“Thank you for your help,” she said wearily.
“It is my pleasure to serve you, Mistress.” She turned to leave.
“And Phaedra?”
“Yes, Mistress?”
“Please, call me Hazel.”
Phaedra nodded. “As you wish, Hazel. Sleep well.” She bowed deeply, and for the first time, Hazel noticed something unusual about the angel’s wings. They wereclippedin the same way a captive bird’s would be. The thought turned her stomach sour and made her even more certain of one thing above all else.
The more time she spent in this castle, the less likely she was getting out alive.
DINNER PLANS
She was so tired she didn’t dream, and when she woke, Hazel found her hair was plastered to her face with drool. Overwhelmed by the urge to stretch her muscles, she elongated her limbs, a sea star reaching every direction on the ocean floor. She was surprised to find the stretch was far less painful than she’d expected. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Maybe there was something to those oils after all. The true test, however, would be in whether her body could withstand its own weight.
Hazel scooted to the edge of the bed, the task before her feeling as insurmountable as jumping off a cliff. She tempered her expectations. This could go very, very poorly. After all, it had only been a few hours, if the sunlight filtering in through the windows was any indication. The likelihood her body was ready for standing, let alone walking? Laughable at best.
She sucked in a sharp breath and held it, reaching for the floor with her toes. The process was painstakingly slow, her fear of the bone-jarring soreness gripping her wholly. She shifted her weight partially from the bed, allowing her body to be challenged just a little more. Her legs held. And the pain, though present, was duller than she anticipated.
Impressive.
Hazel shifted more and more of her weight onto her legs until she was standing on her own accord, half-expecting to collapse onto the floor at any moment.Okay, so I can at least stand again.And while it was no small victory, she knew she still had so far to go.
She let out a hefty breath and took a slow, hesitant step forward. Then another. The next step required her to remove her hand from the bedpost. No more safety net. She couldn’t lie and claim it didn’t hurt, because it did. But she could walk, even if her pace was slower than a garden snail.
Her next goal was the writing desk between the windows. If she could just make it to the desk, she could take a break in the chair. One foot in front of the other, over and over again, and before too long, she was there. It wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever experienced. In fact, her body was a little less stiff after some movement. She’d be paying for it later, of course, but she allowed herself to enjoy the accomplishment for now.
The chair cushion was upholstered in red velvet. And she had to admit, it was soft. Not as soft as the comforting down duvet she’d left behind on the bed, but cushy, nonetheless. The desk was sturdy and crafted from white oak. Its surface was scratched and worn from use, marked with old ink stains, and watermarked with ringlets from a cup that sat in the same spot for far too long. She rubbed her hand across the surface, wondering what sort of scholars or noblemen had used this desk to draft their work.
Without warning or so much as a knock, the bedroom doors swung open, banging against the wall. Hazel whirled around to find Slaide standing there, mouth agape. He righted his face immediately, returning to his usual scowl.
He cleared his throat. “I actually wasn’t planning on bursting in here like that. At least not right away.” He laughed, and Hazel tried to figure out where the joke was. “Door was stuck.”
She cocked a brow expectantly.
“So,” he said, brushing invisible dust from his tunic, “I see you’ve managed to get out of bed.”
He was pinned by her continued blank stare.
“Do we have a problem? I seem to remember pulling some strings earlier to get healing oils from the royal apothecary—at great personal risk, I might add. So, if you don’t mind bottling that attitude back up and, oh, I don’t know… trying the phrasethank youevery now and then? It won’t kill you. Though existing in this castle without my help most certainly will.”
“Do you often let yourself into women’s rooms without knocking?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I could have been changing.”
“First of all, this ismyroom, sweets. Second, womenbegme to come knocking. And third, I don’t care. Unless you’re hiding something unusual under that, which I very much doubt, you don’t have anything I’ve never seen—or fondled—before. Anything else?”
Yes, for you to leave.“What do you want from me?”
Slaide stared at her pointedly. “You don’t know what you are, do you?”
What was that supposed to mean?“I beg your pardon. I’m just a person. A human woman. What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything,” he stated. “Just trying to see what you know—or don’t know.” He circled around her, each step more menacing than the last. “I’m trying to figure out how this foul-mouthed peasant brat from a backwater village ended up with such an enormous target on her back. Do you understand how many people want you dead?”
No. And I prefer it that way.She swallowed hard.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I figured as much. Here’s the deal. You’re going to do as I say, when I say it, how I say it. Got it?”
