Soren sucked in a breath and pulled her hand away. “Yes, my queen.”
The queen nodded, evidently satisfied. “You may go now.”
Soren bowed again, murmuring, “Sleep well, my queen.”
The queen did not reply, still examining the vial. Soren took it as a final dismissal, turning and leaving.
The ‘gift’ was why the queen had recruited Soren in the first place. Once, as a child, she had dropped a cup of Princess Cion’stea, screaming as sounds of terror echoed in her ears. She was nearly executed when she told the guards it was poisoned. But when they brought her before the queen, the woman tested her instead of ordering her death. Soren had passed with flying colors—the queen asked her which vial could kill a man, and she remained one of the many servants secretly in her service ever since.
Still, her loyalties were to the princess first, and, seeing her light on, she hurried to the kitchens. When the cup of calming herbal tea was prepared, Soren returned to find the light still there.
“Who is it?” the princess called from the other side after Soren knocked softly on her chamber door.
“My princess, it’s Soren. May I come in?”
There was a long pause. With all that had happened today, she wondered if the princess was up for more of a reason than sleeplessness. She was likely deciding whether it was safe to let Soren in. There was no reason for her to fear. Soren was sworn to silence.
When the princess called, “You may come in, Soren,” she entered, finding the princess sitting at her vanity table, scrolls and ink scattered across its surface.
“My apologies, princess,” she said, her voice low and quiet. “I brought you some herbal tea. I saw your light was on.”
Cion raised a brow. “And what were you doing in the royal quarters at this hour?”
“Your mother,” Soren replied quietly, keeping her gaze cast downward. “She needed someone to assist her.”
Cion narrowed her eyes. “You are loyal to me first, though, yes?” she said, taking the warm cup from Soren.
Soren bowed her head. “Always, my princess.”
“Good,” Cion said shortly. “I need your assistance.”
Soren nodded at the crumpled scrolls and pots of ink. “You are writing a letter, my princess.”
Princess Cion smiled. “You are very observant, but…yes.”
She stood, crossing her arms over her chest. “Though I am not a poet nor a scholar. I need the assistance of someone used to wielding words as opposed to blades. You used to write letters for me when I was a child. I ask you to assist me in the same way now.”
Soren’s brow creased at the faint memory. Her script had always been neater than the princess’, her words more careful.
“And what should I know about this letter, princess?” she asked after a moment’s hesitation.
“I am writing to my betrothed,” Cion began, her eyes flicking to the closed door.
The room was shadowed, but moonlight filtered in from the balcony doors, leaving a glimmering trail of pale light over her ruffled bed sheets.
“I want to introduce myself. My passions, the things and the people I care for—it is important for a future husband of mine to know these things. I also want to acknowledge he must have passions and priorities too,” she continued. “Different than mine and already in place, since we come from separate kingdoms. Different places have different customs, I know. I want to honor this and protect his passions, so long as he is willing to help protect mine.”
Soren said nothing, but she understood. The princess wanted to bargain with the Prince of Meesling. She wanted protection for those they loved. For her, Lady Anabeth. For the prince, Princess Hessa of Mise.
Soren had heard rumors the prince and princess were actually in love, despite the arranged betrothal. Now, she knew the rumors must be true, though their love was useless now that they were being ripped from each other. Or perhaps PrinceKellmere knew of the betrayal. For Princess Hessa’s sake, she could only pray he would at least try to protect her and that Princess Cion would bargain for the same.
“I understand, princess,” Soren said quietly. “May I?”
Cion glanced at the pile of scrolls. “Please.”
It took Soren under an hour to compose the perfect coded letter to the Prince of Meesling. As Cion held it in her hand, eyes skimming the last words, Soren asked, “Is it adequate, my princess?”
Cion’s lips twitched. “In another life, you might have made an excellent spy, Soren.”
