“You would be allotted holidays.”
Dust scratched Magdala’s elbow as she leaned against the tallest stone. Working for the gentry would annoy her father. He revered the whole royal class, but still considered himself a member of their caste. Knowing his daughter served them would be an unforgivable condescension.
And what if she had to protect the crown prince? Not only would it horrify her to serve the man who currently lived within the walls of her ancestral home, but when her father slept, he dreamt of smothering the young prince in his bed.
“Tell me, is the crown prince ever around? Would I have to guard him?”
Huxley crinkled his brow. “Prince Asherton? No. He lives in solitude on a remote island out to sea. No one ever sees him.”
“Because he is cursed?”
Huxley rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you believe in that nonsense.”
“My father does,” Magdala said. “He’s convinced the prince will curse the whole realm if he takes the throne.”
“I told you that you would be guarding a woman,” Huxley snapped. “Now, do you want the position or do you not?”
Magdala considered. Her shoulders ached, and she could smell her own sweat and stench. Her hair was caked with dust. Better pay, holidays, no more scraping around in the dirt. What had she to lose? “Alright,” she said. “If my father agrees, I will do it.”
“Good. Come to the guardhouse in Largotia the first of the week. I will arrange it.”
When Magdala presented the new position to her father, he surprised her. Instead of berating her, he rubbed his mouth with his hand and said, “How near will you be to the royal family?”
“Not very,” Magdala replied.
“Hmm.” He fixed his eyes on the ceiling. “Still, it could be of some use to us.”
Magdala did not ask what he meant by that. She went to the capital city of Largotia the next day and signed her life away.
Chapter 1
Three Years Later
Magdala felt it in the cobblestones beneath her feet, in the heavy summer air, in the excited murmurs of passersby. The people were hungry for a riot.
Sweat beaded on her brow, and she asked herself again why she had ever left her mother’s cozy cottage on the Wildlands to return to this city and the hot leather doublet that crushed her breasts, the tall boots that squeezed her calves.
Leaving the city of Largotia behind, Magdala breathed in the cooler air of the countryside, the tang of pine, and the rich warmth of sunbaked mud as she followed the dry riverbed home. Her father’s cottage stood on the outskirts of Owlbright, a nondescript hamlet five miles from Largotia. Tucked under the pines like a magical fairy house and hemmed in by a perfect stone fence, the cottage should have been warm and inviting—idyllic, even—but too many years of her father’s bitterness had molded the walls and tarnished the gold-gilt furniture. Still, Magdala enjoyed a swell of pride as she passed through the gate—she’d built it herself.
Fishing in her pocket, she found the key, but before she could fit it in the lock, the door swung open and her father, Seamus Slorus, waved her inside.
Magdala had taken her mother’s surname, as was typical in Russuli families. Girls took their mother’s name, boys their father’s. Her mother left Elegy when she was a child, though neither of her parents would admit the reason. Her mother said that Seamus was too vicious for her, and Elegy had too many ghosts. Her father said her mother missed the Wildlands. Neither story rang true to Magdala.
Seamus was tall and broad-shouldered, and he filled the cottage like a tree too large for its greenhouse. His dark hair was frosted gray, his beard neatly trimmed. He shuffled when he walked. Years of dragging stones had taken their toll.
“My zealots will be here soon,” he said. “To make plans.”
After a full day watching her charge Angelonia torment the unfortunate tailor fitting her wedding gown, and with a long night on the riot patrol ahead of her, Magdala just wanted to take off her boots, peel her socks from her aching feet, and climb into a warm bath.
“Can’t you convince them not to riot?” she groaned. “I’m so tired.”
“Don’t go to work tonight,” her father said eagerly. His eyes glinted with a mad light Magdala did not like.
“A storm is about to break in Largotia,” Magdala replied darkly. “And you know everyone will be called to serve. Even Julian.”
“Julian is the most loyal of us all. He will not be caught guarding the prince.”
Magdala let out a scoffing laugh. “Oh, yes, he will. If he wants to marry Angelonia, he will. And don’t forget that he is Huxley’s younger brother. He does what Huxley says.”
