CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GRACEN
“We do not have time for this, do we, little one?” I coo. Suri wriggles within her sling but settles against my chest, content to sleep in her cocoon. I ease the heavy door open. “We have fruitcakes and gingerbreads and compotes to make for a royal wedding. And yet we are searching for your brother. Again.” Mika disappeared an hour ago while I was nursing the baby. I’ve checked all his favorite hiding spots so far, to no avail.
I hold my breath as I slip through the door. Servants aren’t permitted to wander freely about this part of the castle, but the guards are too busy searching for the source of that poison to help hunt for a mortal child. When I approached one to see if we could check the library—they’ve found Mika hiding in here before—he waved me through with a grunt of “Go find the brat yourself.”
But tributaries are allowed by escort, and Sabrina told me the castle library is a marvel. I see now that she was not exaggerating. It seems designed to be part collection of books and part garden. Around the outside are where the bookshelves reside, four floors of them, each with its own staircase. I’ve never seen so many books in my life.
But the center of the library is just as impressive, filled with full-size trees and weeping vines, and a stream with carrot-orange fish gliding through.
There are likely countless places to hide within here. No wonder my naughty son would risk the guards’ wrath to venture in. It doesn’t appear like there’s anyone here to cause us any trouble.
“Mika?” I call out, choosing the nearest book aisle to begin my search.
Up and down the empty sections I wander, admiring the spines, curious what knowledge one could find. There are so many noble-born staying in the castle ahead of the wedding, and none of them are here. It’s disappointing. If I had all their freedoms, I would be here every day, learning.
Lord and Lady Danthrin have a library in their manor, but it is just a small room, and none of the books have such elaborate spines, designed by an artist’s touch. I reach up to graze one with my fingertips, to test what it feels like.
“What are you doing in here?” a crisp voice demands.
I startle and spin around, finding myself facing an Islorian female with a curtain of straight black hair. “Milady.” I bow, my heart stuttering with fear. “I apologize, I’m looking for my son. He has a habit of sneaking off.”
“And do you think he is hiding within that book?”
“No, milady. But we do usually find him in tight spots.”
Her attention drops on the sling, as if only then noticing I carry a baby with me. “You’re the castle baker. I recognize you.”
“Yes, milady.” She was obviously at the assembly. My focus was on no one that day but the king and my children. Is she someone important?
Her dark, hostile eyes comb over me, stalling on my unruly hair, and I fight the urge to smooth a hand over the braids I struggled with this morning. “Atticus was generous with you and your little family.”
Atticus. She uses the king’s name as if she knows him well and wants me aware of that. “Yes, he was merciful.” Not only the day of the assembly, but last night, alone in my chamber. He could have demanded anything, taken anything, and I would have had to comply.
She takes a step closer. “I would not have been.” The coldness in her voice sends a shiver through my spine. “Why did that Ybarisan traitor bring you here? Was it so she would have a loyal spy within the household?”
“No—”
“So you could move about the castle unnoticed, fooling everyone with this innocent act while you supply her with information that she could use against us?”
“No!” I swallow. “I never saw Princess Romeria again after the day she rescued us from Lord Danthrin.”
“No, Your Highness,” she hisses, grabbing hold of my biceps and jerking me toward her.
Highness. That means … this is Lady Saoirse? Our future queen?
Fates have mercy on us.
“Settle down, Saoirse. You do not wear that title yet,” a deep voice calls out behind us.
I recognize it immediately, and my heart skips several beats with excitement, despite my fear.
She sneers at me as if she sensed my reaction—she likely did—before plastering on a smile and turning to greet him. “Your Highness! What are you doing here?”
“Keeping you from tormenting my staff, apparently.” The king strolls leisurely along the narrow corridor in breeches and a white tunic that hangs loose and is marked with dirt and lines of blood along the sleeves and chest. “What are you doing here?”