4. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
I n the hallway, I paused to compose myself. I wiped away tear streaks with the heels of my palms, then used my sleeve to dab at my nose. The stench of fish guts and musk from the lewd district clung to my clothes, making me grimace. A dip in the ocean was definitely in order. Seaweed would smell like a rose compared to this.
Sainte remained in his room, silent as a tomb. Hopefully he was reflecting on the time when he left me in such a manner. Some pain on his part would be fitting. It would only be a fraction of what I endured over the past five years.
I descended the lone flight of stairs, anticipating the need to intervene on behalf of my friends. However, upon entering the dining room, I halted, taking in the unexpected scene. Lyana sat at a table across from a large man with tattoos decorating his arms, playing a game of knucklebones. Ethyan stood in the corner with two men, enthralled in a round of darts.
Lyana glanced up as I approached, a smile on her face as she shook the bones in a cup. She shrugged in response to the disgust souring my features.
“They’re not that awful, this lot,” she said.
“I thought we concluded these were the bad guys?” Amusement lightened my tone.
“Well, definitely not the good guys, I’d wager.”
I faced the man with the boyish charm from earlier, Urien, as Sainte called him. He sat at a table near the bend in the stairs, giving me a small smirk. He kicked the chair out across from him with his foot.
“Princess.”
The sarcasm in his tone wasn’t lost on me.
With one hand, he gestured for me to sit. With the other, he raised a mug of ale. He wouldn’t get sick from the spirits served here…
Probably.
I sighed with a glance about the room. Lyana tossed the bones onto the table, immersed in her match. She almost slammed heads with the giant sitting across from her as they peered down at the runes together. Ethyan still hadn’t noticed me—caught up in some drinking game. He chugged his spirits before throwing a dart. It landed smack in the middle with such force the target swiveled.
“Nothing better to do, I suppose,” I muttered, taking the seat he offered. I angled my back against the wall to keep a clear view of the room and door.
“To you, the Lost Princess, and your safe return home,” Urien said, then lifted his mug for a drink. His eyes studied me over the rim.
He might have boyish charms, but this was the type of man others took for granted, easily underestimated. I knew his kind well from picking pockets in the noblemen district.
“I’m not returning.”
“Staying lost, then?” he asked, setting his mug aside.
“I simply don’t need finding.” Gods, how I wished my friends would wrap up their games.
“More than a few people might argue that.”
My eyes rolled. “Sainte being one of them?”
“Aye,” he chuckled, “he would be the first to say it, and I don’t suppose he would be the last. Many would welcome your return.”
“Would you?” I asked, watching him carefully.
He leaned back and threw an arm over the chair beside him. “Do you think I would be here if I didn’t want you in Wynterborne?”
“I don’t know anything about you. You could be loyal to King Adrastus, sent to–”
“Prince Regent Adrastus. Please do not exaggerate his title.” His nose lifted in the slightest distaste for my brother’s name.
I shifted in my seat. “Not king? Was he not crowned after my father passed?”
Urien cocked his head, casting me a sidelong glance. His features narrowed with suspicion. “No. He is named regent. Did you not know?”
“I left when I was six,” I spat, arms crossed tight.
“He cannot ascend the throne as king—perhaps in name only for now. The official claim to that title hinges on those Borne of Wynter relinquishing their rights. And the whereabouts of a particular princess remain unknown, her body never recovered.”
My lips pressed into a tight frown. “Not that I’m interested, but what exactly is expected of me?”
“Challenges, sweets. You cannot slip in and take the crown from Adastrus, but you can confront him. He would falter in the face of the gods’ trials, and that’s what we’re counting on. ”
“So you expect me to undergo some challenge, survive , then rule a kingdom I know nothing about?”
“You think you know nothing? It’s in your blood,” he said. “We were in the dark. We had no hope—until two months ago. Sainte claimed he knew the whereabouts of the Lost Princess, the one capable of challenging Adastrus. Few believed him, and even fewer followed his lead.”
“Why now? If my safety was a concern before, why the sudden change?”
“You’re nearing your twenty-first birthday,” he said, shaking his head at my ignorance. “Adastrus cannot rise to the throne until all siblings come of age and forfeit their rights. If your survival is known, you can challenge him.”
“Then tell them I’m alive and leave it at that. Let him be regent. Surely he grasps the intricacies of ruling better than I do.”
The room stilled, and I bit my cheek to refrain from glancing at my friends for support.
“Choose your words carefully.” Urien’s voice lost all semblance of friendliness. “Prince Adastrus has no allies here, and you would be wise to remember that.”
“Sorry,” I huffed, staring at the tabletop.
“You’re our last hope, sweets. We only ask that you ride to challenge him. The gods will sort him out, but without your intervention, he will assume the throne on your birthday.”
