But before I reach the ledge, screams erupt from the palace. I try to locate the exact direction of the sound, but my heartbeat pounds too loudly. The metallic taste returns to my mouth. At my side, the duke jumps, his attention seemingly torn between helping me and seeking the source of those screams.
The hedges loom large overhead and begin to sway as my vision narrows, dark edges creeping in until all I can see is what is directly before me. I reach the cool stone of the ledge and put a hand down to steady myself. Then two ledges appear before me as everything blurs.
A moment later, the pain in my head sears into my vision with a bright gold flash. My knees give out, and distantly, I hear my head striking the stone as I fall.
CHAPTER 3
The sun is still overhead when I open my eyes. Not that it means anything. When I was turned to gold, I spent three days trapped as a statue without realizing the duration. Any amount of time could’ve passed now, and the thought makes my stomach spin.
A blurry figure silhouetted by the sun moves into my line of sight. Slowly, the top of the mermaid fountain comes into focus, and I move a hand to shield my eyes from the sun, grateful I can move at all. Bit by bit, the pain in my head recedes slightly, and I make out the duke hovering above me. He has one hand holding up my head.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
I groan and sit up. Am I all right? I inspect my body. It’s no golder than usual. I touch my hand to my head, where my headache seems to be throbbing with extra force. My gloves slide across something slick.
Blood. It stains two fingers of my glove as I wipe it away.
Duke Wystlinos leans in close. “Let me see.” His fingers gently prod around my forehead. “It’s a small scrape. It’ll only bleed for a little bit.” He tears a small scrap from the sleeve of his shirt. “Press this against it.”
I take the silken fabric and press it against my head. “Thank you, Duke Wystlinos.”
“You can call me Aris, if you like, Princess.”
It’s a daring move. And yet, I do feel like I’ve known him much longer than I have. So to repay the kindness he’s offered me, I reply, “Thank you, Aris.”
He relaxes on his haunches. “Do you think you can stand? Should I send for a chair to be brought out?” Wrinkles crease his forehead.
“No, I’ll be fine.” I balance between his arm and the fountain to gain my footing. My vision blurs once more before settling. I check the scrap of cloth, and the bleeding has slowed considerably.
“I thought I heard someone screaming in the palace,” I add. Maybe they were my own screams. Everything after leaving the part of the garden with the swan fountain is hazy in my mind. I press my hands against my temples to massage away the last of the pain.
“I heard it too,” he says quickly. “But I didn’t want to leave you.”
“We should go see.” I lead him up the steps toward the palace, and as we near the top, Uncle Pheus’s voice booms and rattles the glass windows. His words are unintelligible, but he sounds furious.
I drop Aris’s arm and rush into the main hall. The head table has been thrown aside. Grapes roll across the floor. Puddles of honey ooze beneath overturned platters. Servants and nobles mingle together around the largest table, poking and prodding one another to get a better view.
“Where is the healer?” Uncle Pheus bellows.
I’m forced to push through the crowd because no one’s noticed that it’s me. Otherwise, they’d be coiling away from my touch.
Aris appears at my side. “Make way for the princess,” he shouts.
Immediately, people slink away from me. A hush falls over the crowd.
People whisper about my exposed skin, but I barely hear them because, at the center of the circle, my father lies on the ground. His arms are sprawled out to either side, and his crown has rolled several feet away. His eyes are closed, almost as if he’s sleeping. The chair he’d been sitting in is overturned behind him, as if someone flung it out of the way.
“The healer. Someone find the healer.” Uncle Pheus’s face is red from shouting.
“What happened?” I rush forward and fall to my knees by my father’s side. I reach out to touch his chest, but then pull back. I hold my breath until I see his chest rise and fall. My father has often looked like he’s been sleeping through council meetings only to bolt upright mumbling about the gold.
This is different.
“He began grasping his head and then collapsed,” Uncle Pheus says. He puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
Servants appear carrying a couch between them. They lift my father onto it.
I pick up the fallen silver crown and ignore my own distorted reflection before placing it back on my father’s head.
“Please wake up,” I whisper.
My father doesn’t stir.
A small man pushes through the crowd and straightens his cap, re-concealing his balding head. He bows. “I’m the healer,” the man says. He’s breathing hard, likely from running all the way here.
I remember the man. He’s the one who’d been called in to try to turn my skin back to normal.
He’d had me sit in a windowless room in the heart of the palace for a week, claiming seven days without sun would bleach my skin clear. When that cure didn’t work, he’d covered me in every concoction imaginable. All he’d succeeded in doing was leaving me smelling like sap and rum for days, a result that doesn’t inspire much hope in me now.
The healer lifts my father’s eyelids, listens to his breathing, and checks for a pulse. He takes a tiny vial of yellow liquid from his bag and unscrews the lid. He waves the vial under my father’s nose. My father doesn’t react.
“I’ll need to do a more thorough examination,” the healer says, clearing his throat.
“Of course,” my uncle replies. He motions for everyone to leave the room.
As everyone slowly disperses, I spot Archduke Ralton at the edge of the crowd with a smug look on his face, but he’s quickly lost in the shuffle of people, each dragging their feet hoping to catch one last glimpse of the king or a snippet of dialogue that’s being reserved for behind closed doors.
I take a deep breath when the doors to the hall shut.
Aris remains behind, and I’m actually thankful he hasn’t left. His presence adds strength I didn’t know I was missing.
“He doesn’t appear to be in any immediate danger,” the healer says, “but he won’t come to his senses. What happened before he entered this state?”
“He was eating, as we all were,” Uncle Pheus says. “I believe he was having head pains.”
My stomach tightens and threatens to expel my breakfast. I’d thought the headache had been from being too near where my curse had started. How had my father felt it too?
“And he started muttering about the gold,” Hettie says.
My heart clenches and stops for a moment. I twist my hands together.
I can’t keep my eyes from closing, my mind from opening, from seeking the aura that marks the locations of each enchanted gold piece. For me, sensing the gold is like seeing a candle far in the distance on a dark night. Faint but noticeable, and brighter the closer I get.
Normally when I sense the gold, I shove it away. I don’t ever want to think about gold, to let it in, to let it overtake me.