No.
My heart pounds harder.
She wouldn’t have...
I glance around the carriage, searching for answers—for proof that this is all some horrible mistake. That’s when I seethe flash of white: a folded piece of parchment tucked into the velvet-black seat opposite me.
I pick it up. The paper smells faintly of lavender, Princess Seraphyne’s signature scent.
And I recognize the handwriting before I even begin to read—elegant cursive that makes my heart ache. After I was conscripted into handmaiden service, my mother became Princess Seraphyne’s—and by extension, my—tutor so she could be closer to me. She died when I was seventeen. But before her untimely passing, she badgered the princess and me to practice our handwriting for hours, even though we all knew I’d never need it once I became the palace gardener—and Seraphyne, destined to become the Stone Bride, wouldn’t need such graces past the age of twenty-five.
Yes, Princess Seraphyne wrote this letter. To me.
And the first line makes my stomach drop:
Thornie, don’t be mad.
Shadows
SALLIE ROSE
Thornie,don’t be mad.
I know, as my best friend, you’ll understand why I had to send you in my place.
In many ways, I have done you a favor. Unlike me, you have not had to live for twenty-four years with the certain knowledge that your twenty-fifth birthday would end life as you knew it.
I’m sure, if you really take some time to think about it, you’ll agree that I deserve happiness after a lifetime of dread. With Sir Paul.
Please know that I appreciate your sacrifice for the good of your best friend, the person who has kept you in luxury for all your life without any worries whatsoever. And I know you appreciate being able to play your part in ensuring I get the happy ending I deserve.
With warm regards,
S.
Weed worms and rocky soil!I can’t believe Princess Seraphyne’s audacity.
Okay, actually, I can.
Easily.
It’s my own bad luck more than anything that has me launching the foulest invectives I can think of at the carriage walls—before I go right back to screaming to be let out.
It only takes the few last ticks of the setting suns for me to stop, though. My dry throat is badly in need of water, and all my yelling only makes the pounding headache worse.
Also, it’s obvious that whoever’s driving the carriage isn’t going to answer.
Or feed me.
Or stop for bathroom breaks.
Both my stomach and my bladder are groaning by the time the carriage pitches back and starts ascending what I can only assume is a mountain.
The suns are long gone, and Sylvos, the moon my father prays to, is nowhere in sight. Everything on the other side of the carriage’s window is a murky black of looming shadows and howling shrieks I can only hope is the wind.
But, eventually, the carriage stops in front of a jagged silhouette of black spires and flickering lanterns.
The Stone Fae Castle.
