Chapter 15
I spend a week playing the role of subservient common girl, ferrying myself to and from the prince’s chambers every few nights and enduring degrading comments from whatever guards I pass that evening. I grind my teeth together and avert my eyes. I do my part painfully. And, as the prince said, the king does not call for me again. But it is not enough. I need my freedom back.
At night, I lay awake and wonder. The prince, on the night he caught me outside my window, took us back through a secret tunnel built into the walls. I chew the inside of my cheek, staring at the ceiling. The window in my bedchamber has proven an ineffective way of getting outside these walls. But the tunnel is hidden and seemingly even the guards are unaware of it. If I can use it to leave the castle, I can do what I originally intended—scale the overgrown tree down to Mossgarde .
The tunnel was joined to the portrait outside the prince’s chambers, so I waited until the next time I was due to stay there. I try to keep my nerves contained, but the prince must sense something.
“Miss Shivani,” he says from his armchair, looking up from a book. He always maintains a respectful distance and usually does not speak much. The sound of his voice startles me.
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“Are you well?”
I press my lips together and nod. He cocks an eyebrow but says nothing more, turning back to his book.
After turning in for the night, I quietly change into the stash of clothes I had taken some days earlier. Comfortable leggings and a loose cotton shirt with flat-bottomed boots. I wait patiently until the moon is high in the sky, and I am certain the prince is asleep.
With effort, I steady the tremor in my hands and softly open my door. The prince’s room is quiet except for the gentle crackle of the hearth. Through the orange glow, I see the silhouette of the prince as he lays in his bed. His back is to me, the covers drawn up over his shoulders. I watch him for a moment to be sure he is sleeping. He does not move, and I can hear soft snoring under the sound of the fire. I exhale slowly, quietly, and steal out of my room.
My boots are heavy, so I move with care, planting each step carefully and freezing at the slightest creak of the floor. When I reach his door, my heart is thunderous, but the prince remains asleep and unaware. Silently, I leave.
The portrait is mere metres away so, with a quick glance down the hall to check I am alone, I pull it open to reveal the passageway. I step inside quickly and close the door behind me, plunging me in near darkness.
I take a moment to allow my eyes to adjust. There are infrequent torches on the walls, burning low, and all I can hear is the sound of my own ragged breathing. I breathe deep, despite the dampness in the air, before making my way through the passageway. I take slow, shaky steps, my nerves fraught. At any moment, I expect the prince to burst into the passageway behind me, ready to drag me back into my cage. Part of me does not believe that is true, but the other part does not want to trust the son of my captor.
I push the thoughts away. They are not helpful or improving my mood. The damp presses in around me, chilling my bones, and I curse myself for not bringing a thicker jacket. No matter , I think. Mossgarde will be plenty warm, even at night, when I make it back there.
I reach the end of the tunnel and press my hands against the door. I know it is disguised on the other side but still, I am reluctant to open it. Despite the gloom, I feel safer in the tunnel, knowing I am somewhere the guards do not know about. But I have no choice. To turn back is to resign myself to the king and his chopping block. Steeling myself, I push the door open.
“What in Saint’s name?”
I stifle a cry at the sudden voice, locking eyes with three guards. They stare at me, eyes wide and swords half-raised, a few feet outside the passageway door. They must have been patrolling the area right as I opened the tunnel.
No.
Without thinking, I bolt. Bursting between them, I make it several feet before I am caught. Rough hands yank me back and throw me into the passageway. I land hard on my side, something snapping painfully against the rock. I shriek, clutching my ribs, and desperately scramble back.
“Don’t let her escape!” one of them yells. I try to stand, but the pain is blinding. A guard hauls me up, his fingers dipping into the flesh of my upper arm.
“What the fuck is this?” he says, looking around the passageway.
“Get her to the king,” another one pipes up.
“No,” I gasp, but they ignore me. My face contorts as a wave of agony courses through me, and I struggle to breathe.
“Shut it.”
“Not…not the king,” I insist, wheezing. “Take me back…to the prince.”
“I said shut it. ”
My ophid thrums with indignation, and I curl my lip at him. A vile insult rises at the back of my throat.
“That is enough.”
The guards turn to look behind me but I do not need to look to know who spoke. They exchange glances before straightening, and the guard who grabbed me releases my arm. I curl into a painful ball, clutching my side.
“She was attempting—”
“I know what she was attempting,” the prince interrupts. His voice could cut glass. Saints, not only have I been caught, but I have also made an enemy of one of my only allies.
The guards take a step back as the prince’s arms slide underneath my knees and back. With little effort, he picks me up from the floor of the passageway. I try to look up at his face but spots explode in my vision.
“I will deal with her. Return to your stations at once.”
“But—”
“ At once .”
The guards fall silent as the prince turns back into the passageway and follows the tunnel back to his chambers. I want to say something—an apology, a thank you, anything—but every breath I draw is like broken glass in my chest. Instead, I wheeze painfully and clutch the thin fabric of his nightshirt.
When we reach his chambers, the prince lays me gently on his bed. I try to draw in a slow breath, but I’m stifled by the pain in my side. Tears start to fall.
“I will need to see the wound,” he says. His voice is gentle, a far cry from the sharpness before. “May I?”
He gestures at my shirt, his face plain except for the telltale muscle in his jaw. After a moment’s hesitation, I give a small nod and take my hand away from my side.
The prince delicately peels my shirt up, revealing one side of my torso. He is careful not to expose any more of me than he needs to, which I should not be grateful for but am. I look down. Black and red blooms across my ribs, where my skin is bruised. The prince inhales sharply, his brow puckered.
“My apologies,” he says before gently pressing on the bruise. White-hot pain burns like fire in my torso. I squeeze my teeth together to keep from crying out.
“The bone,” he says, pulling back. “I believe it is broken. It is painful indeed, but it will heal by itself.”
“How…long?” I gasp, blinking away tears.
“A few weeks, I would think.”
I groan and close my eyes. I have precious little time already, and now, I will have even less.
The prince pulls my shirt back down, covering me again, before turning to his nightstand. I watch him as he searches for the lavender tonic.
“My…how the…tables turn…” I wheeze in between short breaths. The prince frowns, uncorking the bottle.
“This is no time for joking,” he says firmly. “You could have—”
He cuts himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. Silence falls over us.
“I am sorry,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
“No.” He waves a hand. “I cannot and will not be angry at you for attempting to leave. Do not be sorry.”
The prince takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and gently tips the lavender topic past my lips. It is sickly sweet, but the effects are immediate—the sharp edge of pain in my ribs dulls to an ache. I relax into the bed.
“I knew what you were planning to do,” the prince confesses. “I followed you.”
Through the haze of the lavender tonic, I squint at him.
“Why did you not stop me?” I ask. My voice is slightly slurred, my tongue heavy in my mouth.
“Why would I? You deserve to leave this place. All of you have.” The jaw in his muscle flutters again. “I just wanted to make sure you left safely.”
My eyelids droop as a deep sleep beckons me. The worries and fears plaguing me seem so distant now. Absently, I reach for the prince’s hand. I feel his fingers interwoven with mine, warm and solid.
He says something, but I am already falling into the depths of a dreamless sleep.