by N. C. Hayes
“I woke in an infirmary room three days later, with almost no memory of the duel. I had been defeated—badly. My ability to heal had been diminished by Irsa’s power, so a long stay in the infirmary was ahead of me. My mother sobbed at my bedside, thanking the gods that I had finally woken up. Then she yelled at me for being an insolent fool, for nearly making a murderer of my sister, and for forcing my father’s hand in allowing the duel to begin with—”
“He didn’t tell her the truth, even after all of that?” I cut him off.
“No. He explained to her that he didn’t want to bruise my ego, and allowed the duel, not realizing it would go as far as it did. She believed what she wanted. Irsa was named crown princess that night.
“After I had been awake for a few days, my father finally came to visit. He entered the room and stared at me in bed. I thought—I thought maybe he was trying to come up with the words to apologize. To say that he was sorry for putting those ideas in my head, for allowing me to make a fool of myself in front of every courtier and nobleman on the continent. Or at least to tell me he was happy that I was alive.
“Instead, he told me that I had humiliated him, myself, and our entire bloodline. That my training had been a waste and that he should have spent his time training Irsa instead of me, since nine years’ worth of the finest tutors money could buy were not enough to win against an eighteen-year-old woman with no formal dueling experience. He called me a disgrace, said that he was glad that I would never sit upon his throne, that clearly he had been wrong about a woman’s ability to rule and that the gods had shown him the error in his thinking in the form of my pitiful display.” My stomach clenched.
“He assigned me to my new position as an emissary of his court. I would be away from the Grand Palace for most of the year, visiting other territories. I would come home for a week, make my appearance in court, and then be sent away again to negotiate some deal, or to simply be the king’s representative across the continent. The courtiers at the Grand Palace coined me the ‘Wayward Prince’ following my scandal, and that was what I became. Aloof, cocky, without direction or a plan. At first, I pretended not to care—I fed into it. It was just a role I played to make visiting the Grand Palace more bearable, but after a while, it was hard to know where Aydan Aevitarus ended and the Wayward Prince began.
“It wasn’t all terrible. I visited my grandparents in Sylvanna often, and I experienced parts of the continent I had never seen before and would never have been allowed to explore on my own had I been named crown prince. But knowing what I had done to my sister, to my mother—and how I had disappointed my father—stuck with me everywhere I went. Knowing that I had thrown away any chance of a truly close relationship with Irsa was a difficult pain to bear.
“For five years, this carried on. Then one morning, I awoke in a suite in the Duke of Xarynn’s manor to the news that a mortal rebellion had broken out in the night. The rebels, allied with witches, had attacked my family home, armed with silver weapons. They overtook the Grand Palace and killed my mother, countless courtiers, and other guests before forcing my father and sister and what was left of the Nautian court to flee to Ayzelle, to this castle that we sit in tonight.” Aydan was staring at his hand, pulling at some lint on the arm of the sofa.
“I tried to come to court here in Ayzelle as soon as I received the news, but my father would not receive me. It was Lord Ronan who informed me that I had been relieved of my position as emissary and banished to Sylvanna. I was no longer welcome at court.
“You see, I had been in the middle of peace negotiations with the leaders of the mortal territories. They were seeking more independence and my father would not allow it. I had been in a meeting with Thandreil and his men three days before the attack, and my father blamed me for not keeping their rebellion at bay.”
“You couldn’t have known their plans,” I said gently, noticing the haunted look in Aydan’s eyes.
“I know,” he said softly. “It just . . . maybe I should have. Maybe there were signs that I didn’t read, something I missed. I think about that meeting often and wonder if there was something I could have done to save my mother’s life.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a long time since I’ve told that story.”
“Thank you for telling me,” I said. Aydan remained quiet, staring at the arm of the sofa once again, trying to pick at that invisible piece of lint. I watched, unsure of what to say or if I should say anything at all. After a few minutes, the clock chimed in the foyer, breaking Aydan’s concentration as he glanced up at it.
“It’s getting late,” he said. “You must be exhausted.”
“I am,” I admitted with a sigh. “Today was . . .”
“A lot,” he finished for me. “Are you hungry? I could have a plate sent to your room.”
“No, I think I’d rather just get some rest,” I replied, standing to leave.
“I’m going to stay up a bit longer, I think. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Good night, Aydan.”
“Good night, Lady Shaye.”
“I’m not a lady, remember?” I joked. “If I have to disregard your title, then you have to disregard mine.”
“Fine.” He chuckled, if somewhat reluctantly. “Good night, Shaye.”
“Good night, Aydan.”
Chapter Ten
The next day, I woke with a pounding headache. I took my time sitting up, taking in my surroundings. The bedroom—mine for the time being, I supposed—now contained a few more comfort items than had been present the previous evening. I noted a hand-painted pitcher and matching cup on a small table near the entrance to the bathroom, as well as a small arrangement of fresh flowers on the vanity. The shelves and books had all been dusted. I wondered if this had been done magically from outside the room, or if I had been sleeping so deeply that I didn’t notice Isolde and Elise coming in.