“I don’t think you understand,” I murmured. “I was never meant to rule. I have no allegiance to Wynterborne. Most of my life was lived away from it. Do I strike you as leadership material?” I scoffed, throwing my arms out.
Covered in fish guts, blood, sweat, and grime, emitting an odor that rivaled a pigsty, I managed a rueful grin. My shirt hung in tatters, fluttering with each movement. My trousers barely reached mid-calf. One boot was held together with twine after the laces snapped.
His gaze tracked my body, as if taking in every flaw. “Appearances are not everything,” he said. “It’s what is inside that makes the difference.”
“I’m a street rat. I steal and pilfer to survive. That’s the sort of moral compass people need.” I rolled my eyes, dropping my hands into my lap.
“You carry blades, yet you didn’t draw on the captain.”
I glanced down at my trousers and boots, checking that my blades were safely concealed out of sight where they belonged. A frown creased my brow as I wondered how he knew I carried them.
“Ethyan’s a good shot.”
Truthfully, I had no idea they were up there until the last moment. I hadn’t drawn my blade on Sainte because I trusted him.
Trusted him.
Ugh .
“I understand your hesitation,” he said, examining his oddly clean nails. “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do.”
“Right. I’m done here.” I lurched to my feet. “Lyana, Ethyan, I’m headed out. I’ll meet up later.”
“Wait, El–”
Ignoring Lyana’s call, I stalked toward the door. I wouldn’t hear anymore of this responsibility dung. I owed them nothing, not these soldiers, and not Wynterborne.
“Captain.”
I glanced back to see Sainte step into the dining hall. His cool eyes caught mine, laced with anger and hurt.
It served him right.
My shoulder rammed into the door, shoving it open with all my might. As I stepped into the early evening, a string of curses flew past my lips to soften the pressure building in my chest.
There was still plenty of time to relieve some scum of their coin. Whistling, I strolled through the cooling air, determined not to dwell on someone else’s problems.
I grunted as I hauled myself up the bell tower. Ethyan could do it without breaking a sweat, but my strength didn’t compare. I considered myself more delicate and nimble, more suited for picking pockets rather than scaling towers.
I had a good meal too, courtesy of a lovely chap sleeping on the roadside. When he woke, he’d find a stone where his coin had been. Such was the way of life when one slept on the street in a drunken stupor.
The meat pie sitting in my stomach probably added to my difficulties climbing the tower.
With a huff, I hoisted myself over the ledge, grateful for the sight of a flickering candle casting shadows across our hideout. Lyana sat near it, threading beads onto a strand of her hair. Ethyan lay on his mat, his breathing steady and quiet with sleep, though, knowing him, that peaceful silence wouldn’t last long.
“A good night?” she asked without looking up. She stuck her tongue out in concentration as she secured another bead, tying it off.
“Not too bad. Enough for a meat pie,” I said, tossing her two coins.
“Oh, we ate with the soldiers.”
My positive spirit sank like an anchor.
“Make some new friends?” I snatched my coins back and settled next to her on our mattress .
“Oh, my gods and goddesses! And you complained about my stink this morn!” She pinched her nose and glared at my tattered shirt.
I chuckled as she shoved me off the bed, then rolled onto my belly. My ribs pressed against the wooden planks as I rested my chin on my hands, watching her work.
“Honestly, they’re not that bad,” she said. “There were a few reserved ones. I didn’t catch their names. But Ethyan had a grand time drinking with Linus and Otto. The two play a fair game of darts, though perhaps not as good as my brother. And Grimm was a joy to play.”
“Did you take all his coin?”
“He earned half it back.”
“Playing you?” I gasped in feigned shock.
“Aye, surprising, isn't it?” She smirked, squinting to thread a small green bead. “I might’ve let him win a bit.”
“No…” I whispered, horrified. Lyana only allowed men she favored to best her.
“He’s a good chap. Wish we could have gotten on a little more.”
“They’re leaving?”
“Aye, first thing in the morn.”
I held my breath, wondering why that made me so anxious. I should’ve been happy to be rid of them. Sainte’s departure was a relief. After all this time, I was only a tool to him, a means to an end. I should have let it go when he abandoned me on the street that night, but no. I had to get my hopes up, believing he actually cared about me, only to have him crush me again.
Nothing would remain of my heart when he left.
At least it felt that way.
“Oi, El.” Lyana’s words pulled my attention from the floorboards. “Come here, stinky.”
I sniffed, then attempted a smile as I climbed into bed beside her.
She blew out the candle and wrapped her arms around me. “Did you two fight?” she whispered.
“Aye.” A tear slipped from the corner of my eye. Here, hidden from view, my tears went unnoticed. No one would judge my vulnerability.
“Tell me.”
We lay there, deep into the night as I relayed, yet again, how Sainte had been both my savior and my downfall. My rescue and my end. She murmured and agreed at all the right moments, brushing my hair from my face without a word of complaint about my stench.
Which I sincerely appreciated.