Chapter 11
I wake to the sun filtering through an open window and the birds singing sweetly to each other outside. I groggily open my eyes, my head foggy with sleep. My cheek presses against a warm pillow. A blanket is drawn high up to my neck. I am in a warm cocoon of my own making. But the room is not familiar.
I bolt upright. I blink several times and rub the sleep away. Scanning the room, I see it is mostly bare except for a solitary wardrobe and the bed I am lying on. In fragments, the night before returns to me. I am in the room adjacent to the prince’s chambers. My empty teacup and a mound of last night’s clothes remain untouched on the floor. The lock is secure. I sink back against the pillows with a sigh.
I wonder if the prince truly meant what he said last night or if it was a cruel way to drag out my punishment. Did he really intend to keep such a secret from his father? I think of my own father and the secrets I keep from him. Sometimes to make my life easier but, more often, because I do not trust him with even an ounce of information.
Slowly, I creep out of bed and press my ear to the door. There is silence on the other side, except for the tell-tale crackle of the hearth. I stand there a moment, chewing the inside of my cheek, before I take a breath and turn the handle.
“Good morrow, Miss Shivani,” the prince greets me from one of the large sofas in front of the hearth. He closes his book and places it on a side table.
He is not wearing his formal attire, instead wearing a loose white shirt and slim black trousers. The intimacy of seeing him in clothes he casually wears when no one else is around makes an unfamiliar heat crawl up my neck. My mind forces me to take note of his chestnut hair, tousled from sleep. I clear my throat awkwardly.
“Good morrow, Your Highness,” I reply with a small curtsy. I linger in the doorway, hesitant.
“Please, join me for breakfast.” He gestures at the empty seats. I oblige and walk stiffly over before perching on the edge of a plush armchair.
The table in front of the hearth is full of breakfast foods—fresh bread, unsalted butter, a cluster of pond apples and blue grapes. I politely pluck a single grape.
“Are you rested?” he asks, taking a sip of coffee. The aroma is strong but pleasant. I inhale deeply. He must notice my expression because he leans forward to pour me a cup.
“I am, Your Highness,” I reply truthfully. The prince smiles, and his eyes meet mine. For the first time, I notice the colour of them. A clear grey, the colour of a stormy sky. Something thrums between us, and I catch my breath.
“Miss Shivani…” he says. His voice is low, and his eyes do not leave mine. He opens his mouth to continue but there is a knock at the door.
Our eye contact breaks, and the connection between us is severed. I blink, as if waking from a daydream. How odd.
“Come in,” the prince calls. He sits back and upright as his royal posture returns. A guard steps in and bows briefly to the prince.
“The king requests Miss Shivani’s presence for dinner this evening,” he tells us. The prince’s face is a mask. Except for the muscle bouncing at his jaw, which I am quickly coming to realise is his tell.
“Miss Shivani belongs to me,” he grinds out. It is a sentence which would have angered me before but now it is a part of our plan. I nod agreeably.
“The king requests her presence,” the guard repeats firmly. When the prince does not reply, he inclines his head and leaves.
I sit back heavily against the chair.
“What are we to do?”
The prince leans forward, his elbows propped on his knees, and runs his hands through his hair. I try to ignore the way it sticks up and begs for me to reach across and smooth it out for him. Saints, what has come over me? I quickly shoo the intrusive thought away.
“My apologies,” he sighs. “I do not believe my father will bring you to harm. But he enjoys showing his power. He will likely taunt you and…other such things. But he will not touch you.”
I nod slowly and think of Morraine.
“This has happened before.”
“Not often, but yes. He will want to see you cowed himself, especially if I have snatched you away from him at the last moment.”
The prince’s face is smoothed into something neutral, verging on disdain. The way he speaks turns my stomach. I hope his contempt is for the king, not me.
“Very well.” I stand, taking a fortifying breath. “I will survive through one dinner.”
The prince stands as well, and we look at each other for a moment.
“Miss Shivani—”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Your Highness,” I cut him off, curtsying. The prince may be my ally for now, but I would be a fool to put all my trust in one man. At any moment, he could reveal his true intentions. I do my best to ignore the way he looks at me. “I will return three nights a week, as per our agreement. I hope this is acceptable.”