I’d fallen asleep without changing out of my dress, and now I crossed the room to the wardrobe to select something fresh to wear. I found a comfortable-looking dress of deep blue cotton. I changed into the new frock and left the old one spread out on top of the bed, then sat in front of the vanity. Sleeping in a real bed had done wonders for my appearance, or at least the bags under my eyes, even after just one night. I quickly ran a brush through my hair before braiding it back and leaving the room.
Isolde and Elise were busy rearranging cushions on the parlor sofas when I entered. They both stopped and curtsied when they noticed me. I gave them an awkward smile, still uncomfortable with their formal treatment. I certainly didn’t feel deserving of a curtsy.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Good morning, my lady,” said Isolde. “Would you like something to eat?”
“Yes please,” I replied over the sound of my stomach growling. Isolde set down her work and led me to the dining room where Aydan and I had shared dinner the night before. She pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit as a tea service appeared on the table before me.
“I will tell the kitchen you are ready for breakfast. Do you have any requests, my lady?”
“Oh.” I’d never had much of an option to choose from. “Perhaps just some porridge.” Isolde stared. “Or maybe . . . an egg?” She blinked, then smiled politely.
“I will tell the kitchen,” she said.
I sipped on my tea while I waited, and in just a few minutes, Isolde brought out a large tray filled with toasted bread, pastries, fruit, a platter of fried eggs and sausages, and in the center, a bowl of porridge topped with berries and a drizzle of honey.
“Is there anything else you require?” she asked.
“No,” I said, a little overwhelmed. “No, this is incredible. Thank you, Isolde.” She began to leave when I added, “Will the prince be joining me?”
“His Highness left before the sun was out this morning, my lady. He had an audience with the king and the crown princess.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, thank
you, Isolde.”
She curtsied and left me to my breakfast.
I spent the remainder of the day resting in my room, emerging only to eat dinner at the table when Isolde came to collect me. Aydan did not return before I fell asleep that night, and again the next morning, he was gone for another audience with Zathryan and Irsa.
This routine continued for nearly a week, with me being left alone for most of the day. Elise and Isolde were kind enough, but they always seemed to have their hands full and I quickly felt that I was in their way if I made any attempt to have a conversation. I finally kept myself awake long enough to hear Aydan enter the chambers on the sixth day I had been a resident of Castle Ayzelle. I’d forced myself to keep my eyes open, reading a volume on the history of the Medeisian territories and the wars that formed them, until I heard the door open and close, followed by low voices down the corridor. I came out from my room and padded my way to the foyer, where Elise was taking Aydan’s jacket.
“Thank you, Elise,” he said, exhaustion in his voice.
“Would you like me to bring tea to your room, Your Highness?”
“No tea,” he said. “But a plate of whatever was served at dinner would be lovely. My father elected, yet again, to serve mutton this evening.”
“What’s wrong with mutton?” I asked. Aydan looked up, a bit startled.
“I’ve always hated it, and my father knows that,” he said. “What are you doing awake? It’s nearly three in the morning.”
“I haven’t seen you since my first night here.” I realized now how silly I must seem. “I haven’t heard anything about my uncle. And there are only so many books one can read in a week before boredom sets in.”
He sighed, but it did not seem to be out of frustration. “Are you hungry? I was just going to eat something.”
“No thank you,” I said. “But if you don’t mind the company, I’ll sit with you.”
“Please do.”
~
Elise brought tea out for me when she arrived in the dining room with a steaming plate of the roast chicken Zale and Tory had prepared earlier that night. Aydan was less ravenous than he’d been during our last meal together, eating at a slower pace tonight.
“I’m sorry I’ve left you alone so much,” he said after a few minutes. “I’ve been trying to strike a deal with my father to get us to Sylvanna faster.”
“Let me guess.” I smirked. “We’re leaving in the morning?”
“Not quite. But I did convince him to allow us outside of the castle, to walk the grounds.”
“The height of privilege,” I said. He huffed a laugh. “Has there been any word from Gideon?”
“I’ve sent out inquiries to every contact that might be able to help. There has been no response yet.”
I fiddled with my napkin on the table. “Thank you. It’s kind of you to use your resources to help me.”
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Gideon bought us enough time to get out of that house safely. It would be bad form to leave him in the hands of Nautian captors if it can be avoided.” I took a drink of my tea. “I have no plan for tomorrow. Would you like to join me on a walk around the grounds? I’d be happy to show you the garden.” He finished his plate and made it vanish.
“Actually,” I said, noting the change in subject. “I was wondering if you could teach me that.” I pointed to where his plate had been just a second before.
“What, how to clear a table?”
I rolled my eyes at his joke. “Magic. I have this power and don’t know how to use it. Can you teach me?”
Aydan considered, leaning back in his seat. “I suppose you’ll have to learn some time,” he said. “As long we keep it to ourselves, I don’t see why not.”
“Really?”
“We’ll start after dinner tomorrow.” He nodded. “We should both get some rest.”
