But wanting him and being able to stop were turning out to be entirely separate problems.
She rose and dressed in the dark.
By the time Lysa arrived with morning water, Sabine had already decided what she needed.
Not more warnings. Not more charged exchanges in private galleries where proximity made her forget how to think past the heat climbing her spine.
She needed information.
She needed to know what had happened to Isolde, what the rite was hiding, and whether the drowning bride in the garden was memory or prophecy.
“I need access to the palace archives,” Sabine said.
Lysa paused in the act of pouring water. “The main archive or the ritual records.”
“Both, if possible. I need to research prior sacred brides. Their histories. Marriage records. Succession documentation.”
Lysa set the pitcher down carefully. “That is plausible enough. Brides preparing for final selection are often encouraged to study queenship lineage.” She studied Sabine’s face. “This is about more than preparation.”
“Yes.”
“Does it have anything to do with why you looked like you had been struck by lightning when you came back from the rose gallery yesterday.”
Sabine’s chest tightened. “I need to know what happened to Isolde.”
“And you think the prince will not simply tell you.”
“I think he tells me what he believes I can survive hearing. I would prefer the full version.”
Lysa’s mouth curved faintly. “You are either very brave or very stupid, and I have not decided which yet.” She crossed to the wardrobe and began laying out a dark blue gown suitable for archive work, structured, elegant, no excess fabric to catch on shelves or trailing hems to collect dust. “I can arrange access through Mistress Halvine’s office. You are meant to be studying former consorts as part of trial preparation. That gives you legitimate reason to be in the records hall.”
“Thank you.”
Lysa helped her into the gown and began pinning her hair with practiced efficiency. “You should know that servants talk. And what they are saying is that the prince looked at you differently after the garden trial. That he cleared the schedule personally. That he has not done that for any other bride in living memory.”
Sabine met Lysa’s eyes in the mirror. “What else are they saying.”
“That the bond is real. That you are either going to survive because of it or die because of it, and no one is willing to bet which yet.”
The archive complex occupied the palace’s northeastern wing, accessed through a series of progressively colder corridors that felt like descent even though the floor remained level. Stone walls. Iron-banded doors. The smell of old parchment, leather bindings, and something else underneath, wax and dust andthe particular mustiness of information stored past the point of frequent use.
An attendant checked Sabine’s written authorization from Halvine’s office, then unlocked the inner door and gestured her through.
The main records hall stretched longer than Sabine had expected, lined floor to ceiling with shelves that disappeared into shadow at the far end. Narrow windows set high in the walls let in cold morning light that barely reached the lower stacks. Tables stood at intervals, each equipped with lamps, inkwells, and the small brass bells scholars used to summon assistance.
Princess Elara sat at one of the center tables, surrounded by ledgers, a half-written page of notes beside her elbow.
She looked up when Sabine entered, dark eyes sharp and faintly amused.
“Lady Sabine. I had wondered whether you would find your way here eventually.”
Sabine crossed to the table. “Your Highness.”
“Elara is fine when there are no priests watching.” She gestured to the chair across from her. “Sit. You look like someone hunting something specific, and I respect that more than people who come here pretending scholarship when what they actually want is to look industrious for an hour before returning to more pleasant diversions.”
Sabine sat. “What are you researching.”
“Architectural records. I am trying to determine when certain palace wings were added and which parts of the current structure predate the Trials as they exist now.” Elara tapped one of the open ledgers. “The garden, for instance, is older than the formal rite by at least two centuries. Which raises interesting questions about what it was used for before it became a trial ground.”
