I shake my head. “No. I must stay.”
Braeton drops his hand and steps back. “Amalia, the man lied to you.”
“I know.”
“You can’t want this.”
“What I want and what I must accept are two different things.”
Because what I want is Rhys to be the man he said he was—a knight of Renove. My guardian, a noble protector. Not a lying prince.
But there is no going back to that now. Rhys was never a Renovian knight; he was never in my kingdom to protect me.
And in truth, I don’t want Rhys to be anything but his true self. Because now, I can be with him without guilt or fear. Together, we’re going to heal the curse…
Just as soon as I can stand to be in the same room as him.
6
Disguised as a kitchen maid, I walk into the castle unquestioned. I’ve glamoured my white hair to a medium shade of brown, neither dark nor light, and hidden it under a scarf. To complete the ensemble, I’ve chosen a gray dress of rough-spun cloth topped with a white apron.
The fabric is heavy and hot—and it itches. But I have no choice, so I’ll have to suffer through it. Few animals remain in Draegan, making it far too difficult to blend in as a cat—as the girl proved in Port Kellier when she followed me. So, a maid I must become.
I pause in the castle’s grand entry, and my stomach sinks. A threadbare runner travels the length of the room, gray with age and raveling at the edges. The walls are bare of the weapons and shields that once graced them, and the displays of gleaming armor are gone as well. The fountain that stands in the middle of the great room is dry.
It’s like a skeleton of the castle it once was.
The tapestry map of Draegan hangs on the opposite wall, near the grand staircases that lead to the second level. It’s the only thing in the room that remains familiar.
There is no music, no laughter.
The large glass windows are outfitted with heavy, barred shutters that weren’t here a hundred years ago.
At least the entry is clean. The Draeganish people haven’t given up—they’re just struggling.
The last week traveling through the kingdom has been painful. My heart has broken ten times over, making me almost wish I’d left the continent with the others when I had the chance. Seeing this…it’s almost too much.
But I must right these wrongs, and if I have to give the kingdoms’ heirs a little nudge here and there, then so be it.
I told the prince and princess that I wove the cure into the Chasm spell, and I did. But I didn’t mention that the horrible feud between the kingdoms was my fault.
All of this…it’s my doing.
I shake my head, chasing away the memories. Now is not the time to reminisce.
“Excuse me,” an impatient man says from behind me, perhaps thinking I shouldn’t be gawking at the once-grand entry.
Indignant, I turn, but my retort lingers on my tongue when my eyes fall on the man. He’s one of Rhys’s knights, though I don’t know his name. I’ve seen him traveling with the prince; he stands out from the others.
He’s exceptionally handsome, with aristocratic features and dark, dark hair. His eyes are the color of midnight forests, and his lips are full. Unless I’m mistaken, there’s a trace of fairy blood in his veins, a forbidden legacy from long ago, perhaps a once-secret that’s likely forgotten now.
There’s something else about the man, something simmering just below the surface. This proud and seemingly untouchable knight is broken.
It’s his pain that calls to my magic—it’s always been my weakness. I want to fix wounded things and make them whole again. But my affinity for healing people is what caused this grand disaster. The last thing I need is to let myself get tangled up with this knight’s problems.
Finally remembering I stand before the man as a human maid and not a revered fairy, I drop my eyes to the floor and step aside. “Forgive me.”
Instead of walking past, he crosses his arms. “I don’t know you.”
Mildly frustrated, I look up and boldly meet his gaze as no maid should dare. “Do you know all the people of Draegan, my lord?”
The knight narrows his dark eyes, and his frown deepens. “I know most of the people who work in the castle, at least by face.”
“You’ve been away, though, haven’t you?”
The man studies me, looking unsettled.
With a sigh, I press my hand to my chest. “I’m Seraphina, from Cariset. My family has too many mouths to feed, so I have come here to look for work. I’m hoping to find a position in the kitchen.”
The suspicion slowly leaves his face. “The servants’ entrance is around the back, near the potager garden. You can’t simply walk in through the main entrance.”
I blink at him, realizing he’s right. Being a lowly human is rather inconvenient.
He must mistake my irritation for confusion because he lets out a long-suffering sigh and motions for me to follow him.
Reluctant to obey, if only because I’m not accustomed to taking orders, I hesitate.
“Well?” he asks, turning back. “Are you coming or not?”
I eye him…and he eyes me right back. But I end up following, because what choice do I have?
We walk around the side of the castle, over bare ground that used to be lush with the queen’s flower garden. At some point in the last hundred years, everything was cleared—the trees, the shrubs, the flowers.
“What’s the matter now?” the knight asks when I come to a stop.
“It’s so…” The words get caught in my throat.
“Dead?” he supplies with the raise of one brow.
“You say it so flippantly,” I chastise.
He makes a scoffing noise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Cariset was untouched by the curse. I imagine the state of Arowood must come as quite a shock.”
“You, sir, are not as pleasant as you look.”
He barks out a mirthless laugh. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
I wave my hand in the air as if it matters little to me. “You travel with the prince, so you must be a lord’s son or something noble.”
“Or something,” he says dryly, looking at me as if I’m far more trouble than I’m worth. “Now, do you want me to take you to the servants’ entrance or not?”
“Carry on.”
We continue walking, garnering plenty of curious stares from those around us. Apparently, this high and mighty knight doesn’t often come this way. Although I don’t think the attention slips his notice, he ignores it.
There’s a buzz of activity in the back. Maids hang freshly washed linens in the sunshine, and men toil in the vegetable garden. Walkways and a common area that used to be seeded with soft, low-growing clover are now stretches of parched, cracked dirt.
Children still play games of chase as they used to, but no dogs run with them. On hot summer days like this, young girls used to gather under the large oak with their dolls and pretend to host tea parties.
Only the trunk of the massive tree remains, just a dead stump in the ground.
The desolation is overwhelming. My lungs tighten as I take it in.
We warned them. Why didn’t they listen? Why couldn’t they forgive?