“What?” A lump gets stuck in my throat. Oh, I might have an idea or two, too. One that Myrtle would very much approve of.
“The kitchens are empty at this time of the night, and we both need a snack—”
Atos’s stinking hell pits, who would expect such a suggestion from a murderous Fae prince? The absurdity of it makes me blink. But the word “snack” does its miracle. I crawl to the edge of the bed and throw a light blanket over my shoulders to cover my too-revealing nightgown.
The door creaks open and we tiptoe the corridors of the sleeping castle, the Aeidas guiding us around night guard patrols and creaky floorboards. He speeds up his pace when crossing some darker halls. “The palace is old, full of echoes from the past,” he whispers. “Legend has it that Atos himself built it. Some rooms are sealed off—too dangerous. Others are avoided, like the Room of Reflections.”
The Elder of the Underworld, the ruler of the Kingdom of the Dead and Lord of the Winter has built this place! My head spins. Ancient magic lingers here and mine responds to it somehow, giving me goosebumps or raising the hairs on the back of my neck.
We finally reach the kitchen, a grand space with old stone walls. The scent of roasted meat, herbs and pine coals still lingers in the air. It’s dark; the fire in the enormous hearth has nearly died out, and the prince lights a few candles.
We both startle when we see a tiny silhouette with beady black eyes sitting on his hind paws behind a plate, generously loaded with food.
“Seems you got caught red-handed, Desmond!” Aeidas chuckles while the guilty-looking rat wipes his paws in the tiny brocade jerkin he’s wearing.
“My metabolism works differently than yours!” The rodent defends himself. “I need snacks all the time.”
“Did you trap poor Lord Nyxie again?”
No need to ask who Lord Nyxie is—an upside-down bucket that moves across the tiled floor and an angry meowing from underneath it explains it all.
Desmond looks smug. “That stupid cat always falls for the treat and the broomstick trick.” He shrugs, returning to his meal.
“Take a seat, Talysse.” The prince pulls a chair at the long wooden table near the hearth. I settle, unable to take my eyes off his shirtless frame, his torso gilded by the light of the dying fire. He throws some wood in, hangs a tea cattle on a hook over the flames, and starts rummaging through the cupboards.
“Let’s see what Desmond left for us,” he says over his shoulder, and soon, there is a pile of cheese, cold meat, tomatoes, and fresh bread before me. All served neatly in a gold-rimmed plate. Even the clean linen napkin on the side is there.
“You seem quite experienced with this,” I note, enthralled by his confident moves before the hearth. He places a grid over the flames, puts a pan over it, and—my eyes widen—prepares to fry some eggs. The fire bronzes his bare torso, and I swallow drily, watching the cords in his forearms strain as he breaks the eggshell at the rim of the pan.
Desmond clears his tiny throat next to me, and I look away from that mesmerizing sight of the prince stirring eggs, a white towel over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed with concentration.
The rat is glaring at me, brow raised.
“Looks like you’re already drooling, Talysse. Well, I will take my leave then. Aeidas, m’lady,” he bows dramatically, “make smart choices. The second Trial starts tomorrow,” he declares ominously, then jumps down from the table and scatters away.
The prince slams a plate with steamy scrambles eggs on the table and sits opposite of me, pouring us some hot tea in translucent porcelain cups.
“You seem awfully experienced at this,” I repeat, piling cheese on my bread slice.
“Sneaking off to the kitchen with beautiful ladies? Not really.”
Elders, please don’t make me blush. “But I was doing this a lot with Desmond and Viridis, as the solemn meals in the dining hall never appealed to me. Viridis is an excellent cook. Me and my brother were crazy for his food.”
“So you can cook too?” I burn my tongue on the hot eggs and curse my gluttony.
“Better than expected from a prince.” He shrugs, his eyes flickering with amusement. “And you? What are your secret talents?”
“Well, I am quite good at relieving people of their possessions.” We both chuckle, and I try to pierce a cherry tomato with the fork. “Before my parents died, they did their best to give me a fancy high-born lady education, and I developed a love for reading. Tenebris has a nice library in the Temple of the Elders, a remnant of the time when the city was big and important.”
“A well-read human then.” He smiles, wiping his fingers on the kitchen towel draped over his shoulder. His silver strands touch his shoulders, and I feel the need to reach out and tuck them behind his pointy ears. “Who were your parents?” he asks with genuine interest and nearly makes me forget that his name was on the document that sent them to the gallows.
“My mother was kind and graceful. She has never raised her voice.” The tea tastes divine. “She was from the Free Cities and always talked fondly of this place. Especially of the sea. She had that large seashell, and she swore she could hear the waves when she pressed it to her ear.” The dam of memories has burst. The room has become quiet after he released Lord Nyxie, only the crackling of the fire breaking the silence. The prince has stopped eating, watching me attentively. There’s something in his eyes that I’ve never seen before, like the flash of a gold coin at the bottom of a clear well. “It remained in my parents’ mansion, and you will not believe how many times I have considered sneaking in and stealing it. I hope it’s still there.”
“And your father?” Aeidas asks, putting the fork on the plate and leaning forward on the table as if trying to catch my every word.
“My father was a merchant. He traveled a lot and brought us amazing gifts and even more exciting stories. He protected us fiercely. When they came for them—” My voice breaks, and I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“I am sorry for this, Talysse,” he says softly and takes my hand. The warmth of his touch corners the shadows of the past.
