Slumber

by Cassandra Dean

  Whispers followed her, but she didn’t care. She wanted to be alone, to breathe, to be Thalia again and not the princess, and she wanted, most of all, to be away from Sebastian. A frantic search brought an empty chamber, and she stood in the middle of the room, her hand to her stomach as she forced air into her lungs.

  “What are you doing?”

  She whirled to find Sebastian, a thunderous scowl on his face destroying the perfection of his beauty.

  Linking her fingers, she lifted a brow. “Whatever I please. I’m the princess, remember?”

  “You have responsibilities, Princess. You cannot walk out on your subjects.”

  Guilt burned, and so she covered it with imperiousness. “Do not tell me what to do, Tailor. You have no right to demand anything of me.” Lifting her chin, she glared down her nose at him. Some things she hadn’t forgotten. “Leave me.”

  Anger darkened his features. “I will not. I will not allow you to make a mockery of your throne. You will go back, and you will greet your guests. Do not allow our…personal relationship to influence your actions.” Taking a step closer, he loomed over her as if such an action would intimidate her. “You are the princess, Thalia. Act like it.”

  “I will return when I have recovered.” She smiled thinly. “I feel faint, don’t you know.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, pulling the beauteous coat tight across his shoulders. She told herself she didn’t remember what those shoulders looked like clothed in nothing but moonlight.

  “You’ve not felt faint a day in your life.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Because you can’t keep a secret to save your soul. Every thought through your head, you express.”

  “That’s not a bad thing!”

  “Did I say it was?”

  She could see the small scar at the corner of his eye, and she remembered the last time he’d been this close. Heat rushed through her blood, and her breath deserted her. She wet her lips, her gaze drifting to his mouth. The world narrowed until it was just he and she. His gaze hot upon her, his jaw set, and his hands clenched at his sides, as if he wanted to touch her. She wanted him, too. She wanted his hands upon her once more, and, Maiden, she’d missed him. She’d missed him so much—

  A scream ripped the air.

  Sebastian grabbed her and shoved her behind him. From beyond the door, a cacophony of screams arose, coming ever closer.

  His arm braced over her waist, he said, “Bharia and Stahg are close?”

  Unable to tear her gaze from the door, she gripped his arm. She needed to know what was happening. Her people were in danger. “Yes.”

  “You should go to them.”

  Heart racing, she turned to him. “Sebastian, I need to protect my people.”

  “You can’t do that if you’re hurt.” He met her gaze, and the grimness of his expression made her fear as little else could. “You need to find them.”

  She nodded. “I will, but what about you?”

  “I’ll be all right.” He cupped her cheek, his gaze urgent. “Thalia, I—”

  The door slammed open, to reveal a woman dressed in a strange patchwork . Her eyes lit. “From the Spindles, Princess!” she screamed and threw something.

  A flash of light so bright her eyes hurt. Then blackness.

  A flash of light so bright it hurt his eyes, and then Sebastian was thrown back, his hip glancing something hard and sharp before he slammed into the floor. His skin felt hot, and everything sounded strange, as if he were underwater, but with a ringing in his head. He tried to push himself up, but his arms wouldn’t obey, would instead only push him halfway before collapsing beneath him.

  He couldn’t make sense of what had happened, and he couldn’t see much. All was blurry and dull around the edges, but there was dust in the air, and light, and there had been a woman, a woman who had thrown something, and he’d shoved Thalia—

  Oh, Mother. Thalia.

  Though his arms shook and his head screamed, he dragged himself up. A fallen beam pinned him to the floor, his legs trapped under the tangle of wood, but he could see a small mound of fabric amongst the debris, copper and bronze and glass, all the things that spoke to him of Thalia. But the mound was still. Too still.

  His heart stopped in his chest. “Thalia?”

  The mound didn’t move.

  “Thalia!” His voice escalated in volume until the last syllable of her name was almost a shout.

  No response.

