My heart ached.
The letters reminded me that I hadn’t written to Selmira since the day Semuel left. Because what could I possibly write to her without sounding miserable? I didn’t want her to worry.
They also reminded me that Semuel had not once written to me. Which was why I often worried, wondering if he was all right.
I tried to imagine what his face must have looked like now that he had turned twenty-five. Perhaps he had grown a beard. Though every time I thought about him, I always imagined his face looking exactly the same as it did the first time that I saw him.
“I’ve heard positive things about you, Ms. Wildheart. Stableman Martin Seid also told me that Sand Priestess Selmira thinks very highly of you. But I want to hear some things from you. Tell me more about yourself, about your skills, about what would make you a valuable servant at this castle.”
“Well…I—I know how to clean. Floors, furniture, and clothes, and I know how to cook…and I—”
“Hello, my beautiful Farah,” a young man, perhaps twenty years old, said. He stormed into the little meeting room.
“You do realise that I am in the middle of an interview?” the middle-aged woman, Farah, asked, her tone indulgent.
“I’m just here to fetch some papers. Go on pretending I do not exist.” He rummaged through the top drawer, whistling a quiet tune. I noticed his clothing—a variety of shades of brown. The tunic’s fabric seemed fine, opulent even, but the overall attire, with the knee-high leather boots, tight brown trousers, and camel-brown tunic, screamed stableboy. He reminded me of what I knew I would long for should I be accepted to work as a servant here.
“And I have plenty of experience with horses,” I continued. “And not only cleaning the stables. I was also responsible for brushing, saddling, watering, and feeding them. Oh, and I even know how to tend to their hooves.”
“You’re hired!” the young man announced, swiftly turning himself around.
“Prince Semuel! I am interviewing her for the role of a castle servant. We are in desperate need of help in the east wing.”
Prince!?
“Oh, come on, my lovely Farah, let me have this one. I’m in dire need of a personal servant.”
“Coating your tongue with sugar does not work on me, young Prince. And how many servants do you need? You already have Faernand, have you not? Isn’t he your personal servant?”
“I have appointed Faern to other important roles and am in much need of a new servant.”
I was certain Farah was biting the insides of her cheeks.
“What’s your name?” the prince asked.
“I’m Cordelia…Delia Wildheart.”
“Come with me, Wildheart. I’ll give you a tour of my rooms and the stables.”
Farah let out a long exhale. “If Mounir was here, he—”
“Well, good thing he is not here now, is he? And besides, I am prince, I can hire a servant, can I not?”
She let out another breath and in an exasperated tone said, “Young lady, when you’re finished with the prince’s tour, come back here, please. You’ll be staying with us on the east side, close to the prince himself. I will show you your room and the facilities.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Ms. Farah.”
“Thank you, Ms. Farah,” Prince Semuel parroted, winking at her.
CHAPTER 8
It felt hotter today.
The hurried walk back from the stable left me sticky and breathless. And I hadn’t even begun my day. My back, my legs—they felt as if they were working against me.
The east wing was unusually crowded this morning. The hall echoed with mumbling as the royals and council members squeezed their way up to the third floor. Lord Aegir would be amongst them soon. Some big meeting, requiring the presence of all the noblemen for most of the day. It meant that everyone would be out of their rooms. Mounir saw this as an opportunity and instructed me to change the bedsheets of all the rooms on the east wing, while Clara and Ralfe scrubbed in the laundry room.
Lovely.
