We leave the bedchamber and stroll down the hall when I spot a room I’ve never noticed before. Its door is half-open, revealing a clutter of paintings and trunks stacked against the far wall of an otherwise empty space. Curiosity piqued, I pause.
“What’s that?” I ask Solena, already stepping inside before she can respond.
She hisses under her breath, a mixture of annoyance and alarm. “Your Highness, we’re not supposed to go in there.” Her frown softens slightly. “Though, I suppose you’re allowed.” Reluctantly, she tiptoes after me.
I make my way to the paintings, flipping through the heavy, dust-covered frames. Faces of unfamiliar Fae stare back—elegant features framed by long, shimmering blond hair and flawless blue eyes. I let the portraits rest back against the wall and turn my attention to a pile of golden fabric on the floor. As I lift it, dust billows around me, and when I shake it out, an embroidered emblem appears: a ship riding the waves, guided by a gust of wind.
“House Ithranor,” I breathe, recognizing the symbol of one of the great houses of the Sundered Kingdoms who fled during the Betrayer’s Battle. “Why is this here?”
Solena’s expression shifts, and it’s clear she knows more than she’s letting on.
“Solena,” I press, my voice firm. “Tell me.”
With a reluctant sigh, she explains. “This castle—this entire island—was once part of House Ithranor’s territory. When they were aligned with House Mordorin, this served as an outpost for their warriors. But when they fled during the war, House Mordorin… moved in.”
I blink, taken aback. “I didn’t know that.”
“Not many do,” she replies tersely. “And I’d prefer to keep it that way. So, if you wouldn’t mind leaving this room…”
I frown. “I doubt Daed would care if I knew such a detail. I wondered why this place felt so different from Baev’kalath.”
“And now you know,” Solena urges, her tone pleading. “Please, Your Highness.”
With a dramatic roll of my eyes, I appease her and step back into the hallway. Solena hurriedly closes the door behind us, and I’m about to press her further when a foul stench wafts up the stairs, stopping me in my tracks.
Chapter 21
The smell of smoke wafts through the air, sharp and acrid, as Daed wrestles with the cast-iron skillet over the fire. I watch, concern and amusement bubbling within me, as he attempts to fry the eggs. They seem to be fighting against him, sticking stubbornly to the pan while he works hard to coax them into submission. His brow is furrowed in intense concentration, and beads of sweat form on his forehead, the morning light catching his black hair as it falls into his eyes.
“Just a little more heat,” he mutters to himself, his determination unwavering despite the ominous sizzle that fills the air.
“Daed,” I venture cautiously, “maybe we should just—”
“Sit, wife. I’m almost finished,” he says determinedly.
I bite my lip, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite my concern. “If you say so, husband.”
As he scrapes the eggs with the spatula, trying desperately to flip them, I can see the frustration etched on his face. He scoops the dubious mixture onto a plate, and I brace myself. I don’twant to hurt his feelings; after all, this is his earnest attempt at caring for me, and I appreciate the sentiment.
“Daedalus, are these eggs fried… or… or are they scrambled?” I ask, eyeing his offering that somehow looks burnt and raw at the same time.
Daed looks at me with a vacant expression. “Yes,” he replies.
Okay then.Taking a deep breath, I pick up my fork and stab at the gooey yellow mass that sits before me.
The first bite sends my taste buds into chaos—the burnt bits mix with an overwhelming saltiness that nearly makes me gag. I force a smile, chewing slowly as I search for something—anything— positive to say.
“It’s, um, definitely…unique!” I exclaim, striving for enthusiasm.
Daed’s face drops, his shoulders sagging as he runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “You’re lying. They’re rubbish.” He tosses the frying pan into the sink with a clatter. “Come. Let’s get out of here. It smells horrible.”
We leave the castle and stroll through the gardens, continuing past the river until we reach an open field. Daed looks remarkably serious for someone whose eyes glint so beautifully in the sunlight.
“Are you still upset about the eggs?” I ask.
He grumbles in response.
“It was nice of you to try,” I say, hoping to ease his disappointment.
