It was the first lie I’d ever told him without remorse.
ChapterTwo
The following morning, I woke on my bedroom floor with the grimoire spread open as my pillow. I hadn’t even bothered to undress from our midnight escapades. I’d simply sat down in the middle of the floor and opened the book.
The spine had creaked against the new pressures, having clearly been closed for quite some time. There was an inscription on the inside of the cover, but the words were written in a different language, and the only one I could make out was my mother’s name at the top.
Instantly, my affection for the grimoire grew. How could it not? Pagan or not, if this book belonged to my mother, I wanted to learn every page.
Even if I couldn’t understand it.
Shiksa, my pet fox I’d rescued from the Blood Woods of Tenovia when she was just a kitling, rubbed her silky white coat against my arm, rousing me from a deep sleep.
I woke disoriented, gasping for breath and struggling to untangle my mind from the dregs of unconsciousness. Something in the dreamlessness was holding me captive. Shiksa persisted, adding a mewling cry. It was enough to startle me from my sleep. And I sucked in deep, dragging breaths and rolled to my back so my fingers could dig into the decorated rug beneath me and find purchase.
I blinked, sunlight washing over my face from a crack between the drapes. Shiksa stepped over my outstretched arm and pressed her cold nose to my cheek. I could remember nothing from sleep. Not even how or when I fell asleep. Only that I had been scouring pages for clues, and now I was awake.
But something dark was between those bookends. Not simply dark in the sense of nighttime and dreams. But something evil. Something malevolent. Lying in the middle of the floor of my spacious suite, I couldn’t help but feel lucky. Like I’d escaped something... dangerous.
Even my lungs moved quickly, gasping as if I’d run a great distance for a great length and was only just now allowed to catch my breath.
A key turned in the lock to my door, and I sprang to sitting, unable to resist the sense that I was still running from something.
My maid, Clesta, entered the room carrying a breakfast tray. She started at the sight of me in the middle of the room. I flung myself backward, relieved it was the young, unassuming servant and not some three-headed beast hunting my heart.
“I’m sorry,” Clesta gasped. “You startled me, Lady. Usually, I have to wrestle you from bed at this hour. You sleep like the dead.” She maneuvered around me to reach a table where she could set her tray. “I mean no harm.”
She was a sweet girl from the village. She’d been serving beneath her mother, who was the head housekeeper of the castle, until I’d arrived. After the trial, Tyrn had dismissed Matilda because she’d been part of Taelon’s household. Then promoted Clesta, who was obviously loyal to Elysia since she’d been born and raised in Sarasonet. Or so Tyrn thought. And honestly, I had no reason to believe otherwise, except that his reasoning seemed flawed. Clesta had been raised for housekeeping duties, though. She could sweep, mop, and dust as good as anyone I had ever encountered. She was practically militaristic about the state of my room.
But as far as handmaid capabilities went, I preferred Matilda. She had been young as well, but experienced with dressing and anticipating the needs of a royal. Clesta and I together were a bit of a disaster.
She did not know the ways of the court. Nor did I. And so more than once, we’d been caught unawares. Dressed down for regal events. Too fancy for something more casual. My hair never seemed capable of lasting the night. And I’d taken to applying rouge on my cheeks and kohl for my eyes myself, as Clesta’s attempts could be... well, frightening.
But I liked her. And honestly, I did not mind dressing wrongly for stuffy events. Although I secretly believed Clesta was Tyrn’s ultimate plan to prove how unqualified for queen I was and would always be.
Still, if the realm’s only fault with me was that I wore linen when I should be in silk, yet their poor were fed, their women educated, and the Ring of Shadows was stopped, I would call that a victory.
“Lady, did you fall asleep reading?” asked Clesta as she stepped over to the windows and pulled back the drapes. “Must have been something fascinating to burn your candle all the way out.”
The other thing about Clesta was she had taken to calling me simply Lady. No posh titles. Or stuffy monikers. Only Lady. It was wonderful.
I realized my hair had fanned out and covered most of the grimoire. A small mercy. When Clesta’s back had turned to me again, I scrambled to kneeling and closed it. I would find my place later.
She bustled around the room, opening more windows, pouring tea, doing whatever it was she usually did while I slept and was totally oblivious to her presence. While she was distracted, I took the opportunity to tuck the grimoire in the side drawer of a cabinet against the wall. It wasn’t safe or secret by any means, but I would deal with that later.
“Is this breakfast?” I scooped up Shiksa and wandered over to the tray, lifting a silver dome to find quirrick eggs whipped with potatoes, spread over toast, and drizzled with lavender honey. The plate was a decadent picture of palace life.
Clesta stopped next to me and dug a polished apple from the pockets of her skirt. “Here you are, Lady,” she said in a disapproving tone.
Lavish breakfasts had a time and place, but not Thursday morning. The thought of that heaviness sitting in my stomach all day made me feel ill.
I took the apple and gave Clesta a grateful smile. “You’re a gem.”
“Hmph.”
“You eat this,” I said, stepping out of the way. “It shouldn’t go to waste.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.”
