leave with a bow that blurred the lines between deference and mockery, he never went far.
I lamented the death of what little freedom I’d come to know, but it seemed there was no use in fighting his protection.
I’d all but abandoned my hopes of spending time with the ladies of court, knowing that even in the parlor he would linger by the door.
My excursions beyond my chambers became increasingly rare as my despair over the situation worsened.
One morning, a servant girl arrived with a message from Angharad, extending an invitation to play badminton in the eastern courtyard. Wary of Lord Quinn just beyond the door, I declined with a solemn shake of the head, then returned to slump upon my chaise.
“Are we avoiding Lady Tharon for some reason?” Winnie asked, folding linens. “No assassin would dare come at you with a dagger in the badminton court, not with half the court ladies present.”
I offered a weak smile, but inwardly longed for someone in whom I could confide my terrible secret. If Winnie were to learn of the curse...
No, as much as I wanted to tell her, I was afraid that the woman who had become my loyal companion might turn to judgment. The prospect of our relationship declining in any way was too upsetting to contemplate.
Despite my seclusion, I couldn’t avoid all social obligations.
The evening meal remained a requirement, endured under the watchful gaze of the court and Lord Quinn.
Days after rejecting Angharad’s invitation, I made my customary swift departure from the dining hall, keeping my eyes lowered.
The viscount followed at the prescribed distance while Winnie walked dutifully at my side, filling the silence with quiet observations about the evening’s meal. “Lady Alana!”
I came to a reluctant halt, Winnie pausing mid-sentence beside me. I turned to find Marchioness Angharad approaching, emerald skirts swaying purposefully about her. She rushed past Lord Quinn with such speed that he tensed in preparation.
“My lady, I’d begun to wonder if you’d taken ill,” she said.
My inability to respond created an awkward silence. Angharad studied my face, revealing a hint of genuine concern.
“It seems I am being avoided.” Angharad lowered her voice, stepping closer. “Have I offended you in some way? Was it the talk of anatomical matters? I have been known to speak too freely, but I assure you it was all meant in friendship.”
The marchioness waited expectantly, placing me in the impossible position of either speaking in Lord Quinn’s presence or appearing deliberately rude to one of the few allies I’d made at court. I gave such a sharp look to the viscount that he took a step back in alarm.
“Lord Navarro,” Winnie interjected with authority. “Perhaps you might allow the ladies a moment of privacy? I shall remain with Lady Chastain, of course.”
Lord Quinn hesitated at her perfect blend of subservience and command, then backed away until he was out of earshot, though his eyes never left me.
By then, Angharad appeared to be losing hope, her confidence melting into vulnerability.
“Please forgive me; it’s been a long few days,” I apologized, clasping Angharad’s hands in mine.
“A man came into my bedchambers recently and made an attempt to abduct me. Since then, the prince has assigned Lord Quinn as my protector, and I cannot escape him once I leave my apartment. Believe me, I wanted to see you.”
Angharad’s brow furrowed, her lips parting in dismay, and then all at once, there was such outrage present in her features that she could have combusted.
“Surely you jest! Someone tried to take you?!” She stomped her foot.
“I am so sorry, and furthermore I am appalled! Aghast! Absolutely gods-damned vexed! Who would dare to do such a thing?!”
I rubbed my neck. “They’re still trying to discern that.”
“Oh!” Angharad grunted, then pulled me into a hug and kissed me on both cheeks. “Be well, Alana. I’m going to put my ear to the ground. If the men of the castle are too inept to solve this mystery, then we shall have to leave it to the women!”
With that, she retreated down the hall until she was out of sight. The viscount coughed to announce his return, tilting his head slightly forward.
“Is it not unwise to withhold secrets from your guardian?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes.
Outside my room, a messenger awaited with a sealed letter from my mother.
It detailed my parents’ return to society, including a lengthy description of tribulations that seemed so minor in the face of the castle’s intrigue, save for my parents’ role in curing a particular bout of dysentery that had been plaguing villages around the Greater and Lesser Arbordeen.
As I read, I couldn’t help but wonder if these letters would keep coming, or if my parents would recognize me for the burden I was and ease into a cessation of communication.
The possibility hurt, but should such a thing come to pass, I could hardly blame them for it.
Winnie tore her way around my room, preparing a bath and loudly sorting through my clothes for some idea of the next day’s outfit.
Her distress was plain; the woman always had my ensemble picked out in advance, always maintained some psychic connection with the wardrobe.
When I at last pulled my attention away from the letter, it seemed as though an animal had made a nest in Winnie’s hair, and that animal might well have been Winnie herself, judging by the unhinged look in her eyes.
Her usually-perfect chignon now had strands escaping in every direction, giving her a feral appearance.
“Is everything well, Winnie?” I asked.
“You tell me, my lady,” Winnie retorted, some perplexing bitterness laced into her words. She practiced a few breaths before retreating. “I apologize. I suppose I am…concerned…for you.”
I cocked my head to the side. The bathtub beckoned with steaming water and scented oils. “Whatever for?”
“It seems to me that you lose your wits around certain members of court,” Winnie explained, taking her time so that whatever seethed inside of her wouldn’t boil over.
Her shoulders drooped. “Perhaps my frustration is undue, but it does make the task of your mentorship quite the trial when you will not speak up.”
“Winnie—”
“Oh, don’t ‘Winnie’ me,” she scolded. “I am Lady Winnie until you place your trust in me.”
Shutting off the water, Winnie came to me and assisted in my undressing. I bit my tongue until every article of clothing was put away. If I could be fully naked before this woman, then the truth could be just as bare.
“Winnie,” I insisted, stepping into the bath. I submerged myself slowly in its heat; I still wasn’t sure if I would ever grow accustomed to the feeling. “Sit down.”
Still snarling, Winnie did as she was told, but curiosity betrayed her glower. Den of serpents, I reminded myself as I considered telling the truth, reassessing my lady-in-waiting. But not her.
“I’m going to tell you a story,” I decided, reclining my head. My mending shoulder ached in the weightlessness of the water. “And it is terribly sad, so I suggest readying a handkerchief.”
“Spare me.”
“Fine.” Any lightheartedness sobered on her demand. “What do you know of magic, Winnie?”
Winnie leaned incrementally closer as I told her everything. Each word felt like opening a vein; I kept looking at her, expecting to find fear or anger, but her expression remained absolutely tempered.
I could remember my first time hearing the story, in softer details, at the tender age of five—my father revealing why it was just us, why I couldn’t see the world beyond, and my mother’s shadowed face as she sat beside the hearth in contemplation of what life had once been.
The bath felt colder, despite the rising steam.
Winnie parted her lips, sitting up as understanding dawned. Her hand moved to steady her heart.
“The prince,” whispered Winnie, her throat bobbing. “You saved him in the woods that day, but in doing so…”
“I’ve cursed him,” I replied. “And there’s nothing I can do to reverse it.”
Winnie’s composure crumbled. The judgment I’d expected was nowhere to be seen; there was only raw empathy as her eyes welled up with frustrated tears.
“That’s why you’re here.” She reached toward me, hesitated, and withdrew her hand. “All this time, to carry such a burden in your heart…” She paused, lips pressing tightly together, unable to finish the statement. “You poor woman.”
A weight lifted from my shoulders. I sank deeper into the tub. “It’s not so terrible. At least now I have a friend.”
Winnie kneeled beside the tub with forgotten propriety. She took my wet hand between hers, clutching it with fierce protectiveness.
“You have more than a friend,” she said. “You have a confidant. And I swear, by the Lady of Day and the Lord of Night, I will guard your secret as if it were my own.”
She squeezed my hand, cementing the vow.