up the staircase. She was already tight on time as it was. Surely, she could call one of the servants to help him to his tower?
Then again, it might not be worth waking anyone else who might catch her in her escape.
She lightly covered his legs with the fur-lined ends of his cape. “Father?”
He gave a grunt and popped one eye open. “Hello, sweetheart.”
“Was it meade or wine this time?” She bent and sniffed at the tankard, but couldn’t tell. He’d emptied every last drop.
“Ale,” he burped, staring into the fire.
“Dad, you have to be careful. You’ll make yourself sick.”
“I don’t want to hear it, young lady.” The king opened the other eye and gave her a stern look before grinning. “We can both hold our liquor. Doesn’t mean we won’t get carried away on occasion.”
Of course, he remembered her love for wine as well as she. Some nights she would sneak bottles of their best reds upstairs after supper.
“Is that what’s in the bag?”
Lilac groaned inwardly. She’d forgotten she was still clutching it. “Not this time. Just pastries.” She stuck a hand in and rummaged through the fabric until she found the half loaf of bread and showed him.
“You and your scavenging. Just like that wolf.”
Lilac could only stare numbly into the hearth. Although she knew her father didn’t know what he was saying, she felt like she’d been punched in the gut. It was in this very kitchen that her Darkling tongue had been discovered, after all.
“Good night, father,” she muttered, heading toward the staircase.
“Wait. Lilac.” The king’s voice was suddenly pleading.
She spun to see him stumbling to his feet. “Is that why you drink?” Lilac blurted. A lump formed in her throat. “Am I why you drink?”
“No, I—your mother and I are proud of you, Lilac. And my, look how you’ve grown.” His cerulean eyes were suddenly glassy.
Tears formed behind her own lashes, but she harshly blinked them back. Regardless of how he felt now, she knew he’d always defer to the same awkwardness he and Marguerite had adopted after learning of her ability. It wasn’t as bad as the sideways glares and indiscreet whispers she got from the servants, but in a way, it was worse—they were her parents, after all. Not to mention the ten years they’d forbidden her from leaving castle grounds. It didn’t exactly express pride.
Her father cleared his throat to break the silence and keep himself awake. “Next week’s your ceremony,” he said gruffly. “It’s come ‘round much faster than I thought.”
Lilac could only nod stiffly. He might’ve felt that way, but he’d never tell her those things had he not drunk himself several tankards deep. She didn’t have time—time for him, for sentiment, or for a halfway apology.
Swallowing, Lilac lifted her chin cordially. “Thank you, father. Now, head to bed.”
“Are you ready?” He began shuffling to the outer corridor.
Not in the slightest. “Of course.”
Without checking to see if he actually made it up his own staircase, Lilac hiked the ends of her shift and sprinted up hers.
Once she was back in her room, Lilac hastily extinguished her fire and flung the makeshift rope over the edge. Holding her breath, she wrapped herself as she had before and leaned out into the biting cold, lowering herself three stories. Soundlessly, her flats hit the ground. The cool dew of the grass against her exposed skin was shocking. Her knees suddenly gave way under her weight, and she nearly stumbled back into one of her mother’s rose bushes.
Pressing her palm against her teeth, Lilac stifled an excited cry of relief. She did it. The conifer was heady, filling and opening her lungs as she took a few deep breaths to lessen the pounding adrenaline. The static air tasted evocatively sweet, hinting at impending rainfall.
Lilac straightened and glanced up at the massive expanse of green. The forest, even more enchanting up close, seemed to whisper. She imagined tendrils floating out of the fog and reaching for her, coiling around her limbs; claws scraping like ragged breath against her skin; sharp fangs, rows of them covered in saliva, waiting, daring her to come hither. Scowling at the exaggeration, she began to tremble—from the cold or fear, she was unsure.
Shivering, she pulled the cloak out of the sack and wrapped it around her body; it was scratchy, but at least it was warm. It shielded her enough from the cold, and masked the scent of her skin from the things waiting to eat her – or so