“Why not ask one of your men to entertain you? Or are they not welcome at your table, only to do your bidding when it suits you?” Her never-ending remarks flew off her tongue effortlessly like venom.
Asterious clenched his jaw to retain his composure and turned aside. “I hope to see you at my table.” He didn't give her a chance to argue further, only straightened the collar of his black coat and calmly walked out the door.
19
The Shadowblood’s Blade
Caramyn
“Ishould’ve taken off his head,” Caramyn muttered to the raven that fluttered into her room through the window. In his talons, he carried her hunting dagger. Her eyes widened at the sight of it. "You couldn't have brought this back sooner? I could've had him bleeding out on the floor by now."
Though she spoke such threats, she was no longer so sure seeing him dead was truly what she wanted anymore. She couldn’t deny the flutter in her heart that she’d felt when the prince had leaned so close to her, or the way his velvet voice sent shivers down her neck. It was a thought she abhorred—to think that she might feel even the slightest bit of desire for theson of the king who had driven her into exile. But it was surely just a physical reaction to the proximity of a man who could be considered beautiful, with that chiseled jaw dusted with shadow and those dark brows above keen eyes that seemed to weigh the world before speaking. Beautiful indeed, if he wasn’t such an ass.
Nocthar crowed, demanding her attention. She whipped around to see him drop the knife onto her bed, nudging it toward her with his beak.
“I’ll go…but only because he said I could ask him anything." She tucked the dagger away at her thigh into the sheath she’d made from a leather belt, then smoothed out her dress to ensure it was invisible. After the way he’d approached her before, with that dangerous look in his eye, she wasn’t going to take chances. “And I certainly have some questions.”
As the hour neared, Caramyn wondered what to expect, and wrestled with the idea of killing the prince, if it came down to it. She didn't know why she hesitated at the thought of it, when she had killed men before. Killing never wore on her conscience the way it did now. She didn't delight in it but simply felt it had to be done for the survival of herself and her Woods. For fear that if she didn’t, something far worse would occur. But now…now she questioned everything and wondered if the Shadows she’d lived amongst for so long had hardened her to the weight of her deeds. And strangely enough, it was no longer the safety of the Woods she missed the most, but the blind certainty they gave her of whoshe thought she was supposed to be and what she was supposed to do, spared from any doubt.
As the sunset bathed the room in a golden orange hue, a soft knock at the door startled her. It was Azell. “Are you coming to dinner?”
“I—I am.” Caramyn looked up from her seat at the vanity. For a moment she almost wanted to change her mind, but committed to stand by her decision. She had attempted to arrange her hair, but had given up and allowed it to fall in loose waves across her shoulders and down her back. She’d never been adept at styling, and her loose hunting braid was about as intricate as it got.
Azell took her hand and led her out of the room. This woman was motherly to her, despite how cold she’d been in return at times. Her touch was always gentle, and there was never a moment she wasn’t hastening around to clean or help in whatever way she could. It reminded her of how her own mother had often quietly worked for the good of the village, despite the strange looks they gave her and her lilac-eyed daughter. She’d help in small ways that didn’t draw too much attention, keeping the villagers none the wiser that she was using magic to do so—or that it was even her doing. Like when she’d send strong breezes to help dry clothes on the lines, or when she’d scatter the seeds on the wind during planting season. In quiet ways she helped in the safest way she could, never expecting thanks for her unseen work.
It was a meager life, but they were always both fed and warm. She often imagined how much different it might’ve been if her father had never left. If he had been there in Dawnmire to defend them the day the King’s Inquisitors of the Order discovered them and turned her life to ash. If only…
Azell escorted her down the stairs and through a short maze of hallways to the banquet hall. Caramyn noted the corridors’familiarity from her night sneaking through the castle. Only now, everything was lit with life, torchlight, and warmth instead of cold, midnight emptiness. Finally, Azelle guided her to large wooden door with carvings of flowers and harvest fruits along the edges. A simple decorative touch compared to the rest of the castle
The door was opened, and there sat Asterious at the end of a long banquet table lined with an overwhelming assortment of roasted bird and smoked fish, assorted cheeses and stuffed mushrooms alongside glazed in-season vegetables. Tart cakes and fluffed pastries lined one corner of the table, as well as fruits drizzled with syrups and chocolate. The table was set with two silver plates and two chalices of wine at each end of the table. And a great mirror on the far wall stretched the length of the table, casting an eerie reflection of the emptiness of the grand space meant for so many more than just two.
Without a word, Azell patted Caramyn’s hand and abandoned her, leaving her in the room with the prince. Caramyn sat down nervously at the seat at the far end of the table. She had never seen such a fine spread of food, and the seasoned scents of herbed barley and fresh roasted quail teased her nostrils. “This is all for me?” She hesitantly plucked a grape from its vine, curious as to where so much food had come from.
“If you want it. The Lightborn ensured their food sources were generous. The harvests in these lands still flourish as if by…well…magic. And as a result, the game is quite plentiful, too.” Asterious nodded with a smirk. It was as if he’d read her mind.
She thought of what a shame it was that King Daemar had left these lands to rot, declaring them and anything that came from them as tainted by magic. If he was smart, he would’ve fed his people with its resources. Perhaps he didn’t realize it would all continue thriving even without Lightborn tending it. But then again, she was glad this lush corner of the kingdom had not yetbeen exploited through human politics. And perhaps it was best kept that way.
She glanced up at Asterious, realizing she hadn’t acknowledged the last thing he said. And for the first time, he flashed her what almost seemed like a genuine smile. “I'm glad that you accepted my offer.”
Caramyn pursed her lips. “What else was I supposed to do? You probably would have starved me if I didn’t.”
“You think I’m horrid, don’t you?” Asterious leaned back in his chair. “I’m not the monster they made me out to be.”
Caramyn thought of how many times she’d had to tell herself the same thing.
I’m not a monster. I’m not a monster.She’d repeat the thought over and over as a child when she first started to understand the meaning of the shadowy markings on her skin. Then again years later, through shock and desperation as she traversed the wilderness seeking refuge in the only place left to run.I’m not a monster.She wished it were true.
And yet somehow it had all led up to this moment. A moment in which she sipped rich wine from a jeweled chalice in the castle of a man who should be her greatest enemy. She wondered what the prince would think if he knew of her past. If he knew she was blood bound to the Shadows, guarding their secrets in exchange for their protection. But she didn’t know why she cared what he might think.
“How old are you?” She blurted out. He had said she could ask him anything, and she wasn’t wasting the chance. But she wasn’t sure why that was the first question she chose.
“Twenty-five,” the prince said coolly. “And you?”
“The agreement wasIaskyouquestions. Not the other way around.”
“Right, yes.” Asterious looked down at his plate and then flashed a tightened smile. “Apologies.”
“If you must know, I will be twenty-one on the first day of the eleventh month,” she uttered with a small shrug. She didn’t know why she told him, but what could it hurt. “Now, back to you. You said you didn’t want to kill for your father. And you claim you weren’t even given the chance at the throne. You’re nothing like what I’ve heard. So why is that you were made out to be a nightmare? Where do the stories come from?”