“Thank you, Aydan.” I stood and pushed my chair in. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chapter Eleven
The next night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
Our first lesson, following an indulgent dinner of roast duck with plum sauce, was a disaster to say the least. We’d sat in the parlor on opposite sofas while Aydan began his instruction: “The way we’re all initially taught, once we’ve tapped into our power, is to remind ourselves that this magic, the extended life, the abilities, it’s all a gift from the gods. The ability to bend our surroundings to our will is their gift, and we should use it wisely.” He rolled up his sleeves, revealing a tattooed left forearm. “Now, whether it’s really the gods, or the land, or simply an accident of bloodlines, we can never truly know, but this is what we are taught.” He placed a full bottle of wine in the center of the table, next to an empty glass. He made a waving gesture toward it, and the bottle uncorked itself without him laying a hand on it. “Pour a glass,” he said. I stared at it, then looked up at him.
“How?”
“Decide that you want it. Will the wine to do what you want. Hold the glass in your hand if you’d like. Let that power you’ve felt beneath the surface trickle out and do your bidding.” I nodded and snatched the glass from the table. I held it before me for what felt like an hour, urging that tingling to show itself. For a moment, I thought I felt it, then it was gone. I sighed.
“I don’t think I’m doing it right.”
“Keep trying,” he said quietly. I fixed my gaze back onto it and threw my mind toward it.
There it was—that tingle, the vibration right there under the surface, ready to show me the extent of my power, the extent of the force that lingered within me, enough to frighten kings both mortal and sorcerer—
The glass shattered.
One second, it was in my palm, my mind urging the bottle to come to me, to fill the glass to the brim, to overflow and stain the parlor carpets. The next, the glass practically exploded, sending tiny shards flying in every direction. I blinked at my empty hand now smeared with blood.
“What happened?”
Aydan motioned for the shattered glass, and it reappeared whole in my hand, which was healed as well.
“It’s normal,” he told me. “This time, focus on the bottle. Ignore the glass.” I nodded, determined.
I shattered the glass eight more times before I got frustrated enough to quit for the night. Aydan assured me again that it was normal, that no one gets their first lesson right, and that we’d keep working on it. I excused myself for bed.
That was hours ago, and all I’d done in the meantime was lay here. My eyelids finally drooped and I grew excited in hopes of falling asleep—until I felt the urge to relieve myself. Irritated, I hauled my body to the attached bathroom. Once I’d finished, I decided I was thirsty as well, but when I went to pour some water from the pitcher on the vanity, it was empty. Now fully awake, I took the pitcher and left the room, shuffling in the direction of the kitchen.
Quietly I passed through the corridor, not wanting Elise or Isolde to wake and decide they needed to wait on me. I thought for a second that I might be too late because ahead of me, past the foyer and through the parlor entrance, a figure stood in near total darkness. It was too tall, now that I had a better look, to be either of the women. Zale or Tory, then.
“Hello?” I called, taking up a nearby lantern. It was already lit. Strange. No response from the parlor. Again I said, “Hello?”
The figure turned, and I nearly dropped the lantern and pitcher both.
Gideon.
My uncle Gideon stood before me, in the prince’s private chambers. He looked just the same as I saw him coming back from town that last day—tanned, healthy, with some dirt smudged across his cheek.
“Gideon,” I breathed, taking a step forward. “What are you doing here? Where have you been? How did you . . .” His eyes were wide, staring me up and down.
“Shaye,” he croaked. “You must . . . you must . . .” His voice was barely a whisper.
“What is it?” I wavered, wanting to reach out and touc
h him. “Can I get you anything?”
“You must go—with him. You’ll be safe. Go.” He choked.
“We can’t go,” I said, tears streaming now. “King Zathryan has taken us prisoner. He and the crown princess want to keep us here—”
“Go, Shaye.” When he reached for me, I saw in the faint light of the lantern that his arm was covered in blood. Red pooled from beneath his shirt, the stain growing and appearing in different spots, until blood poured from his mouth, his eyes, blood-streaked tears streaming down his face. “G-Go!” He heaved, a terrible gurgling sound, and grabbed my arms. I screamed. He shook me violently, bloodied face inches from mine, wailing my name over and over—
“Shaye!”
I was in bed, being shaken. I heard myself crying—screaming.
Aydan leaned over me, holding me by the shoulders as I looked around wildly, thrashing my head, searching for Gideon—
“You’re all right. You’re in your room, in Ayzelle. You’re all right,” he repeated. I took a breath and nodded. Of course I was. It was just a nightmare. Aydan let go of my arms and sat up straight on the edge of my bed, giving me space. I put a hand on my forehead, then pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face into the blanket. It and my nightdress were completely soaked with sweat. “Thank you, Elise,” Aydan said softly. I looked and saw her standing in the doorway in her nightdress, a shawl pulled tightly around her and golden brown hair loose around her shoulders, her eyes wide with fright.
“Thank you,” I mumbled. “I’m all right now.” She shut the door gently and we were alone. Embarrassed, I looked over at Aydan, resting my head on my knees again.
He was bare-chested and barefoot, clothed only in a pair of loose trousers. The surprising part was not his exposed skin but the tattoos covering his left arm. I had seen them briefly before, but I’d not realized their extent—traveling from his wrist to his shoulder, drifting up toward his neck. The swirling, vine-like shapes were nearly floral, not quite filigree, and formed no definite image but were stunning nonetheless.
