There was no more pain, no more blood. His screams had faded away, his broken fingers no longer reaching for her…
No—she had promised. She tried to turn back before the warmth disappeared, but it was too late.
Even as darkness consumed her, the last thing she felt was crackling heat.
Soren rubbed at her eyes with her free hand, trying to brush away the exhaustion weighing them down. She hadn’t slept well again last night. The dreams she’d had since childhood were becoming more vivid, and with them, her sleep less restful. She could remember them more clearly than ever, and though shehad once wished for that clarity, she now hated it. The images and feelings she remembered only brought her confusion.
She dropped her hand as she reached the door at the end of the hall, tucking it back under the linens and knocking thrice. No one answered, and she pushed it open, assuming the princess was out. Her mind began to wander to the vivid smell of a wheat field she had never been to, but as she stepped inside, all thoughts of sleep or her dreams ceased.
The princess was on the floor, crimson staining the pale skin of her palm.
At the first sight of blood, Soren froze. If the wound was anything fatal or dire, she would immediately be implicated just for being the first one in the room. Those enslaved under the crown had been blamed plenty of times for even minor wounds inflicted on those they served; the punishments doled out rarely matched the severity of the injury—or lack thereof.
But as Soren forced herself to move, hurrying over to the princess’ bedside, the warrior princess of Aren began to laugh. Soren halted, a death grip on the clean linens in her hands. Princess Cion smothered her mirth, tucking a strand of long, dark hair behind her ear as she tried to compose herself. Closer now, Soren could see that, though therewasblood dripping from her hand, it was hardly more than a shallow cut directly in the center of her palm.
“I’m sorry, Soren.” The princess shook her head, looking down at her torn skin. “I just feel a little ridiculous.”
Soren forced herself to take a deep breath and walk lightly over to where she sat on the floor of her airy bedchambers.
Princess Cion’s chamber was in the back of the palace, overlooking the edge of a narrow cliff. The drop from her balcony was dizzying, enough that Soren tended to avoid the outdoor sitting space if she could. Lucky for her, the princess usually preferred to spend her free timeinthe lavish room.
“Are you alright, my princess?” Soren asked carefully, tucking the airy material of her skirt and kneeling in front of her.
As one of the princess’ four handmaidens, Soren wore a finer dress than most servants in the palace, but she did not mistake it for kindness or rank. It was merely to appear pleasing to the eye in front of the royals.
“I’m fine,” Princess Cion said, her voice leveling as her laughter died. “Really, I was eating an apple and my hand slipped. But please, to anyone else, I received this wound training.” She shook her head, the light catching the green in her hooded eyes. “How embarrassing. The ‘warrior princess’ cuts her hand carving a piece of fruit.”
She snorted softly, shifting, though not standing; the silky fabric of her red wrap dress slithered across the gleaming darkwood floor that had been polished this morning, while the princess had been at breakfast. Servants of lesser rank had completed the task, scurrying around Soren and the other handmaidens as they prepared a bath for the princess in the accompanying bathing chamber.
Soren remained kneeling next to the princess, her head bowed as she said, “If you do not mind, I ask that you stay here, princess. I don’t want you to get dizzy and fall. I’ll retrieve some water and clean bandages, and I can send for Jasmen to wait with you while I’m gone, if you’d like?”
Princess Cion shook her head, closing her kohl-lined eyes. “Not Jasmen. I’ll be fine, just go retrieve the supplies, please.”
None of the other royals ever said ‘please’ to a servant. It simply wasn’t the way of things. But Princess Cion wasn’t like most in the palace, at least to those she liked. Soren had always felt uneasy about being on the princess’ good side. Favor could change at any moment.
She rose and hurried out of the bedchamber, her slippered feet whispering across the wood as she stepped out into the empty hallway and softly shut the door behind her.
The royal wing sometimes felt like a tomb.
No one dared to raise their voice above a soft whisper, so as not to disturb the most important family in all of Aren—not that any of them spent much time in their chambers beyond sleeping. Princess Cion was usually training or studying scrolls, her brother, Prince Nell, taunting servants orpretendinghe knew how to wield a crossbow, and their younger sister attending lessons. The king and queen each had agendas of their own: the king, attending to a war outside the palace walls, the queen tending to her own battles within them.
There was a supply closet nearby; they were scattered discreetly throughout the palace for the servants, stocked with clean linens, brushes for cleaning, and sometimes a few medicinal supplies. When she reached it, Hector, one of Prince Nell’s personal servants, was already there, a pile of bed linens in his arms.
“Excuse me,” she said, and he stepped out of the way as she retrieved a few bandages and a small ceramic bowl.
Hector eyed the bandages then Soren. “Is someone hurt?”
She glanced at him. He was Misean too, with tawny, bronzed skin, dark brown hair, and blue eyes, features that always, no matter how they showed their loyalty to Aren, made others distrust them because of the ongoing war between their kingdoms. King Johannas was always wary of spies. Just this last week, two servants had been detained, one of them publicly executed for aiding rebel movements within Aren’s troops.
“Princess Cion, but it’s just from training earlier,” she lied smoothly.
Hector hesitated then nodded. “Ah, I see.” He paused again, glancing around before he leaned in and murmured, “This is thethird time I’ve had to change His Highness’ sheets in the last four hours. He’s quite ill.”
Soren’s eyes widened. “Will he be alright?”
Hector only shrugged, chewing on his bottom lip nervously. “I should go.”
She relented, nodding and letting him go, but her heart beat rapidly as he walked away. She focused on her breath, trying to calm the nervous anticipation.
