26. Fen #2
She sniffed. “Why are you always helping me?”
I could give her the strategic answer. That keeping competitors alive longer made the race more interesting. That it benefited the crown to show mercy. Or I could give her the practical answer. That she’d survive longer with the right supplies.
“Because,” I said slowly, “I have learned, recently and against my will, that I’m not whole. Not the way I thought I was.”
Her swallow took a long time going down.
“There are parts of me I only discovered existed the moment I understood they could be taken,” I said. “I don’t know what all this means, but I know I can’t watch something happen to you.”
My hands kept moving, checking the weight distribution in the pack, a detail I’d learned from trainers who’d prepared me for scenarios where supply lines failed, and you had to live on what you carried.
This was insane. I was the crown prince, and I was stealing food from my own kitchens to help a woman who made it clear I was part of her oppression.
Because I was. Or I had been. I actually wasn’t sure what I was any longer except needy in a way I’d never been before.
I added dried fruit.
“You have a larger bag,” I said. “With clothing. Food. A good-sized tin of burn salve.”
Her frown deepened. “You gave that to me, didn’t you?”
“You misheard me,” I said.
Her lips curled up at one corner before she smoothed them. “Right. I didn’t hear you tell me you were carrying around a second tin of salve, which implies you gave me the first.”
“Put this sack in your bag, near the top so your food doesn’t get crushed.”
“I will.”
My hands trembled as I gathered more things for her pack. The tremor traveled up my forearms, a betrayal written in muscle and bone.
I willed them steady. They didn’t obey.
A lifetime of training. Weapons drills where I’d held a blade motionless for an hour.
Diplomatic dinners where I’d lifted wine glasses without a ripple.
Control was the foundation of everything I’d been built on.
And I was crumbling in a kitchen at midnight while a woman I couldn’t stop thinking about watched it happen.
“How long has Aristus been sick?” she asked softly.
The question gouged through my belly. I set down a packet of nuts before I dropped it.
“Months.” The admission scraped out. “The healers all say—” I couldn’t speak the rest.
She didn’t offer platitudes or tell me everything would be fine, and I appreciated that. She nodded, and I sensed she understood what it felt like to watch someone you love slip away while you stood helpless.
We were both racing to save someone we’d already lost.
I hefted the pack, judging the weight before handing it to her.
She reached for it.
Our fingers connected. The contact barely registered, but I felt it everywhere, a jolt traveling up my arm and lodging in my chest.
Her pupils dilated, and her breath caught. She took the pack and stepped back, breaking the contact.
“Tomorrow…” I said.
“We race.”
Dread flickered through me.
“Don’t die,” I said.
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
A ghost of a smile tried to form on my face. “Smart.”
I turned and strode toward the door, pausing, not looking back. “I’ll escort you to your room.”
“Why?”
“You will allow me to do this,” I ground out.
“Alright.”
Still favoring her foot, she walked past me and out of the kitchen. I shadowed her up the stairs and down the hall. She stopped outside the door, turning back to face me.
“Thank you for helping me with my foot,” she said. “And for…” She gestured vaguely toward the gardens.
My gaze found hers. “You don’t need to—”
“I do. You killed for me. Twice. And I don’t…” She swallowed. “I don’t know why.”
“I don’t either.” My voice had dropped away to nothing. “But I’d do it again.”
“I would’ve tried to save you too,” she said. “If I could have.”
My breath caught.
It must’ve cost her a lot to admit it.
“Good luck with the race,” she said, turning to the door.
She opened it and stepped inside.
I didn’t leave until the lock had clicked and I could trust she was safe.
Then I strode to the guard station. The woman at the desk sprang to her feet when I arrived, giving me a quick bow.
“I want someone assigned to the commons rooms now,” I barked. “Rotating schedules so someone is always there.”
“Are you worried they’ll do something they shouldn’t, Sire?” she asked.
“I want them safe.”
Her eyes widened. “Safe,” she repeated softly. “I’ll see to it right away.”
