Nocthar had trailed them the entire way. She watched him perch gracefully atop one of the castle towers. With his help, she knew she could find a way out of here—when the time came.
"The Forbidden Ruins," Caramyn muttered under her breath, recalling the mark on the map.
"Ruins not so much anymore." Asterious purred with a razor-edged chuckle. "But I like that first part. The Forbidden Court...hmm. I think I’ll keep that."
Caramyn rolled her eyes beneath her lids. "I don't understand. Why—howhave you revived this place? Shouldn't you be at Blackwynd Castle in Felhold slaughtering anyone who opposes your father?" At this point, asking questions was more a tactic to annoy Asterious than to seek answers she knew he would not give.
"Blackwynd has enough monsters without me. And I thought I told you not to ask any more questions until you’re ready to give me real answers to mine.” He spoke as he dismounted in the middle of the courtyard, and someone led his horse away.The surface was cobbled of some type of gleaming stone flecked with shimmers of light that brightened with the weight of their footsteps. Caramyn was almost too distracted by their beauty to respond. Almost.
“That’s not how it seemed when you were tending to my wounds around the fire.” She puckered her face and raised an eyebrow, expecting the prince to ignore her as they passed through the doors of the castle. He led her down the halls, Wryan flanking the other side of her, and she took note of Wyran’s disdainful expression at her comment.
“As I said before, you’re no use to me if you’re not physically well. We must do everything we can to help heal that delicate memory of yours.” The prince narrowed his eyes at her, tugging gently on the rope Wyran insisted they bound around her wrists again as he guided her through the twisting corridors of the palace.
The inside of the castle was in better shape than the outside, and she understood why King Daemar would’ve wanted to keep people from coming here, because he clearly hadn’t managed to breach the interior for whatever reason. The inside was untouched, all its records likely still preserved, all its treasures still in place. The iridescent white floor sparkled beneath fine rugs that blanketed the walkways, and bright glowing torchlight kept the stone halls illuminated and warm. They spiraled up a long flight of stairs, which seemed to never end. When they reached the top of the tower, Asterious produced a metal key from his coat and inserted it into the lock. With a turn of the key, the heavy gold-inlaid door creaked on its hinges and Asterious clicked his tongue. "You'll stay here, and only here while you let that memory rest."
Caramyn had expected a dungeon or a dirty, damp room with a pile of soiled straw for a bed, but to her surprise, the room was grand and inviting. She might even dare say it was fit forroyalty. There was a large bed with creamy silk cushions and luxurious fur blankets. By a bright stained-glass window stood a gold-trimmed vanity with a mirror and a matching armoire. To the right, in the far corner of the room, a divider separated a charming claw foot tub and a dressing area. There was even a cozy fireplace, though it obviously hadn't been used in ages.
"I'll have some torches and some supper brought up." Asterious gestured for her to step into the room.
Caramyn scanned the room once more, "What a nice prison cell. Was this the queen’s room?" she asked mockingly.
"Yes." His voice flattened. “It was.”
He turned to go, without looking back, in a way that chilled Caramyn’s blood. "Anyway, I'll make sure you're taken care of, but you may not leave this room until I've spoken further with you."
Caramyn crossed her arms, desperate to get in one more jab. "Are you going to put that lovely Wyran in charge of guarding my door?"
"I wouldn't dream of punishing him like that. I'll find some other poor soul to burden with that task." The prince’s face curled into a look of disdain as he pulled the door shut behind him, and it clicked in place. Caramyn wiggled the doorknob the second he was gone, but the lock was solid.
The tiredness in her bones returned all at once and demanded her attention. All she wanted to do was lie down and figure out the rest later. But instead she remained standing, observing her surroundings as a small voice startled her at the door followed by the lock turning.
The shortest woman Caramyn had ever seen fumbled through the door carrying a bundle of unlit torches tucked beneath her arm. She was a small lady, squirrel-like, perhaps in her forties or fifties, bright-eyed, with a dark bun tied at the nape of her neck.
"Caramyn, was it? The prince asked me to bring you these," she said, hanging more torches along the hooks in the wall. "And this, for your sore muscles."
Azell handed her a vial of something. It smelled light and airy, but Caramyn didn't trust it. She placed it on the dresser as the sprightly woman placed the last torch. "Thank you. What's your name?"
"I'm Azell, the maid of this castle…for the time being."
"You make it sound as though you’re the only maid here." Caramyn said, prodding for information without being too obvious.
"I might as well be.” The lady laughed, but then a sense of seriousness befell her wispy voice. “There are a small few of us who chose loyalty to the prince. But I was tasked with tending to you…" Azell grinned with a laugh that crinkled the corners of her eyes.
"What do you mean 'chose loyalty to the prince?'"
"Oh, never mind all that for now. It's a long story and I've already said too much. And if he hasn’t explained it to you by now, there must be a reason," she said with a mischievous smile, lighting the torches one by one. "But don't fret about it. Just clean up and get some rest, dear girl. I’m sure it will all make more sense soon.”
Caramyn shook her head. “Are you Lightborn or Spellbound?” she blurted out.
Azell blushed, slapping a hand to her chest. “Me? Magic? Shattered gods, no. Not even a half-breed. Just a human who knew something had to change.” She darted toward the door before Caramyn could ask anything else.
“Anyway, I’ll be back in a bit with some supper. I’m sure you must be starving.” And with that, she disappeared and locked the door behind her but was right back in a few more minutes with a steaming bowl of venison stew and maple-glazed sprouts.
Caramyn thanked her and scarfed down the food once she was gone, savoring the warm broth and crispy vegetables after so many days of dried meat and hard bread. It was one of the most delicious meals she’d had in a while, but half of the delicacy seemed to have come from the idea that it had been made for her, despite the circumstances. She hadn’t eaten a meal prepared by someone else in half a decade.
With her belly full, she could focus, though exhaustion still gnawed at her bones. Nocthar still hadn't returned with her dagger. Before she could allow herself to rest, she had to have something in her hand…something to defend herself with in this strange place. She searched beneath the bed and rummaged through the drawers, finding nothing with potential. Then as she eyed the vanity, she noticed a hairbrush made of ivory with a bone handle. She cracked the brush against the wall, splintering the bone into shards. One was particularly large enough to suffice as a makeshift dagger for now. She didn't know what came next, and she refused to be vulnerable. To feel as helpless as she had felt the night around the campfire with the prince, or when he picked her up off the forest floor.
Once she’d crafted the knife, through heavy eyelids threatening to close the entire time she worked, she dragged herself over to the edge of the bed, clutching the weapon and sitting cross-legged facing the door, her feet finally relieved of their aching. She planned to sit there and watch the door through the night…just in case. It was still unclear what the prince wanted, and for all she knew this fancy room could be a trap. And she already disliked the dark, but the dark in an unfamiliar place was an entirely worse kind of unsettling.
