“I know.” I take a spoonful to placate her, and have to force myself to swallow.
She tries to talk me into taking a walk through the gardens. I refuse, claiming a headache. It’s not really a lie. There’s a persistent dull throb behind my eyes, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
Tomorrow will be the same. And the day after that. This is my life now, being watched, and whispered about.
What did you do to me?
By late afternoon, restlessness drives me out of my room, and I wander through the hallways, until I find myself in one of the older wings, near the portrait gallery. This part of the building is quieter. I come here sometimes when I need to escape. The painted faces of dead kings and queens don’t judge. They don’t whisper behind their hands or fall silent when I approach.
My footsteps echo as I walk along the hallway, the portraits watching me as I pass. I’m almost to the far end when there’s a soft scuff of movement behind me.
I start to turn. An arm hooks around my waist before I can complete the motion, dragging me backward into one of the alcoves. I try to scream, but a hand clamps over my mouth, fingers digging into my cheek hard enough to bruise.
I kick backward, memories of Cairn grabbing me flooding my mind. My elbow connects with something solid—a chest?—but the hold doesn’t loosen. The body behind me is bigger than mine, stronger. The smell of wine and sweat reaches me.
“Fae lover.” Steel presses against my upper arm, and I freeze. “This is your only warning.” The voice is a rasp, low and rough, impossible to identify.
The blade drags down my arm, parting fabric and skin in one long stroke, pain burning behind it. I try to cry out and the sound comes out muffled, then I’m free, shoved forward. My shoulder hits the wall. I catch myself with my uninjured arm and spin around.
The alcove is empty, nothing but shadows, and the thunder of my own heartbeat.
I stand there, breathing hard, my hand pressed to the wound. The cut runs from below my shoulder almost to my elbow. The blood is seeping between my fingers, dripping onto the floor. My legs are shaking. I lock my knees and lean against the wall, using it to keep me upright.
I need to move. But my body won’t obey my brain’s commands, so I just stand there, bleeding, staring at the empty alcove.
I briefly think about telling my father. Whoever did it has already gone. I have no idea who it was. They won’t be caught, so is there any point? He’d confine me to my rooms for my own protection, and what little freedom I have would be gone.
Pressing harder against the wound, I start walking. My chambers feel very far away, and each step sends fresh pain jolting up my arm. The blood is soaking through my sleeve, staining the green fabric dark. I hold my arm close to my side and pray I don’t pass anyone.
Thankfully, I don’t. The halls stay empty and I make it to my rooms without seeing a single person. Once I’m inside, I lock the door and lean against the wood. My hands are shaking. My entire body is shaking. I press my back harder against the door and focus on breathing.
In. Out. In. Out.
I survived Cairn.I survived days as his prisoner. I survived being dragged through a forest, not knowing whether I’d live to see morning.
This is nothing. This is a coward with a blade who didn’t even have the courage to show his face.
The shaking begins to ease, and I push off from the door and cross to the wash basin, peeling back my sleeve to look at the damage. The cut is ugly. A long, diagonal slash, ragged at the edges and still bleeding. It’s going to scar. I’m going to carry this mark for the rest of my life.
I wash the wound with water that turns pink, then I tear strips from the skirts of my dress and wrap them around my arm, pulling tight enough to slow the bleeding. When it’s done, I pull my sleeve back down and look at myself in the mirror. I’m pale, my hair escaping its pins, but my jaw is set and my eyes are dry, and the girl staring back at me doesn’t look broken.
She looks angry.
Someone in this palace thinks they can terrorize me. They think a blade in a dark hallway will make me cower, force me to hide, and stop me voicing my thoughts.
They’rewrong.
I don’t know who did this. I don’t know if it’s one of Maren’s circle, or one of Vessen’s, or someone else who’s decided the princess who doesn’t like how fae are treated deserves to bleed for it.
But I’m going to find out.
TWENTY-FOUR
CAIRN
I’min my quarters supposedly reviewing the maps we took from the Dell to learn about what has changed in the world when Therin finds me. The reality is that my thoughts have been elsewhere for hours.
The fae we freed are starting to look less like the broken creatures I pulled from cages. Their magic is slowly working to heal them. Most of them eat without being told now, and sleep without screaming. Serath spoke yesterday, just two words—thank you, when Vel brought her food—but after doing nothing but humming for decades, those two words are better than any battle cry.
