Chapter 12
Accompanied by a quarter of the court, I approached Percy’s sickbed. The room reeked of illness despite the servants’ constant efforts to cleanse it. Beyond a bowl of burning sage, only the steaming tea I carried, an aromatic blend of ginger, mint, and fennel, offered any relief from the stench.
Percy lay half-delirious and drenched with sweat, yet the royal physician believed he was on the mend. With gentle hands, I supported his head and helped him rise from the pillow. His weakened state had made him strangely trusting, a bitter irony I couldn’t ignore as I steadied the cup to his lips.
When Winnie announced my intention to treat Lord Montfort, several courtiers eagerly volunteered to witness the performance from a safe distance—an opportunity I seized to mend my reputation before suspicion could take root.
While the courtiers kept a safe distance from Percy’s sickbed, the viscount positioned himself where he could observe both the patient and me with equal scrutiny.
The elixir was an honest effort at relief: activated charcoal provided a means of absorbing toxins, while a spoonful of honey within the herbal tea helped to soothe any lingering inflammation.
Whether it would help him recover or merely absolve me in the eyes of the court, I couldn’t be certain.
I only knew I had to play my part convincingly.
“My lady has instructed that this tea should be given every few hours,” Winnie relayed to the royal physician.
“His Lordship should consume as much as he can tolerate, which may change depending on the flux. Gods be good, the healing should hasten, if we are to see similar results to what the Chastains have achieved in the villages.”
A respectfully quiet round of applause came from the observing courtiers.
I made my best attempt at a modest curtsy, then departed with my lady-in-waiting.
We proceeded down the wing, the viscount’s footsteps a steady rhythm behind us, but we didn’t make it far before encountering the prince and Sieur Eldridge.
I hardly had a chance to bow before Prince Nicolas grabbed my wrist and pulled me from the others. Lord Quinn took half a step forward before stopping, seemingly unsure of how to conduct himself in this situation. Neither did I, for that matter.
The prince didn’t take me far, stopping only a few steps away before he drew indecently close and whispered in the shell of my ear.
“Well done,” his words caressed, his praise erecting the hairs on my neck. “Though I must say, while I did enjoy the spectacle of my cousin soiling himself, there remains the issue that the man lives.”
The warmth drained from my abdomen, replaced with a bone-chilling dread. I raised my hand and gently cupped the prince’s cheek, turning his head so that I, too, could whisper. “I couldn’t guarantee his death, my prince, for you see: I. Am not. A witch.”
Prince Nicolas stroked my jaw and silenced me, the touch lingering like flames on oil.
I seethed with resentment and…something else.
Something I’d read of many times but didn’t quite understand.
His eyes turned to our spectators and he straightened, taking a step back and returning to his usual volume. “We should speak privately.”
I swallowed, managing a nod.
The prince led me upstairs, followed at a distance by our companions, until we reached one of the private studies. Key in-hand, Prince Nicolas opened the door and took me inside, then shut us off from prying eyes and ears.
His study was impressive in scale, with high-vaulted ceilings and tall, narrow windows only exacerbating its height.
A massive stone fireplace was dominated with the Callan coat-of-arms carved in relief, and centered before that was an imposing desk of blackened oak.
As we sat down, I couldn’t help but notice a few Hadrian furnishings within the room.
“Now then, my thorned rose,” he began, reclining with a sense of garish familiarity. “Explain yourself.”
I couldn’t read those eyes. I took a moment to carefully measure my words, but there was no cloaking my frustration. “As I have stated already, Your Highness, I’m not a witch. I was…”
Oh, gods. A lifetime of harboring a secret, and now I’d spill it to the second person in less than two weeks’ time. I braced myself and tried again.
“A witch cursed me before birth, Your Highness. Any man who hears my voice is forced to love me.”
Prince Nicolas’ eyes widened. I waited for a strong reaction, perhaps panic as he fully understood the helplessness of his situation, but none ever came.
“If you want me to use magic on Percy,” I continued, “the closest thing I could accomplish is making him a different sort of rival for you to contend with. The only enchantment I bear is my curse.” I clenched my jaw. “Or was I mistaken? Would you like me to make your cousin froth with lust for me?”
The prince slammed a fist against the tabletop and stood with enough force that I gasped; then he leaned closer, bracing himself with his palms.
“Obviously not,” he hissed, his blood boiling with visible jealousy for even the rhetorical scenario.
The creases along the bridge of his nose smoothed as he steadied his temper.
“Then it’s true? You’re not a witch, but a victim of some curse?
And this curse is why…” His hand raised to his heart in lieu of words.
Steadying my breath, I nodded. “Such is my burden.”
Prince Nicolas slouched into his seat with a pensive, embarrassed look. He pushed his hair back. “Burden? It seems to me that this curse has largely worked in your benefit, has it not? You’re to become a queen because of it.”
Anger stewed within me, then boiled over before I could control it.
“Only after nineteen years of living in the woods with only my mother and deaf father to communicate with! I had imaginary friends until I was sixteen! I used to lie awake at night with my eyes closed, pretending that my life was one of the books on our shelves, pretending that I was off having adventures and making friends. Then I came here, was nearly abducted, and that man only had to hear a grunt from my throat before he pressed his cock against me! Yes, Your Highness, I maintain that it is a fucking burden.”
The prince blushed, averting his eyes. He didn’t speak again for some time, leaving only the occasional howl of wind outside to fill the quiet. I almost worried he would censure me for my lack of decorum.
“My lady, perhaps I have been unfair,” he said, and my heartbeat steadied. His hands rested on the desk. “I’ve commanded you to commit an act of violence, thinking you were some upstart enchantress with obscene aspirations.”