“Good.” I pivoted on my heel and stepped back out into the hall.
My boots echoed on stone, too loud in the silence. Or maybe my heartbeat was too loud. I couldn’t tell anymore.
I’d packed supplies for a commons woman like I was her squire. Stood close enough to smell stone and wild places on her skin. Almost kissed her.
I stopped walking.
I ached to kiss her.
My hand found the wall, the stone cold enough to ground me but not cold enough to erase the memory of her hand pressed against my chest.
She saw past the crown prince to the terrified man underneath. I’d spent my entire life making sure no one saw that man. In one midnight kitchen visit, she’d stripped away every defense I had.
And instead of feeling exposed, I felt lighter.
I left the fortress and strode up the winding path to the pompous castle that was anything but home.
Terrant stood at the foot of the stairs, dressed, unsurprised to see me outside my rooms. He would’ve checked.
“You’re awake late, Your Highness,” he said in a dry tone.
“Put it in your morning report.” I passed him, taking the steps two at a time.
Inside my rooms, I stripped and lay on my bed, silk sheets tangling around my legs. Dawn was hours away, but I could already hear the castle waking. The machinery of an empire grinding forward.
My tutors would be horrified about what I’d done. My mother would call my actions a lapse in judgment. They’d both be right.
Except I’d been having these “lapses” for months now. The mine inspection. Food redistribution I’d personally signed off on last quarter. The healer I’d quietly funded to work in the lower wards while telling myself I’d done the last for disease containment.
And this week, a transfer order for a scribe named Dorresk, stamped with a seal no mine foreman would dare question, traceable to no one, two packed bags and a day’s head start included.
I’d been seeing the cracks in the system, and I’d been carefully, methodically, patching them where I could without anyone noticing. Telling myself it meant nothing.
A floating orb in my bathing chamber went dark. The sprite inside stopped moving.
I should sleep. Morning would come whether I was ready or not.
But I kept seeing the tiny hands clutching the inner bars. The sprite’s mouth opening in a scream no one cared to hear. The light dying the same way Aristus’s eyes dulled when his wing trembled.
I threw the covers back and padded across the room, the stone cold beneath my feet.
The orb floated at shoulder height. The sprite had curled up on the floor inside.
Dead things didn’t need cages.
I cupped the sphere and lifted it up. The delicate bars had been woven through with spellwork that kept the light steady even as the creature burned itself out. Beautiful craftsmanship. An elegant design.
A perfect prison.
I carried it to the window. The latch opened easily and cool air hit my face, carrying the scent of pine.
I held the orb up to the moonlight. The sprite’s wings were translucent, shot through with veins that had gone dark. Its eyes were closed. It might already be dead.
Like Aristus. Like every broken thing in this cursed kingdom. Like whoever the commons woman raced for.
Eradin. Her name was Eradin.
She’d walked through fire for a dragon that wasn’t hers. She’d finished two trials for the chance to enter the Scorching when the elite only had to sign up to gain entry.
She tried even when the odds said it was hopeless.
I slammed the orb on the window ledge, splitting the outer shell.
The sprite tumbled into my palm. Its right wing twitched. I set it on the window ledge and stepped back.
Both wings unfurled, catching moonlight. The sprite lifted into the air. It hovered, level with my face, its eyes dark, luminous, and alive.
With a blink, it shot into the night.
I watched until it disappeared.
I’d been told all my life that the cages were necessary. Creatures needed to be controlled or they’d destroy everything. The system worked because it kept chaos at bay. But I’d just watched something caged its entire life choose the dark unknown over the beautiful prison.
And I understood, for the first time, why Eradin looked at me with pity under her anger. She could see the bars around me, the ones I’d been wearing so long I’d stopped noticing the weight.
She pitied me for not trying to break free.
I walked back to my bed and lay down on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow at dawn, I’d compete in the Scorching the way I’d been trained.
Unless I didn’t.