  Needing to get to her, he clawed at the wood holding him captive, but it wouldn’t move, it wouldn’t fucking move, and she was just there, so close, and he couldn’t get to her, couldn’t help her, couldn’t do anything, but lie here trapped while she was there, possibly de—

  No. No, she wasn’t. He refused, he wouldn’t…. He needed this beam gone.

  “Tailor.” He looked up into the grim features of Thalia’s guardian, the blond, giant one. “Tailor, are you well?”

  He pushed the guardian away. “Thalia. See to Thalia.”

  The guardian looked where Sebastian pointed and went to her, kneeling beside her.

  “Is she—?” Sebastian swallowed, unable to finish the question. It seemed everything in him stopped as he awaited the guardian’s answer.

  After an eternity, the guardian looked up. “She needs help.”

  His heart started again. Closing his eyes, he offered a prayer of thanks to whatever god was listening.

  “We cannot remain here,” the guardian said. “She needs help greater than I can provide.” Gently, he took her in his massive arms. “You will be well until I return?”

  Sebastian nodded, somewhat dazed. Now that he wasn’t worried about Thalia, pain rushed through his body from a thousand scrapes and bruises, a burn on his hand, a cut on his head.

  The guardian, expression grim, carried Thalia from the room.

  A sudden scream of pain shot from his leg to his hip. Collapsing back to the floor, Sebastian groaned, injury consuming him now Thalia was safe. His movement forced the beam over his legs to shift, and white-hot agony ripped through him, bringing with it blessed darkness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Mind the pots, lad, or you’ll burn yourself before the day is through.” The head cook rapped her apprentice over the knuckles as he leaned over the stove.

  The youth pulled back with a scowl. “I’ll mind the pots if you make sure they’re not overfull.”

  “Of course they’re overfull, you foolish boy,” the head cook scoffed. “How else am I to feed all them Thorn Guards? I don’t know why they’re still in the palace, and that’s the gods’ honest truth.”

  The apprentice rolled his eyes. “They’re here to protect the princess.”

  “Well, of course they are, but it’s been five months, and the Spindles gone these last three. I’ve a mind to have a word with the king himself over this.”

  “He wouldn’t listen to you….”

  Head down as he polished cutlery, Sebastian listened to the head cook and her apprentice bicker. For a month, he’d worked as a footman, and he had quickly learned the best way to remain unnoticed was to keep his head down and ignore the kitchen squabbling.

  Setting the cutlery aside, he rubbed the dull ache in his leg. His recovery had been slow, and a month had passed while his leg healed. Eventually, he’d been well enough to attend court, and he’d done so as soon as he was able, desperate to see Thalia. He’d read the newssheets while in his sickbed, and his servants had carried the gossip. He knew she was alive…and that she hadn’t awoken.

  The princess slumbered, and Dormiraa waited to see if she would wake.

  None had seen her since the ball. The healers and her father kept her hidden in her slumber, and though many had asked, none had been granted an audience. As soon as Sebastian had been well, he’d applied to see her and had been denied almost immediately. He’d tried again, and then again, and he’d been denied each time. Finally, he’d realized the futility of a direct route a
nd so had devised a new plan.

  Putting it about that he’d suffered a relapse of his injuries and required seclusion, he’d retired from public life and set about securing a position as a palace servant.

  “You there. Bas.” He looked up. The head cook stood before him, hands on ample hips. “This stew needs to be taken to the Thorns’ east wing.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said softly, the rough accent of his youth coloring his words.

  “Mind you place the stew with the head Thorn and come back. They won’t tolerate lollygaggers.”

  He nodded, collecting the tray containing the stew from the apprentice. After a month of patient waiting, he would access the princess’s rooms.

  The journey to the east wing was uneventful, but he didn’t expect it to remain thus. Shoulders hunched, he shuffled past the Thorn Guards stationed in the hall. They barely spared him a glance, though they eyed the stew somewhat hungrily.

  A guard stepped into his path. “Where are you going with that?”

  Sebastian ducked his head. “I’m to find the head Thorn and present the food to him, sir.”

  “Let him go, Dharva.” Another guard hit the first on the arm. “The sooner he presents it, the sooner we can eat.”

