“You’re welcome,” he replied.
Chapter 12
Accompanied by aquarter of the court, I approached Percy’s sickbed. The room reeked of illness despite the servants’ constant efforts to cleanse it. Beyond a bowl of burning sage, only the steaming tea I carried, an aromatic blend of ginger, mint, and fennel, offered any relief from the stench.
Percy lay half-delirious and drenched with sweat, yet the royal physician believed he was on the mend. With gentle hands, I supported his head and helped him rise from the pillow. His weakened state had made him strangely trusting, a bitter irony I couldn’t ignore as I steadied the cup to his lips.
When Winnie announced my intention to treat Lord Montfort, several courtiers eagerly volunteered to witness the performance from a safe distance—an opportunity I seized to mend my reputation before suspicion could take root. While the courtiers kept a safe distance from Percy’s sickbed, the viscount positioned himself where he could observe both the patient and me with equal scrutiny.
The elixir was an honest effort at relief: activated charcoal provided a means of absorbing toxins, while a spoonful of honey within the herbal tea helped to soothe any lingering inflammation. Whether it would help him recover or merely absolve me in the eyes of the court, I couldn’t be certain. I only knew I had to play my part convincingly.
“My lady has instructed that this tea should be given every few hours,” Winnie relayed to the royal physician. “His Lordship should consume as much as he can tolerate, which may change depending on the flux. Gods be good, the healing should hasten, if we are to see similar results to what the Chastains have achieved in the villages.”
A respectfully quiet round of applause came from the observing courtiers. I made my best attempt at a modest curtsy, then departed with my lady-in-waiting. We proceeded down the wing, the viscount’s footsteps a steady rhythm behind us, but we didn’t make it far before encountering the prince and Sieur Eldridge.
I hardly had a chance to bow before Prince Nicolas grabbed my wrist and pulled me from the others. LordQuinn took half a step forward before stopping, seemingly unsure of how to conduct himself in this situation. Neither did I, for that matter.
The prince didn’t take me far, stopping only a few steps away before he drew indecently close and whispered in the shell of my ear.
“Well done,” his words caressed, his praise erecting the hairs on my neck. “Though I must say, while I did enjoy the spectacle of my cousin soiling himself, there remains the issue thatthe man lives.”
The warmth drained from my abdomen, replaced with a bone-chilling dread. I raised my hand and gently cupped the prince’s cheek, turning his head so that I, too, could whisper. “I couldn’t guarantee his death, my prince, for you see:I. Am not.A witch.”
Prince Nicolas stroked my jaw and silenced me, the touch lingering like flames on oil. I seethed with resentment and…something else. Something I’d read of many times but didn’t quite understand. His eyes turned to our spectators and he straightened, taking a step back and returning to his usual volume. “We should speak privately.”
I swallowed, managing a nod.
The prince led me upstairs, followed at a distance by our companions, until we reached one of the private studies. Key in-hand, Prince Nicolas opened the door and took me inside, then shut us off from prying eyes and ears.
His study was impressive in scale, with high-vaulted ceilings and tall, narrow windows only exacerbating its height. A massive stone fireplace was dominated with the Callan coat-of-arms carved in relief, and centered before that was an imposing desk of blackened oak. As we sat down, I couldn’t help but notice a few Hadrian furnishings within the room.
“Now then, my thorned rose,” he began, reclining with a sense of garish familiarity. “Explain yourself.”
I couldn’t read those eyes. I took a moment to carefully measure my words, but there was no cloaking my frustration. “As I have stated already, Your Highness, I’m not a witch. I was…”
Oh, gods. A lifetime of harboring a secret, and now I’d spill it to the second person in less than two weeks’ time. I braced myself and tried again.
“A witch cursed me before birth, Your Highness. Any man who hears my voice is forced to love me.”
Prince Nicolas’ eyes widened. I waited for a strong reaction, perhaps panic as he fully understood the helplessness of his situation, but none ever came.
“If you want me to use magic on Percy,” I continued, “the closest thing I could accomplish is making him a different sort of rival for you to contend with. The only enchantment I bear is my curse.” I clenched my jaw. “Or was I mistaken? Would you like me to make your cousin froth with lust for me?”
The prince slammed a fist against the tabletop and stood with enough force that I gasped; then he leaned closer, bracing himself with his palms.
“Obviouslynot,” he hissed, his blood boiling with visible jealousy for even the rhetorical scenario. The creases along the bridge of his nose smoothed as he steadied his temper. “Then it’s true? You’re not a witch, but a victim of some curse? And this curse is why…” His hand raised to his heart in lieu of words.
Steadying my breath, I nodded. “Such is my burden.”
Prince Nicolas slouched into his seat with a pensive, embarrassed look. He pushed his hair back. “Burden? It seems to me that this curse has largely worked in your benefit, has it not? You’re to become a queen because of it.”
Anger stewed within me, then boiled over before I could control it. “Only after nineteen years of living in the woods with only my mother and deaf father to communicate with! I had imaginary friends until I wassixteen!I used to lie awake at night with my eyes closed, pretending that my life was one of the books on our shelves, pretending that I was off having adventures and making friends. Then I came here, was nearly abducted, and that man only had to hear a grunt from my throat before he pressed his cock against me! Yes, Your Highness, I maintain that itisa fucking burden.”
The prince blushed, averting his eyes. He didn’t speak again for some time, leaving only the occasional howl of wind outside to fill the quiet. I almost worried he would censure me for my lack of decorum.
“My lady, perhaps I have been unfair,” he said, and my heartbeat steadied. His hands rested on the desk. “I’ve commanded you to commit an act of violence, thinking you were some upstart enchantress with obscene aspirations.”
I wasn’t sure how to reply, caught so off-guard by his modesty. I lowered my gaze. “He tried to have me killed.”
