She and Mona took their usual route, cutting through a servant’s passage and crossing the laundry chamber before entering the kitchens. Wordlessly, they retrieved the princess’ tray, neither of them looking at each other nor anyone else.
By the time they had returned to the royal wing, Hector was gone, the door shut again. But now, there was commotion inside the prince’s room as they passed. Soren could hear the voices and the sounds of people shuffling about. Hector must have informed the king and queen.
When they entered Princess Cion’s chamber, her eyes were shining and wide, her brow pinched with concern as she wrung her hands in her lap.
“What is happening?” she asked as Soren set her dinner on the small table by the balcony doors. “I heard people running in the hall to Nells’ room.”
Soren did not say anything, but Mona’s hands shook as she poured the princess a silver goblet of red wine. Outside in thehall, the sound of someone wailing pierced the air, and Princess Cion rose to her feet immediately.
On some protective instinct, Soren moved in front of the door, blocking the princess’ way.
“Let me through, Soren,” Princess Cion said in a hard voice.
Thelia glanced at Mona in confusion as Soren said, “I think you may want to wait, Your Highness.”
“Soren. Move.Now,” the princess ordered, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
Soren had no choice but to step aside.
The princess stepped out into the hallway, her steps slow and tentative. It reminded Soren of when she was on the defense during training. She sensed danger and was preparing to handle it, except that this was not the kind of danger one could run from or fight.
“Should we follow?” Mona said softly.
Soren met the other handmaiden’s blue eyes—Misean eyes—and nodded once. Thalia and Jasmen lingered in the bedchamber, nervously twisting their hands in the fabric of their dresses. Soren and Mona stepped into the hallway just as Princess Cion pushed the half-open door to the prince’s bedchambers wide.
“Out!” Soren heard the queen shriek from inside. “Out! Get her out now!”
Soren rushed forward without thinking, running to the princess’ side just as she stumbled back into the hallway, averting her eyes from what surely lay inside. But just before the guards closed the door, a tug in her chest had her looking up.
The prince was indeed dead.
His skin was paper-white, stretched over his face too tightly, his mouth twisted in a gruesome expression that looked like a silent scream. Wide open, his lifeless eyes were bloodshot and strained, nearly popping out of his head. And on his brow, therewas a strange mark. It looked like it had been inked on with midnight ash, contrasting sharply against his pale skin.
The door shut, and Princess Cion fell to her knees in the hallway. Soren caught her as she collapsed, shaking with silent sobs. As she stroked the princess’ dark hair back from her forehead in soothing, calming motions, she realized why she had recognized the mark.
She had seen it just today, in the entrance hall, on the ceiling. It was the same mark that sat upon Thanatos’ head. A moon, broken apart by a blade.
Nyx’s mark.
Prince Nell of Aren had been claimed for death by the goddess of night herself.
Chapter 2
Gently,Soren guided Princess Cion out of the hallway and back to her chambers. Mona and Thelia had already made the bed, and Jasmen coaxed the princess into the soft piles of pillows and fresh sheets as if she were a child.
Once she was settled beneath the blankets, she stared up at Soren and said in a crackling voice, “Soren, I want you to bring Lady Anabeth.”
Soren furrowed her brow. “The scribe’s daughter, Your Highness?”
Princess Cion nodded, her lower lip trembling. “Please, Soren. Do this for me. Find her.”
Soren bowed her head, not questioning the request further, especially not now. “Yes, Your Highness. I’ll return with the lady as soon as I am able.”
Princess Cion said nothing; she just sank deeper into the pillows. With a quick glance at the others, Soren hurried from the room. She had no idea where Lady Anabeth was or why the princess wanted to see her. She knew the two were friends, but they had never seemed particularly close. She must have read their relationship wrong, though, if the princess wanted her in a moment such as this.
She tried the library first, only finding Master June, Lady Anabeth’s father. His head was bent over a thick record book, and he was making tiny marks next to what looked like scrawled names. He looked up as she approached, his brown eyes a liquid hazel in the candlelight, wire glasses perched on his long nose, his simple linen robes rustling as he stood.
“How may I help you?” he asked in a soft-spoken voice.
