They descended the main stone stairwell that connected the wing to the rest of the palace. Sunlight shone in from tall, arched windows, illuminating the rich material of woven tapestries and colorful rugs. The afternoon light shone off the spotless white marble floors, and the air smelled like jasmine. The palace was a bright, beautiful place.
Even Soren could admit that.
She often wondered if Kelshie was somewhere beautiful, even if she knew it was unlikely. Her elder sister had been sent off to be trained and shoved out onto the battlefield, fighting for the king who had slaughtered their family and friends. And here Soren was, living under the same roof of that very king, serving his house and even becoming friendly with his daughter.
She quickly pushed the thoughts away before they could swallow her whole and stepped into the entrance hall with the princess.
The vast, high ceiling was covered in a mural, a depiction of the goddess Nyx and her consort, Thanatos. For a flash, she looked up and let her gaze catch on the silvery-hued eyes of the gods as they stared down at her, at all of them.
Night and Death personified.
She had always wondered why King Johannas’ ancestors had commissioned the two gods in particular to be their watchers. Out of the eight principal gods who reigned in Arcadia, she would have thought Kronos, their king, or Sol, the god of light, would be more popular choices. Still, she always had an appreciation for the mural, despite its general lack of color and brightness.
Before the princess could see, she tore her eyes from the mural and followed her down one of the many winding hallways that branched off from the grand entrance hall. The simple stone corridor they turned down led out to the training yard where Sir Gellings, the princess’ personal trainer, was waiting.
The palace guards did not use this yard; instead, it was almost always empty for the princess. Dust from the packed dirt beneath their feet made its way between Soren’s toes as she headed to her usual spot.
She perched on a rough wooden stool as the princess picked up a slim sword from the rack of weapons, testing the balance in her hand before she approached Sir Gellings.
The knight, a tall, weathered man with a bald head and scarred face, bowed to the princess, his own heavy sword in hand. As usual, she sighed in irritation at his formalities, and he ignored her mockery.
Quickly, though, the humor left their faces.
Soren watched closely as they began to spar without a word. They moved sofast. It reminded her of a deadly dance. She often found herself wishing she could move in such a manner.
Princess Cian won the third round, grinning and breathing heavy as they lowered their weapons.
Sir Gellings voice was a rough bark as he told the princess, “Good. Three laps around the yard.”
The princess groaned but did as he said, jogging around the expansive circle. Sir Gellings caught Soren’s eye, and his mouth tightened in disapproval, his hazel eyes narrowing. Quickly, she dropped her gaze, looking down at her hands, slightly calloused from work. When she looked up again, the knight stood in front of her, still holding his sword.
“Are you or the princess in need of something, sire?” Soren asked quietly, meekly even. She sounded as she should.
The knight ‘smiled,’ though it was much more of a cruel grimace. “You were watching us.”
Soren’s chest tightened. “Yes, sire. I am always watching Her Highness. It is my duty to attend to her needs and, if need be, protect her.”
“And have you ever been trained?”
He was laughing at her.
Heat crawled up her neck onto her cheeks. “No, sire,” she said, tamping down a sudden urge to lash out. “Not with a blade or a bow.”
“But you know other things, don’t you?”
Soren froze. This was not something the knight should know—what the queen used her and a few of Princess Cion’s handmaids for. Soren had been trained in several arts of the night, but the queen usually called upon her when poison was preferred. She could detect it, identify it, though the queen had never made her use it against someone. Still, Soren knew she was in no way blameless, sure the queen had used Soren’s knowledge for hurting others, perhaps even killing them.
She had never been caught, but another girl, Amelea, had been, three seasons ago, and put to the execution block. She was fully aware Queen Lona used her and the other handmaidens as buffers for her own evil-doings. If they were caught, it could be blamed on a rogue slave or servant, not the crown itself.
“I am not stupid, girl,” Sir Gellings said in a low voice. “I know many of the handmaidens of this palace are not just that.”
Soren looked away, resisting the urge to raise her chin or give any other show of defiance. Silence was likely the best option at the moment.
“Gellings!” Princess Cion called.
The knight turned. “Yes, my princess?”
“Stop harassing Soren and come and train me like you’re being paid to do!”
