The rooms were in the cylindrical tower of the Villa, wrapped around the staircase in a disorienting spiral. As the stairs seemed to wrap around and around with no end in sight, she regretted taking Phil’s advice so literally. Once she finally reached the top floor, she found herself in a small circular space.
There was only one door not flanked by other rooms or halls, but framed instead by two paintings: one of a serene night sky flecked with multicolored stars, and the other a portrait of a lightning storm mid-strike.
Examining the lock, she eased the door open, surprised to find the room before her mostly empty. It held only a cot on the far wall with a cream-colored duvet and various vines trailing across the wall behind it. There was a small, rectangular table with two benches, then a stove with a kettle ready to be used on the countertop beside it.
A door hung slightly open on the wall opposite the cot, revealing a modest washroom and bathtub. The simplicity of it was soothing. Maybe, if she tried hard enough, Sol could forget she was in a villa fighting to the death for her freedom so she could rule the kingdom her mother abandoned. If she stood in the center of the room and closed her eyes, it was almost as if she stood at the Hound, with the soundtrack of the waves and even the mild scent of mildew.
But then knocks sounded at her door. Illusion shattered. She turned to face it and frowned. Slowly, she grabbed a tea kettle from the stove. Better than no weapon.
“Who...Who is it?”
Unsurprisingly, no answer came, but a thin, crimson envelope slid beneath the door, landing with a phantom gust by her feet.
Twenty Three
CAS
CAS DIDN’T HAVEa guess to what room Sol would pick, but he didn't think she would pick the highest, smallest one. In a way, such a bizarre choice was fitting for such a bizarre girl.
He leaned against one of the walls facing the libraries on the first floor, satisfied Sol would likely not leave her room any time soon. Good. Perhaps space would sort out whatever brewed in that head of hers.
“Prince of Eswin.”
Cattya’s voice hadn't changed at all throughout the years. Still as slightly jarring as it had been when they met at the Rimemere academy. She slid around the wall’s corner, tracing one hand against it and the other down his chest. Her boldness hadn't changed either, it seemed.
“Cattya,” he said, eyeing the lingering kingsmen on their way out. “Surprised to see you dragged into this instead of your sister.”
Stone Ledge was a brutal place. Cas had gone only twice, one for the crowning of their Lord, and the other for his burial. Cattya was now heiress of Stone Ledge, with her older sister Serene as Lady—Serene with a nobleman beside her, though Cas couldn't remember who. Serene had been the one trained to eventually take a try at Rimemere, whenever, if ever, an heir appeared. But with her as the ruling party at their home, the task was apparently tossed to her younger sister.
Cattya shrugged. “Sister dearest is busy sucking cock and starting wars.”
Cas smiled despite himself. Checked out with his own memories of Serene. The woman had different partners each time he’d gone—not a great habit for a married Lady.
“Oh, come on.” She leaned closer, so close her breath sliced across his neck. “There used to be a time when you loved my vulgar mouth.”
He slid his gaze to her. “What do you want, Cattya?”
“Only one of us is getting out of this alive to share the glorious throne with perfect little Princess Sol.” She traced the angles of his jaw with a fingernail. "Might as well have fun for now, no?”
It was true, they had fun before. Before he and the Court had left the kingdom, back when he had trivial preoccupations like which one of the noblewomen would keep their affairs quiet. Cattya was the one who sought the same at the right time.
“Because that’s your plan, right?” she continued. “Help her to the end, then you yield, having her win and you save your own ass.”
Cas clenched his jaw, annoyed she had figured it out so quickly. “I’m still not sure what I will be doing,” he lied.
“Bullshit. You have no noble status to surrender if you yield, you’re already exiled.”
Changing the subject, Cas said, “I hear you have sources.”
She arched her brow, visibly annoyed at his refusal to bite her bait. “Sources?”
“To know what the trials are.”
Cattya laughed. “Does it matter? We are all part of Semmena’s little game. We all know it’ll be you and Sol at the end. I'm just trying to figure out which one of you will have the balls to kill me.” She sighed and melodramatically placed a palm on her chest. “Meanwhile, we are all just pawns for entertainment.”
“It might not be me at the end.” He shrugged. “Maybe someone will best me.”
Cattya snorted. “Please, Cas. The moment Semmena revealed you—very dramatic, by the way—we all knew we were fucked.”
