Chapter 22
Month Four
I nez and I share our supper in the art room, bundled under blankets against the chill.
She brings us a spread of roasted rosemary sparrow, garlic potatoes, and a bowl of carrots and watercress cooked in butter. Vanya has sent up extra portions of saffron spiced cookies, as per my recipe, alongside a note signed by the kitchen staff. I place the note delicately next to my bed, treasuring it, and smell the warm scent of the cookies. I ignore the churning nostalgia and sadness it brings, knowing my Aunt is not the one making them with me.
Inez and I sit in front of the glass wall, looking out over the treetops as the sun dips below the horizon. The sky is a vibrant mixture of pink and orange, spread like watercolour. We eat in silence, content with watching the world outside .
“This would make a beautiful painting,” Inez comments before biting into a crispy potato.
“It would,” I agree. “I am hoping to commit it to memory so I may paint it tomorrow.”
She looks over at the various canvasses sitting against the wall, each one a window into another world.
“I think you would fetch a pretty penny for those, miss.” She nods at them.
“Really?” I had never considered selling them—I painted for an escape and for peace more than anything. “I do not know if they are grand enough for that.”
“Oh, I think they are. They would fit right in on the walls here in this castle. I cannot imagine a grander place.”
I look sideways at her, then, curious.
“Have you ever wanted to see anywhere else other than this castle?” I ask, schooling my features and keeping my tone light.
Inez pauses, a forkful of sparrow halfway to her mouth before she replies, “No, I do not know anywhere else. I do not know what I would do.” She puts her fork down and sighs. “My brother was always the adventurous one,” she says, her eyes unfocused. I wait for her to elaborate, but she says nothing, lost in thought.
“Did he live here with you?” I ask, taking note of the past tense she used and treading carefully.
“Yes, our whole family lived here. We have for…well, as far back as my grandmother, at least. Although, back in those days, servants were not required to stay in the castle and could leave for their own homes at the end of their working day,” she replies. “Anyway, now it is just me left. Apart from my mother, but she was allowed out of the castle for her retirement. I like to imagine she is relaxing in a sweet little cottage somewhere.”
Inez smiles sadly but it slips off her face, replaced with a forlorn look.
“He was a guard here, although he always had finer dreams,” she says, her voice small. “My brother, I mean. Well, a guard in training. He was ten-and-seven when…when he was supposed to…” Inez stammers to a halt, her breathing ragged. Her eyes are shiny with tears, and her hands shake. I immediately put my plate on the floor and reached across for her, grabbing her hand with both of mine.
“Eight years ago,” she says hoarsely. “When the king took his life from him.”
Inez’s tears flow freely. I move to kneel in front of her and draw her towards me in a tight embrace.
“I am so sorry, Inez,” I whisper to her as she sobs into my shoulder. “I am so sorry.”
“Lucian,” she cries. “His name was Lucian.”
We stay that way, hugging and rocking while she cries his name again and again.
?? ?
Later, when the moon in high in the air and the castle falls silent, I toss and turn in my bed, unable to sleep.
Inez’s story haunts me, and a great sorrow wells in my chest when I think of what she went through. Each time I close my eyes, I see her face as she recalls her brother’s death. No— murder . I cannot stand it.
Without thinking, I throw the covers back and get out of bed. Slowly, I creep across my chambers and open the door, peeking through the gap. The hall is empty and quiet.
I sneak out and find the secret passageway leading to the prince’s chambers. It is empty of servants, so I hurriedly make my way through it before I can stop myself. On the other side, a guard lingers in the halls, but his back is turned. Silently, I creep out from behind the secret door and cross the few meters to the prince’s chambers. His door is unlocked, so I quickly open it and slip inside before I am spotted.
“Shivani?” The prince sits on his sofa in front of the hearth, reading. He stands up as soon as he sees me. “What are you doing here?”
“My apologies, Your Highness,” I puff, out of breath from hurrying and from nearly being caught.
The prince glances down my body before quickly averting his eyes. It is only then I realise I have not changed into my proper clothes, and I am still in my flimsy nightgown.