The prince closes his mouth and gives a curt nod.
“It is acceptable.”
“My thanks.” I hurry out of his chambers, feeling his eyes on me but not looking back.
???
I spend the day with Inez in my chambers, playing cards and drinking tea. We sit at the window and bask in the sun. I am unused to so much sunlight on my skin from the thick canopy of trees over Mossgarde. But when I turn my face to the warmth, so close to how myau’manafeels, it comforts me.
When I tell Inez I did not see the king last night, her eyes widen and she presses a hand to her chest in relief. I explain the prince came for me instead.
“Oh,” she replies, blinking. “The prince requested you?”
“Yes,” I lie, omitting the incident of my attempted escape.
“I did not receive a note to deliver,” she muses and my heart skips.
“Um, yes, he came for me personally. ”
I turn away to stop my face from betraying me, and thankfully, Inez does not probe any further.
“Well, at least you avoided the king,” she continues after taking a sip of her tea. “Hopefully, this storm passes soon.”
She glances up, and her eyebrows furrow at the look on my face.
“What is it?”
“The king has requested me for dinner this evening.”
Inez purses her lips and plays another card.
“Hm. He is likely displeased the prince claimed you at the last moment.”
“What do you think he will do?” I ask. My pulse quickens despite Inez’s casual tone. The prince seemed so sure the king would not come near me if he believed I was ‘marked’ by another man. I am not so sure.
“Nothing, miss,” Inez replies with a reassuring smile. I chew at my bottom lip, unconvinced, and place a card on top of hers. “I would not like to speak out of turn of course—”
“I think we have both said enough traitorous things this morning alone.”
“Still. My guess is he is using you to bait the prince into a reaction. He enjoys torturing the boy.”
Inez tuts and shakes her head. With only the two of us in the room, she has become much freer with her thoughts, much to my delight.
“My advice, miss, is to keep your head down and not rise to the king’s antagonising,” she continues. “He thrives off the reaction he can pull from others. It is his favourite pastime. To act like a cat playing with its food.”
I contemplate this quietly and draw a card from the deck.
???
When the sun starts to lower, Inez ushers me into the washroom so she can bathe and dress me. She works efficiently—after an hour, I am clean, creamed, and garbed in a deep red dress which skims the floor.
This gown is different from the rest. It is deceptively comfortable. There are tight, stretchy trousers hugging my legs under the skirt. Instead of the usual rigid corset bones, it is lined with a strange material mimicking the restrictive look but instead moves flexibly with my body. It lacks the long sleeves of the other gowns. Instead, the neckline reaches up high, leaving my shoulders bare. Jewels speckle the fabric in a scale-like pattern, shimmering in the light. I look at myself in the floor-length mirror, slowly turning.
“You do look beautiful,” Inez compliments. She adjusts the pins holding up my hair. “This was one of the queen’s favourite dresses. ”
“She had good taste.” I smooth my hand over the garnet bodice. It is hard on the outside despite being soft on the inside.
“That she did.” Inez moves to begin fussing over the few loose dark curls draped down the sides of my face. “She made it herself, in fact. Oh, a master seamstress she was. She used to say it was the dress she donned for war.”
“War with whom?”
Inez looks at me pointedly in the mirror.
“Her husband, miss.”
I slide my gaze back to the dress, viewing it in a new light. I feel the skirt and notice several pockets within the bunched fabric. They are big enough to hold knives. I wonder what assaults the hard bodice can withstand while protecting the wearer. The queen made this with a purpose.
“What was she like?” I enquire.
“Well…” Inez frowns, hesitation in her voice. “She—”
“The king is ready for you,” a guard calls through the chamber door, followed by a loud thump against the wood. Inez takes a step back from me.
“You are ready, miss.” She looks at me, admiring her handwork. “As you ever will be, anyway.”
“Thank you, Inez.” I turn to hug her fiercely. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze.
“Oh!” she gasps before laughing and squeezing me back. “You are most welcome, miss.
“Now!” The guard thumps harder. Inez jumps off me before spinning me around to face the door.
“Time for you to be off. Good luck.”
I square my shoulders and, for the first time in my life, I pray to the Saints.