Stella
I awoke to pitch black night. Had I eaten before I slept? My head pounded and thirst clawed at my throat. I sat up and fumbled in the dark for the nightstand. Perhaps Bolin had left candles and matches for me?
I nearly knocked over a mug of tepid tea, but I caught it before it tipped and gulped it. Even cold, the honey-sweetened brew was delicious. I sipped the remaining drops and wished for more. When I put the cup back, it clanged against a hard item. I reached into the darkness and found soft biscuits sitting on a plate. I devoured them. They were sweeter than what I’d eaten at the temple. I chewed the tender bread, savoring every morsel.
The floor creaked, and the sound of uneven footsteps lumbered toward my door. The flickering light of a single candle illuminated the new man’s face. What was his name? Everything was a jumbled mess in my head, and I couldn’t recall.
“We didn’t want to wake you,” he said in a low tone. “We stayed up ‘til midnight, but Bolin went to rest. Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me, lass. We saved you some chicken stew.”
My mouth watered despite me not knowing what chicken was. I stood, clutching my forehead with the sudden onset of pain.
The man tisked. “I’ll pour you a portion of poppy extract, too. No need for you to be hurting.”
A smile broke through my grimace. I liked his accent. It differed from Bolin’s and was like being wrapped in a warm blanket. I stumbled to him and followed the shadow of his wide shoulders to what I assumed was a kitchen. Embers burned in a hearth, adding an orange glow to the room.
He pulled out a chair. “Sit here. I’ll get the food and medicine, then we’ll go back to sleep. Sorry about overlooking you needing nightdresses. We’ll buy one or two tomorrow.”
He was as kind as the priestesses who saved my life. Was everyone like this? No. I had memory loss, not naivete.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “Do you have a family?”
The dim light hid his reaction, but he paused and took a deep breath before answering my question. “Bolin is my family. There’s no use for linguists in the Northern Clans …” his voice trailed off.
While I didn’t remember my loved ones, my heart recognized the sorrow within the words. I said nothing else while he gathered my late dinner.
“Here,” he said, setting a glass vial before me, “drink this first, then eat.”
I obeyed. The sweetness overwhelmed my senses, but I consumed the entire portion, then dug into the bowl of mixed vegetables, lumps of chewy meat, and salty broth. My eyes rolled back as the delicious flavors and textures moved over my tongue.
“So good,” I moaned.
He chuckled. “Enjoy your dinner, huh?”
“Yes.” I sucked on the spoon, savoring the metallic flavor.
“You don’t have to lick it clean. There’s more if you’re still hungry.”
I set the spoon down, self-consciousness prickling my skin.
“I’d like more,” I said sheepishly.
He rose and fetched another serving. “Here, lass. Eat.”
Prince Ferdinand
The assassin’s blood ran in warm rivulets over my hand. I pressed my fingers into the wound my dagger had inflicted by his throat, attempting to delay his imminent death. My reaction spared my life, but his vein was severed. He spluttered, spraying pungent droplets in my face.
“Who hired you?” I growled.
His lips moved, but even my well-trained ear picked up nothing.
“Tell me!”
Sticky liquid leaked around my failing attempt to prolong his life.
A heavy sigh huffed between his lips.
“No, you bastard! Who sent you?”
He gasped, sending yet more blood seeping between my knuckles.
Footsteps sounded outside my room, and a voice called through the door.
“Ferdinand! I heard you shouting.”
“Enter! Help me!”
He fumbled with the unlocked knob, and my young brother, Lorenzo, stepped in, only to clutch his stomach at the sight of me bowing over the assassin’s bloody body.
“He tried to kill me. I awakened just in time,” I explained. “I must discover who sent him.”
He stared in horror. This was why I’d told our father to take him on hunts and force him to watch executions, but no. Queen Catarina, my father’s current wife, fought against it. And he listened to her. The delicate seventeen-year-old prince was overprotected to the point of being useless in emergencies. Perhaps my father’s divorce from my dishonored mother and her subsequent banishment worked out in my favor if all females attempted to keep their sons from becoming men.
“Don’t gawk. Get help!” I shouted.
He blinked out of his stupor and fled to the hall.
“Father! Guards! Nand killed someone!”
I gritted my teeth at his panicked inaccuracy. He didn’t understand what he was saying, and I’d explain myself soon enough.
I lowered my attention to the assassin beneath me, realizing he’d passed while I spoke to my brainless brother. And the queen thought he should be our future king instead of me. Please. Spare the boy the trouble of such responsibility.
I untangled my tainted palms from the dead man’s neck and sat on my heels. Catarina wasn’t reckless enough to have organized this, was she?
A chill made gooseflesh break out over my filthy skin. Did she want me dead?
Comments