As the doors closed behind them, and they stood in the grand entrance hall of the castle, a uniformed man and several strong-looking men stepped forward. By his demeanor, it was clear thatthe newcomer was the castle's commander, highly ranked in the False King's forces, and indeed, he addressed Ansel directly with only a small bow of the head.
"Yer Highness," the commander greeted. "Welcome tae the Sloe Stronghold. We're honored tae have ye here, and it's me greatest personal pleasure tae be able tae finally meet ye. I am the leader of the trainin' group, Alec?—"
"I ken who ye are, Alec," Ansel replied curtly. "And on behalf of me father, I thank ye for yer service so far. But for now, this stronghold is undermecommand."
Alec's eyes widened, but he hastily hid his surprise and irritation in a quick bow—though not quickly enough that Neala didn't notice. "Of course," he said smoothly. "What are yer orders?"
"Me men need tae be refreshed, after which they'll be ready tae be stationed. See that they're fed and watered and shown their quarters," Ansel replied immediately. Neala frowned slightly, surprised. She hadn't expected his first priority to be the wellbeing of the warriors and guards with whom they had traveled. Before she could ruminate on what this meant, though, Ansel had already pushed past it to the next point. "After that, ensure that there is a perimeter around the castle at all times. The rebel attack, accordin' tae our information, will come in three days. Four, at most. The Sloe Stronghold will nae be unguarded at any point during this. We will nae become complacent."
"We are never complacent—" Alec started.
Ansel did not acknowledge him, and instead kept going with his orders. "Patrols and fortifications. A mix of the trainees and me experienced warriors, around the clock. Understood?"
"Aye, of course," Alec replied.
Ansel nodded. "Good. See it done, and I will find ye shortly tae discuss our plans in more detail."
Neala stood still and quiet, allowing herself to blend into the background even as her heart and mind raced. She'd picked up what Ansel said. Three or four days before the rebel attack meant theremaybe enough time for the Sparrows to get the message and send someone to intervene. There was no guarantee, none at all, but there was achance.
One of Alec's men approached her, grabbing her roughly by the shoulder. "Ye, lass. Come with me. I'll show ye tae the kitchens and the maids will find ye a bunk with the rest of the servants."
"Nay," Ansel said sharply, and the man froze so quickly that it was almost comical. "The lass stays with me."
"Of–of course, Yer Highness," the man mumbled, dropping his hand from Neala's shoulder as though it burned him.
"Abby, follow."
Confused, Neala obeyed, moving back to Ansel's side and following as he abruptly set off toward a door at the other end of the entrance hall. He walked with purpose, obviously knowing where he was going, and an unexpected flash of pain crossed Neala's heart as she came to the cutting realization that Ansel was more familiar with this castle than she was. He knew it. He'd been here. She only had her dreams.
She followed as he led her through a corridor then up a set of stairs, along another corridor then another set of stairs, then out into a quiet, private corridor with a carpet running along the stone floor.
"What is this?" she asked at last, her voice rough from hours of not talking. There were only four doors in this small corridor, and it was so quiet that she got the feeling that it was a rarely visited area of the castle. "Where are we?"
Ansel glanced at her, and at long last, he spoke to her. "Private rooms. Guest rooms. One is mine, or was when I was a bairn, when I came here as me father's ward. I will takethe commander's quarters now, of course, but I was always comfortable here."
His answer did nothing except make Neala even more confused. Did he bring her here to clean his old bedroom? Was she to prepare the rooms in this small corridor for other guests?
The prince placed his hand on the small of her back, steering her toward one of the doors. His hand was warm and firm even through her clothing, and despite herself, she found herself leaning into the touch. She did not understand the magnetism between them or the way that her body reacted every time he was close, but even though he was her enemy, she had to secretly admit that she did not want him to pull away.
He led her into a room which was small but, she had to admit, beautiful. The dominant feature was the elegant-canopied bed with its draped green curtains and elaborately carved wooden headboard with images of birds and leaves. Plush cushions and soft sheets made the bed seem a siren song to her exhausted body, and part of her simply yearned to collapse into it. A built-in chest at the bottom was just as stunningly decorated as the headboard, and a matching wardrobe stood nearby, one door slightly open, a few simple dresses visible through the space.
A sturdy wooden table sat just below the large window with two cushioned dining chairs, and atop the table was a bowl filled with fresh apples and an unlit oil lamp. There were even two small, plain-covered books, and a small pile of paper and an inkwell rested nearby. There were some simple tapestries on the walls, and a small alcove through which she could see a personal fireplace and a comfortable-looking set of armchairs.
"The dresses should be around yer size. I asked Jessie for the measurements of yer uniforms, and so they should fit ye adequately," Ansel explained matter-of-factly. "Nae chessboard,I'm afraid, but there is paper so ye may draw, or even write if ye can, and of course there are a couple of books."
"I—" Neala started.
He smiled, and unlike his usual sardonic grin, there was a genuineness to it that made her heart thump a little harder. "Dinnae tell me ye cannae write or read. A lass like ye who can ride a horse well for hours at a time and play against a prince at chess kens how tae read and write. Am I wrong?"
She didn't answer.
Ansel laughed, again, a lighter sound than usual. "Yer father taught ye, I presume. He must have been an unusual man."
"He was a great man," Neala replied quietly.
He did not push for further information. Instead, he nodded. "Very good. This is yer room, then, and yers alone. I expect ye tae stay here for the majority of the time that we are here in the castle. Someone will bring yer meals tae ye, and ye arenae tae leave unless I, personally, come tae fetch ye. Is this understood?"
Neala tried to say yes, but instead, an honest answer came out. "Nay. I dinnae understand what's happenin' at all."