“Shit!” I gasp. “Oh, Saints, my apologies, I-I do not know what has come over me.”
I whip my head around, looking for something to cover myself with. The prince picks up a heavy blanket from his bed and crosses the room to me. Keeping his eyes on my face, he wraps it around my shoulders until I am covered from the neck down. Shame burns my cheeks.
“I will leave, m-my apologies.” I make to turn around but he still has a grip on the blanket, holding it across my chest.
“Shivani,” he says, his voice serious. “What has happened?”
I look up at him, his eyes wide and full of concern, and I want to tell him but resist.
“It is not my story to tell, Your Highness.” I shake my head. “It…it has just shaken me, that is all.”
The prince studies my face, lips drawn into a thin line.
“Very well,” he says, a deep line between his eyebrows. “But you do not need to leave if you do not want to. You are always welcome here.”
I linger hesitantly. The prince’s room is warm and familiar compared to my cold, lonely bedchambers.
“I would like to stay, please,” I say, and he inclines his head .
We sit on opposite sides of the sofa as he keeps a respectable distance, although all I crave is his touch.
“What…were you reading before I interrupted?” I gesture at the book in his lap in an attempt to distract myself.
The prince holds it up, showing the cover. The room is deep in gloom except for the glow of the fire, but I recognise the looping letters and rambling title.
“Witchcraft?” I raise my eyebrows.
“Indeed.”
He gently places a bookmark between the pages before closing the book. I find myself hypnotised by his hands, large and strong but handling a book so delicately
“I realised my knowledge of witches and au’mana is quite poor,” he continues. I blink away my thoughts and listen. “Seeing as you yourself are a witch, I thought it wise to investigate further.”
“Why is that?” I ask.
He shoots me a confused look, one brow raised.
“To know more about you.” He speaks as though to say ‘of course’. A rush of affection flows through me as my cheeks warm. Between the heat of the fire and the prince’s words, I find my whole body growing warmer, in fact.
“And have you found anything interesting?” I wring my fingers together to stop myself from grabbing and hugging him. He straightens, an excited smile on his lips, and sits an inch closer to me on the sofa.
“Much indeed! I have learned your magic flows from an organ next to your spine. An…” He opens the book and scans the page, finding the word he was looking for. “ … Ophid, is that correct?”
“It is.” I give him a small round of applause and he beams. “Although mine has been…dormant, I suppose, for quite some time.” An ache throbs in my chest, and I resist the urge to reach out to my au’mana again, knowing it will only disappoint me. The prince blinks.
“Dormant?”
“Yes.” Bitterness tinges my voice. I run my tongue across my teeth. “Ever since I was brought here. I thought it might have been drugs at first. I am not so sure anymore. The only thing I am sure of is I cannot use my magic. And I do not know why.”
“I am sorry,” the prince says softly, reaching across to lay his hand on top of mine. I inhale deeply and recall the way he hugged me that day in the gardens.
“Your Highness?” I enquire tentatively. “Would you…would you hold me?”
I feel foolish as soon as the words leave my mouth, but the prince only smiles kindly and opens his arms. I shuffle over, still wrapped in my blanket, and curl up next to him. He rests his arms on me, pulling me even closer, and lays his cheek on the top of my head.
“I would do whatever you asked of me, Shivani,” he whispers as I sink into him. Each muscle I had not realised was tense begin to relax, and I close my eyes. Safety. Comfort.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” I breathe as my eyelids become heavy.
“My name is Theo,” he replies in a soft, low voice.
Theo, I think, before tipping past the precipice of sleep and drifting off into a dragon-filled slumber.
???
I dream of my father, the sound of his heavy breathing when he returns from the public house. I brace myself for his barbed words, but instead, two huge wings sprout from his back. He towers over me as I curl into a ball, pretending to sleep to avoid his wrath. I dream of the snow hare, heart thumping, muscles burning, terror-ridden.