I wasn’t sure how to reply, caught so off-guard by his modesty. I lowered my gaze. “He tried to have me killed.”
“I could’ve simply beheaded him for treason, but I cared more for my image than your health.”
“No, Nicolas,” I cut in sternly, placing my hands atop his.
“If there is one thing I’ve learned in this place, it is the value of a reputation.
If you’re seen as a tyrant, or your cousin is seen as a martyr, it will bring about further instability.
The serpents we see are only the ones on the surface, but who knows what lies in the burrows? ”
Prince Nicolas looked at our hands, then back to me. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’ve done what I must to ensure our mutual safety, and that I only regret doing it poorly,” I explained through gritted teeth.
“I will not fall victim to cowards who would use me to advance their position. Not Percy, not anyone. They tried to remove me to weaken you. That makes their enmity ours to share. If we’re to survive, then we’ll face these threats together. ”
My chest rose and fell. The prince stared, lips twitching into a surprised, admiring smile before the whole of him softened with unabashed adoration. “You’re a rare woman, Alana.”
My mouth hung open, a faint croak tumbling out.
The prince studied my face in silence, fingers tapping the desk before steepling beneath his chin.
“Percy’s recovery poses a problem,” he said finally.
“Should he regain his wits fully, suspicion may yet fall upon you, but with him on the mend, I can’t suggest another poisoning.
It would draw too much attention. No, what we need is distance from this incident.
” He paused, then added more carefully, “And there is another concern. If we are to face future threats together, you should be able to speak freely when strategy demands it.”
“Naught can be done about it,” I sighed.
Nicolas stood and began idly pacing around the room. “Magic has been outlawed in Gallae for centuries, but Hadria follows a different custom. There are sorcerers within their court, bound by strict codes. Because of this, their state boasts some of the finest healers in the world.”
I parted my lips. “If that’s true, would the whole world not travel to Hadria for healing?”
“The world has turned against magic, and they are right to do so. Even if the Hadrian sorcerers follow those laws, their tolerance remains a tremendous risk. My father elevated them to a high noble rank to bind their loyalty and stave off their lust for power, with any deviation from their code punishable by execution. They produce remarkable healers, but most would sooner let the flesh fall from their bones than seek aid from a witch. Only the truly desperate or foolish make that journey.”
“And which are we?” I asked.
“Neither.” Prince Nicolas grinned. “I have no fear of magic; else I would’ve had you killed. Are you of superstitious mind?”
I thought back to the wild fancies my mother recounted from the villagers, of broken mirrors and black cats, luck and fate, and an irrational fear of all things unknown. I shook my head. “I prefer to be pragmatic.”
“Magic is only a tool. In the wrong hands, it may harm, but so might a blade, and yet I do not fear the sword. So long as those who wield the means of death are my allies, I have no reason for fright. Dark magic cannot kill a Callan. Our blood is blessed against such curses, as was part of my father’s pact.
” He returned to the desk, rounding it so that he stood at my side with an extended hand.
“They’ll not harm you. Will you go to them and seek their aid? ”
I was slow to take his hand, but ultimately allowed the prince to help me up. “You would send me to Hadria to alleviate my curse?”
“I would accompany you,” he corrected. “And yes.”
The prospect of freedom from my curse should have filled me with joy, yet I found myself torn.
The curse was well-ingrained in my identity.
I didn’t know how to exist without its burden governing every aspect of life.
..and, if the prince’s feelings were entirely artificial, would I want to discover what lay beneath the comfortable lie of enchanted devotion?
“What if you no longer care for me, once it’s removed?” I asked, adding with a sigh, “If such a thing is truly possible.”
Prince Nicolas scoffed quietly, caressing my cheek. “I would keep you regardless. Only a fool would forsake someone as loyal and useful as you’ve proven yourself to be. Besides, I have observed enough royal marriages to know that love, while pleasant, is not essential for effective rule.”
Something cold settled in my chest at his choice of words. I knew that he loved me, if only as a by-product of the curse’s affliction, but perhaps the extent Prince Nicolas could come to love anybody only went so far as finding use in them.
“We’ll depart for Hadria within the week,” Prince Nicolas announced. “I’ll make arrangements within the court; they’ll believe us to be on an errand of diplomatic concern.”
I nodded and stood, though my heart hammered away. I had only days to steel myself for the possibility that I might return as nothing more than Alana Chastain of Finn’s Hollow, stripped of both curse and newfound status.
“Alana…”
His voice stopped me on my way to the door. The prince watched with an indecipherable look, his posture rigid and awkward, but there was enough weight to it that I stayed, awaiting his next words from a distance.
“What of you?” he asked slowly, as though the words pained him to speak. “I forced you to be here. Would you want to go home if things were different?”
He danced around the meaning of his words, but I understood.
“I don’t know that I can ever go back,” I answered with a distant smile. “My family has moved on without me. I could go to Finn’s Hollow, but I’ve grown fond of this place. I don’t want to start over again.”
“Will you grow fond of me?” The prince’s voice lowered. “I’ve made a mess of courting you.”
His vulnerability was difficult to ignore. He rounded his shoulders as he tucked blond locks behind his ear.
“Perhaps, Your Highness,” I said softly.
“Nicolas,” he corrected, voice breaking on his own name. He cleared his throat, flexing his fingers. “You called me by name just a moment ago. I permit you to continue, going forward.”
I bit my lip and nodded, then departed from his study, leaving us both to wonder where enchanted devotion ended and genuine feeling began.