The others cleared away, and Mona followed Soren to the cramped room they shared. It contained but two narrow woodenbeds and one tall, worn dresser by the doorway that held their clothing. A narrow window hung between their beds, looking out upon a courtyard where kitchen shipments were received. They usually kept the curtains drawn.
As soon as they were alone, Mona said sharply, “You shouldn’t have told them the prince is dead. It wasn’t your place.”
“They’ll know anyways come morning,” Soren replied wearily, beginning to fumble with the ties of her wrap dress.
Mona looked sidelong at her and said, very quietly, “We need to keep a low profile. All of us. The king will be on edge.”
Soren knew just who ‘we’ meant.
All the Misean servants were children who had been brought up as slaves in the palace, with minimal memories of their home kingdom. But King Johannas was always on the lookout for reasons to punish them, especially when he was in a mood. The next few weeks were bound to be dangerous, for them especially.
“I know,” Soren said quietly.
Even as she kept her face neutral and her voice calm, inside, she felt as though she wanted to scream.
Traitor.
The word repeated itself in her head like a terrible mantra. Somewhere out there, her true people were fighting tooth and nail to keep their kingdom from Aren’s grasp in a war that had carried on for decades.
When the gods abandoned them over a century ago, Aren had fallen into a great drought. As a mountain kingdom with a drier climate, only magic had once kept their crops from dying. When it was gone, the food supply quickly dwindled. Mise’s land remained fertile and lush as it had always been. But when King Hammod of Mise refused to aid Aren, knowing full well his smaller kingdom could not support the enormous beast, KingJohannas took it as an act of war. He decided if Mise would not give, Aren would take.
And take, they did.
The war had been going on for nearly thirty years now. Mise still stood only because the neighboring desert kingdom of Meesling had agreed to aid their military effort in exchange for a marriage alliance, and likely a share of resources along with it. Even so, from what Soren had heard, both Mise and Meesling were barely holding the line.
She pushed away the thoughts of war and her own betrayal, though. They were too overwhelming, and the helplessness she felt when she let them sink in helped no one.
So instead, she let her mind calm and mechanically pulled off her dress, tugging on a coarse nightgown. Silently, across the room, Mona did the same. They took turns in the tiny bathing chamber, and then Soren settled into her bed. Mona blew out the single, waning candle atop the dresser, plunging the room into cool darkness.
Just before Soren fell asleep, Mona whispered, “Be smart as you have always been, Soren. Do not let the events of tonight turn your head to any grand notions.”
“Don’t worry,” Soren muttered sleepily. “My hope died a very long time ago.”
In the morning, she and Mona rose at dawn, as usual, then hurried to the royal wing. When they arrived, all was quiet. It was almosttooquiet.
Thelia and Jasmen were already at Princess Cion’s door, waiting with her breakfast. They stayed in a different wing of the palace; the Misean servants were kept separate from the others.
“Have you gone in yet?” Soren murmured to Thelia, who shook her head, an odd, amused expression tugging at her lips.
It was then Soren realized why they were waiting. The sound of soft, feminine moans came from the princess’ chambers. A few moments passed, and the moans grew louder. Jasmen clapped a hand over her mouth to keep the giggles from escaping as Mona glanced at Soren, her brows raised.
Soren sighed then said to them all in a harsh whisper, “Not a word about this to the queen or king, even if they were to ask. We serve Princess Cion first.”
Three pairs of eyes darted her way.
Mona was the first to nod and reply, “Of course.”
Thelia and Jasmen quickly made quiet noises of agreement. Then Jasmen, in that soft-spoken, wary of hers, asked, “Should we knock? Before someone else hears them?”
Soren took a deep breath, worrying her lip between her teeth before saying, “I think we should.”
They all looked at each other until Soren muttered, “Alright, fine. I’ll do it.” She gave three sharp raps on the door and announced, “Your Highness, it’s Soren and the others. We are here to dress you.”
The moaning abruptly stopped. After nearly a minute, the door cracked open, and a rosy-faced Princess Cion appeared behind it.
“Apologies, Your Highness,” Soren said. “We…wanted to give you privacy but also needed to warn you others in this wing are likely to wake soon.”
Princess Cion’s mouth tilted to the side in a half-smile. Despite the events of last night, it seemed Lady Anabeth was able to lift the princess’ spirits.