  Dharva stood aside. “Be quick about it, man. I’m starving.”

  Sebastian mumbled a reply as he edged past the guard, turned the corner, and found an empty stretch of hall. Abandoning the stew, he strode down the hall. Thalia’s suite was at the end, and soon he would see her.

  “Halt.”

  Damnation. Dropping his shoulders, he waited for the guard to approach. The guard stopped before him and merely stood there. “You wanted me, sir?”

  “Only those approved can pass, and I doubt you’ve been approved, Tailor.”

  For a moment, he froze, then he looked up. Thalia’s guardian stood before him, his face impassive and his arms crossed over his massive chest.

  There was no point continuing with his pretense. Allowing himself his natural height and stance, he met the man’s gaze. “Guardian.”

  Stahg regarded him for a moment. “What are you doing here?”

  “Delivering stew.” Sebastian smiled thinly.

  Stahg exhaled. “Don’t lie, Tailor. You demean us both.”

  “You are correct, guardian. My apologies.” Arranging a genial smile on his face, he said, “I wish to see the princess.”

  “Why?”

  “To assure myself of her health.”

  “She sleeps, Tailor. What more do you require?” Stahg looked him over. “If you’re here as tailor, why are you dressed as a servant?”

  “A jape, my good man. Someone wagered I could not ascertain for myself the health of the princess, and I couldn’t let such a challenge pass me by. I am the tailor after all.”

  Stahg looked unconvinced. “None may see her, bar the king.”

  Refusing to be intimidated, Sebastian kept his smile and genial expression. “Come, come, my good man. Surely I can be allowed. I have the ear of the king, and that is as good as a decree.”

  Stahg didn’t respond, arms still crossed and face still impassive.

  A kernel of something approaching panic began in his chest. “Allow me passage, guardian. Name your price, and I shall pay it gladly.”

  For the longest time, the guardian considered him. Sebastian stood under his scrutiny, holding onto his smile by the skin of his teeth.

  “Why do you wish to see the princess?” Stahg said.

  Abruptly, all lies fell from him. “I need to see her, Stahg. I need to see her with my own two eyes and know she’s alive. Please….” He cleared his throat. “Let me pass.”

  Silence stretched between them. Sebastian kept his gaze locked on the guardian, but allowed his hand to stray near the knife hidden in his belt. He didn’t want to hurt the man, but he would if the guardian kept him from Thalia.

  Finally, the guardian said, “Don’t make me regret it, Tailor.” He stood aside.

  Nodding his thanks, Sebastian strode past Stahg without a backward glance. Within moments, he reached the door to Thalia’s chamber, the handle turning easily in his hand. The room was dim, the wide, floor-length windows draped with heavy damask. The bed dominated the room, a canopied extravagance he was certain she hated. The silken hangings were a dozen faded shades of pastel blue, and the pale, almost white, wood might be from Spindlerswood, but was all wrong for the Thalia he had come to know. However, none of this held his attention.

  Next to the bed, on a raised dais, lay a glass coffin.

  The soft hum and click of the gears pierced the silence of the room. Sebastian took a step forward, and then another, and then he was beside the coffin, staring down into Thalia’s sleeping face. A gentle glow emanated from the coffin, casting her in gold and shadow.

  It was true. She was alive.

  Relief such as he’d never known rushed through him and his knees buckled, only the bracing of his hand against the dais preventing his fall. A great shudder racked him, the last months of worry and stress collapsing in on him.

  Taking breath, he brought himself under control. Spying a chair, he dragged it to her side and sat, staring at her beloved face. The coffin was open, and what little he knew of the device spoke of that as a good sign. If the healers saw no reason to encase her, surely she would soon wake? Gods, the first time he’d seen her she’d been inside a coffin, and he wished to all the gods the reason was the same. He wished her hair was a wild tangle around her head rather than a smooth fall of curls upon her pillow. He wished she wore a gearsmock and work boots rather than a delicate white nightgown. He wished her features animated and her voice cursing him rather than her skin pale and her face still and her voice silenced by the villains who had felled her.

