It will come off as petty, but I ignore her question, exhausted from dealing with this female and the stupid games of the high fae. I almost regret sending my prayers to the Fates for her husband's safe return, and I hope they all expire somewhere very far away from me for clothing me in the Fates-cursed dress and boots.
With a deep breath, I remind myself that I’m better than such sentiments.
I feel a tug in my chest as Airlie gestures at the maids with a huff, and they both stand up abruptly and brush the dirt from their aprons, then rush to the door. Opening it, they let the guards back in and the Savage Prince with them. The lengths of the iron chains hang from his hands and, without a word, I hold out my wrists to him.
He doesn’t waste any time reaching out to take the length of chain, his eyes averted from me as though I’m not worth a moment of his time. His lips move, but whatever he says is too soft for me to hear. Airlie nods back but stays seated as he tugs me down the hallway once more, leaving the princess behind without a word.
I gaze around the castle as we walk, no longer hiding my interest in the layout and workings of the household and struggling not to wince at the pinching of my toes in the terrible shoes. Prince Soren is silent as he drags me along, and the two soldiers murmur to each other as they flank me. I don’t know if they can sense the tension that seems to grow thick in the air around their prince and I but with every step it chokes me, gripping my throat tightly and squeezing until I can barely breathe.
I’m led to the floor above the Savage Prince’s reception rooms, my orientation of the castle getting better the more of it I see. With a knock, the Savage Prince walks into one of the chambers, and we’re met by the sight of dozens of bags covering a sitting room, every lounge and table holding luggage with its contents spilling out, acres of fabrics that look luxuriously soft in stark comparison to the cotton that’s scratching my skin.
“Cousin! I was getting worried you’d forgotten about me! I was hoping we could visit the library together. I haven’t been there for centuries.”
I turn to see Princess Sari standing at the doors that lead further into the chambers, color on her cheeks and a smile on her mouth that doesn’t reach her eyes but does show off some very sharp teeth. Her own perfectly blue eyes widen as she does a double take at me, her mouth falling open for a moment, and the chains pull on me for a second as the Savage Prince’s hands fist at his sides.
“Soren, she’s…I didn’t think witches could be beautiful like that! Well, the court can’t argue about your heirs—they’ll be blessed with stunning looks from the two of you.”
The ground tilts beneath my feet, and—thankfully—my training kicks in, my stance widening and saving me from toppling over. I’ll blame the pain in my feet and not the mention of heirs, a part of this fate that has never factored into my plans. Airlie made a snide comment about it to me, but there’s something about the approval in Sari’s tone that rocks me, bringing that possibility to the very forefront of my concerns. My fate never mentioned children, but the Savage Prince doesn’t appear to have been blindsided by this statement, only furious that his cousin is complimenting me in the first place.
Sari’s eyebrows slowly rise, but when the high-fae guard steps up behind her, the Savage Prince’s anger melts away and he says, “There are still many, many details to work out before we need to concern ourselves with heirs. The safety of the kingdom is my priority, and we’re still being cautious with the witch, even as I obey the Fates’ commands.”
She smiles back at him, but she’s holding herself rigid, as if the male standing at her back is a threat to her. If he’s her guard, that can’t be the case, but the longer I stare at her, the more sure of it I am. She’s scared of him—terrified.
She steps forward, ignoring her cousin’s scowl, and murmurs to me, “Soren told me your name is Rooke. Mine is Princess Sari Celestial, Heir Apparent to the Regent of the Southern Lands. If you prove yourself, we’ll be cousins soon too. I never thought I’d call a witch a friend.”
I look down to find her hand extended, an offering of peace. Bemused, I glance at the Savage Prince before I clasp it, the chains rattling as she gently squeezes my fingers with her own. I murmur a greeting in the old language, a habit when shown these respects, and her eyebrows flick upwards.
There’s a rustling noise from the corner, and I glance over and see the tiny, cowering female who accompanied the princess earlier. She works quietly to straighten up the room, and Sari ignores her, but I saw their earlier interaction. The princess is ignoring her with every fiber of her being in the way that only someone desperately protecting a loved one can. I look past the princess and take a long look at the guard, sure to memorize his features as I mark him for death. I didn’t catch his name, but I’ll never forget his face, no matter how similar the Unseelie high fae look to me.
The Savage Prince moves me backwards and away from Sari as he says, “I’m taking her back to be guarded. Tauron will return soon, and there’s much for me to do to pass it all off to Tyton. I’ll see you at dinner—stay in the castle until then.”
She wrinkles her nose at him but bows respectfully, a smile back on her lips as she sees us on our way. The meeting was a carefully orchestrated display, none of it for my benefit, and now I have a new puzzle to piece together while I languish in the cell. Why is the Savage Prince friendly with the regent’s daughter, why was she so kind to me, and how in the Fates good name have none of them noticed she’s so scared?
There are no answers for me in the tense lines of the Savage Prince’s back as he directs me back down the staircase.
When we go through the kitchens, I see a large group of females toiling away at a bubbling pot and others who are kneading loaves of dough. Firna is rushing around the room with a deep scowl on her face, checking the amount of ingredients that the maids are using and their techniques.
“You need to halve the flour, Mirym! Yregar will starve if we use it all now,” she admonishes, and the girl scowls down at the mixing bowl.
“I’ve already cut out as many of the ingredients as possible! The bread won't rise if I don't add the yeast and the right amount of the flour.”
Firna mumbles under her breath, “Better to have flatbread and enough to feed the villagers. They're not going to complain about whether or not it's cooked right, they're going to complain if their bellies aren't full and their children are starving! We do the best we can and hope that it's enough.”
I don't realize that my feet have slowed until the tug of the chains drags me forward again. Prince Soren doesn’t bother to glance back at me to see what slowed me down, but one of his soldiers does, his features pinched together as though he’s terrified of the prospect of having to force me to go down to the dungeon. Whether he’s terrified of witches or the deaths of the guards rattled him, I don't know, but I’m good about getting back on our path.
When we reach the top of the stairs to the dungeon, Prince Soren turns to one of the soldiers and holds out the length of chain for him to take.
“Take her straight down and lock her in the cell. Tyton will be there in a moment—don’ttake your eyes off her until he arrives.”
The soldier bows to him as he takes the iron links and Prince Soren leaves without another word, simply turning on his heel and disappearing. The soldier glances down at the chain as though they’re about to bite him, but then his fist tightens, the leather of his gloves creaking a little, and he starts down the stairs. I follow.
I wait until the door above us is firmly shut and we’re well on our way down into the cavernous space before I speak, breaking the rules myself for the first time. “Why are the kitchens cooking for the villagers?”
My question is met by a stunned silence. The soldiers glance at each other as if they have no idea what to do, and I wait a few steps before I try again. “Is the Savage Prince selling bread and stew to them? How much money do they have for such things?”
The soldier holding the chains jerks on them, and my feet slip on the stairs, the boots making me clumsier than sitting on the floor ever has. I catch myself just before I slam into their backs. I'm sure that would terrify them more than anything I could possibly say.
“Prince Soren takes care of his people. The villagers have no money to give him. Your kind has killed everything. Don't act like you don't know that.”
