I close my eyes and stretch, wondering if I’m stuck in a dream.
At least Aderick has woken, much to my relief. The physician allowed us to see him on the second day of his recovery, when he was sitting up in bed with a tray in front of him, loaded with a bowl of steaming beef rib stew and fresh crusty bread.
But it’s been three days since we arrived here, and still, there’s no sign of that damnable archduke. I haven’t seen that white-haired demon, either.
That bastard. He drank from me like he was some sort of wild beast. The more I think about it, the more restless I become.
What kind of depraved pervert feasts on a woman’s blood like that? In that manner? And enjoys it? And then has the gall to act like nothing untoward happened at all?
When I see him again, I’ll…
What?
What can I do against a creature like that; a demon who possesses the speed and strength of a god?
What would you do if you saw him again?
Aside from the part where he forcibly restrained me, he was actually quite gentle with me.
A tiny knot of heat tightens in my chest.
In frustration, I kick off the covers and slide out of bed, my bare feet crushing the silken pile of the rug. I pull the folds of my nightgown tighter, re-tying the fabric belt around my waist.
Faint voices reach my ears.
I walk across to the window and peer through the frosted glass.
There’s movement below. I see men, cloaked and hooded against the winter cold.
I see horses.
Some are being ridden. One, riderless, is being led by the reins. I recognize that horse; that deep brown coat and undernourished frame. It’s the quarter horse… the one I escaped on. Poor thing, he was spooked.
I don’t blame him. I would have run away too.
The horse’s hooves clop loudly on the frosted grey cobblestones. He’s trembling all over. He weaves from side to side, much to the annoyance of the man holding the reins.
He’s afraid.
They disappear around the corner.
My heart clenches. I feel bad for the horse. Have they only just found him now? After three days? He’s probably starving.
He would have been terrified out there in the cold and darkness, in unfamiliar territory, with the scent of blood and predators in his nostrils.
I want to go to him. I know my presence would do him good.
I cross the room. There’s a large polished wood console against the far wall. It’s laden with various items for my comfort; a carafe of water and a pair of etched crystal glasses, a delicate glass bottle containing some sort of fragranced pink oil, a bowl filled with summer fruits—grapes, apricots, and cherries.
How is it possible that they have fresh summer fruit in Tyron?
At the end of the table, resting on a delicately embroidered blue velvet square, is a silver call-bell.
I haven’t used it yet. I never had a call-bell in Ruen Castle. Only Lady Dorava and father ever used bells to summon the servants.
Gingerly, I take the damn thing between my fingers and ring it.
Ding. Ding.
I hear footsteps on stone, echoing through the thick wooden door. Moments later, it opens.
A man appears, wearing the Archduke’s livery—a fine black coat embroidered with red and gold; well-tailored trousers tucked into a pair of supple black boots.
The servants here dress like nobility.
I haven’t seen this man before. The servants that have attended to me have all been young men; discreet, efficient, and with impeccable manners.
Tight-lipped, too, despite my attempts to make conversation.
This one… he’s a bit different. Older. Slender, with a full head of silver hair, his face etched with fine lines. There’s a commanding air about him.
“My lady, my name is Gerent.” He executes a perfectly smooth bow. His accent is pure cultured Rahavan. “How may I be of service?”
Part of me feels like I should be the one asking him for guidance.
“I’d like to take a walk around the castle grounds,” I declare, trying to sound like I’m used to ordering people around. “Please arrange some suitable attire for me. I’d rather not be dragging skirts around in the muddy snow. I’ll need trousers, a shirt, and enough layers to keep me warm. A warm overcoat would be preferable. A pair of good boots would be even better.”
Gerent’s expression is as calm and cool as a deep lake on a summer day. “You may explore the internal grounds with an escort, but you can’t go outside the castle walls.”
“Would my escort happen to be the archduke, by any chance?”
“I’m afraid not, my lady. One of his men will take you around the grounds.”
“Still indisposed, is he?” I offer him an acid-saccharine smile. “I’m almost starting to think that he’s going out of his way to avoid me.”
“His Highness will see you as soon as he is able.” Now there’s just a hint of irritation in Gerent’s voice.
“I’d tell you that I understand,” I say sweetly, “but I’d be lying. In any case, I can see that you’re loyal to your master, and I don’t intend to torture you with incessant questions.”
Gerent gives me a very pointed look. “You’re not wrong in your assessment of my loyalties.”
It’s almost a rebuke.
From a servant.
Ha.
“Well, it’s reassuring to know that Archduke Duthriss can inspire such sentiment in his people.”
The servant tips his head in acknowledgement. The sharpness melts from his expression. Whatever it was, the moment has passed. “I shall fetch you some attire that is suitable for this weather. Trousers, shirt, coat, woolen layers. It won’t be easy to source something in your size, but I’ll do my best.” He frowns. “The dressmaker will need to pay you a visit as soon as possible.”
“Tailor,” I correct.
“Both,” Gerent insists.
“I don’t need custom made clothing just for going outside. Isn’t there any woman in this castle with similar proportions to mine? I would gladly borrow and return. I’m really not that fussy, Gerent.”
Come to think of it, I haven’t seen a single woman since I entered this castle. The servants, cooks, housekeepers… they’re all men.
The servant gives me a strange look. “A moment if you please, my lady.”
Then he disappears, leaving me wondering about the strangeness of it all; about what really lies between the silent walls of this cold, vast, immovable castle.
Corvan Duthriss, what is wrong with you? Why are you avoiding me?
Father, you miserable, conniving bastard. What did you get me into?
Really, this is all starting to get a little bit tiresome.
14
FINLEY
The cobblestone courtyard is dusted with a delicate layer of undisturbed snow; pale, icy powder that crunches beneath my ill-fitting boots. They’re a size too big for me, as are the soft woolen trousers and the knitted tunic and the fur-lined overcoat, but they’re warm and functional, and that’s all I need.
For borrowed clothes, they aren’t bad at all, especially the men’s shirt I’m wearing as an under-layer. It’s made of fine silk, and it’s softer and more luxurious than any garment I’ve worn in my life.
It smells of pine and fresh, woody herbs and a hint of something else… that I can’t quite put my finger on. The only part of my outfit that’s slightly feminine is the soft woolen scarf wrapped around my neck.