  “Thalia.” Emotion overtook him, grief and worry and relief, and he swallowed, his throat thick. “By the Maid, Thalia, I’ve been so worried. I was so afraid you were gone, and…. I’m sorry I acted the fool, that I pushed you away. You deserve so much better, but I can’t let you go. I tried, and all I got was this hole in my chest.” The edge of the dais bit into his hands. He wanted to touch her so badly. “I don’t know if I can touch you. Do you think that will break the healing? If I touch you?”

  To prevent himself, he shoved his hands through his hair. “It’s been five months. Five months you’ve been asleep, Thalia. Much has happened. They caught those who did this to you, has anyone told you? Your subjects found them and delivered them to the Thorn Guard. Your people love you, Thalia, and they were outraged at what happened.

  “The Spindles are broken. They went too far with this. Your father made a decree, did he tell you? He declared them outlaws and undesirables, and they’ve been exiled. They won’t harm you again, and your father has…. He’s….”

  Anger tinged with fear filled him. “Thalia, would you wake up? It’s been long enough. Dormiraa needs you. The people are subdued, waiting to see if you’ll wake. It’s like the whole country sleeps with you, and I…I….”

  Breath shuddered through him. “I love you. I love you with all that I am and all that I ever will be.” Gripping the side of the dais tight, he bowed his head. “Please wake up.”

  “She looks like she’s sleeping, doesn’t she?”

  Sebastian lifted his head, muscles tense. The king stood just inside the door, his austere face more careworn than usual and his hair disordered as if pushed by an impatient hand. Robes whispering against the carpet, he came forward, and, reaching out, he gentled his daughter’s brow, smoothed her hair. “I keep thinking she’s going to wake.”

  Sebastian followed the passage of his liege’s hand. Thalia’s hair shouldn’t be smooth. Her hair was always a mad tangle, full of energy, just as she was.

  The king brushed Thalia’s cheek. “How did you get in here?”

  Taking a moment before he replied, Sebastian said, “Stealth.”

  “Ah.” The king continued to stroke his daughter’s hair. “I should call the Thorns.”<
br />
  Fingers digging into the dais, he kept his tone lightly curious. “Why? I have made it to the princess’s chamber. Do you believe they could keep me from her?”

  “Are you questioning me, Tailor?” the king asked mildly.

  Sebastian swallowed. “No, sire. I question the Thorns guarding her.”

  The king nodded, his gaze on his daughter still. “But it is you who have disturbed my daughter’s sick bed. You have secreted your way into her room without my knowledge or consent. Tell me, who should I bear more wrath toward, the guards who allowed this or the subject who defied my orders?”

  Sebastian remained silent. He could not argue with his king, but he could not leave Thalia either.

  “You love my daughter?” the king said.

  How best to respond? He devised stratagems, plans, but in the end, discarded them all. “I do.”

  The king regarded him for the longest time. “It seems much happened on your journey back to Queenstor.”

  Heat burned his cheeks, and he hoped to the Warrior his king had no clue what had actually happened and just how close his tailor had gotten to his daughter. “Yes, my king.”

  “And my daughter? How does she feel for you?”

  He didn’t know how to respond. “I am unsure, sire.” And that was his own damn fault. He should never have left her.

  The king seemed to come to some decision. “Tailor, your actions are understandable, and I will allow you to remain, but I bid you remember before she is a princess, even before she is your love, she is my daughter. I will not allow her injury. When she wakes, if she does not wish to see you, no power on this earth will allow you to do so. Do you understand?”

  Jaw set, he met his king’s gaze. “Yes, sire.”

  “Until she wakes, though, I will allow you to see her.” The king’s lips twisted. “It seems you will find a way, even if I forbid it. You will tell no one of your audience.”

  “No, sire.”

  “Say your good-byes, Tailor. I am desirous of time alone with my daughter.”

  He couldn’t push the king any further. Leaning down, he brushed Thalia’s forehead with a kiss. “I love you, Thalia. I’ll see you tomorrow.”