I awake with a start. My eyes shoot open, and I blink quickly, trying to remember where I am. The orange glow of an early sunrise pours through the window. I realise I am still on the sofa, half-lying against the prince. He has slumped onto the arm of the sofa and is softly snoring, his arm propped under his head. I am afraid to move in case I wake him and our embrace is over.
My head is cosy against his chest. His muscle is firm under my cheek, and my pulse stutters. I close my eyes and try to memorise this moment, the scent of him so close to me, the warmth I can feel from his arm around me, the security and safety of being curled up next to him.
“Good morrow,” he says, and I jump out of my skin.
“G-Good morrow, Your Highness,” I stammer, wondering when he had woken up.
“Theo,” he reminds me, and I can hear the smile in his words. His voice is slightly different, thicker and slower. I realise, with a thrill, that it is his morning voice. It is an intimate thing to hear someone when they first awaken and have not put on their mask for the day.
“Theo,” I repeat, feeling how his name rolls in my mouth. To address a man of nobility by his given name, particularly so when they are royalty, is generally reserved only for close family and spouses. It is widely accepted to be a private acknowledgement. I wonder what it means that he has given it to me—the obvious answer does not seem likely.
Neither of us moves from our positions, warm and comfortable but scandalously close. His hand trails delicately across my upper arm while we doze. His fingers barely brush me, but it feels like a deliberate movement, and that is enough to cause an eruption of goosebumps along my neck. We are lying in a position you would expect from a married couple in the privacy of their own home, but not two people who are…merely friends.
The thought sours me, and I shift my position away from him until I am sitting upright. The prince— Theo —looks at me quizzically.
“My apologies, Shivani,” he says, pushing himself to an upright position as well. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“No, it is not that, it…” I pull the blanket tighter around me. “We should not have been so close, like that, when you only view me as your friend.”
Theo stares at me.
“It is not right,” I press on. “You should…reserve such things for someone you choose to court.”
“Shivani.” He furrows his eyebrows. “I am courting you .”
My heart leaps into my mouth. My stomach falls through the sofa. My brain stutters to a halt.
“Huh?” I exclaim stupidly. Theo shakes his head, laughing.
“I thought you knew?” He spreads his hands and shrugs. “Did you truly think we have spent the last few months as friends only? ”
“I…well…yes!” I splutter, springing to my feet. My blanket slips, and I fumble to pull it back up. Theo, still laughing, stands up to help me. He gently tugs it back over my shoulders before letting his hands rest there.
“My apologies.” He smiles remorsefully. “I thought I had made my intentions clear, but…I admit, I do not have much experience.”
“Oh. Well…I suppose neither do I.” I think back to the men who had propositioned themselves to me in varying degrees of crudeness and shudder at the memories. I think of Eoin.
There was never the pretence of a courtship with Eoin. Sex, attraction, and intimacy are not always one and the same, I learned. I could not force romantic feelings, though I tried for a time, thinking if sex and attraction were there, the rest would follow. But it never did.
This feels different. This is the missing piece that allowed me to be so bold with Eoin and so bashful with the prince. Why a tumble with Eoin made no mark on the rest of my day, but merely locking eyes with the prince is enough to suck the air from my lungs.
Intimacy.
“Then I would like to make it clear now.” He reaches up to brush his thumb across my cheek. Instinctively, I lean into his touch. “I feel very strongly for you, Shivani. To be candid, I do think of you as a friend—my closest friend. But not just that. You are special to me.”
His hands move down to mine and grasp them. He brings them up to his lips and plants a kiss on my knuckles. I shiver with delight. When he looks at me, his eyes are bright and clear.
“I feel the same,” I breathe. I am relieved and terrified all at once at finally verbalising what I have been harbouring. The fear of rejection and the sorrow at unreciprocated feelings melt away. I look up at him, tall and broad but gentle and sweet, and we smile at each other like fools.
“Would you join me for dinner tonight?” Theo asks, rubbing his thumbs across the back of my hand. “Not as mere friends?”
“Yes. Of course.” I nod dumbly, trying to ignore the blood rushing in my ears, my cheeks aching from the size of my grin.
“Then, I look forward to it.” He beams at me, and my heart has never felt so full.