The Favorite - Kiera Cass Page 0,11

felt. It was difficult to go from being constantly served to being the one constantly serving; still, I knew things could be much, much worse.

I tried to keep the smile on my face, but he saw through it.

“What’s wrong, Marlee? You’ve seemed down lately,” he whispered, still holding me.

“I really miss my parents, especially now that Christmas is so close. I keep wondering how they’re doing. If I feel this sad without them, how are they managing without me?” I pressed my lips together, as if I could mash the worry out of them. “And I know it’s probably silly to care about this, but we won’t be able to exchange gifts. What could I give you? A loaf of bread?”

“I’d love a loaf of bread!”

I giggled at his enthusiasm. “But I wouldn’t even be able to use my own flour to make you one. It’d be stealing.”

He kissed my cheek. “True. Besides, the last time I stole something, it was pretty big, and I got more than I deserved, and I’m already happy with what I have.”

“You didn’t steal me. I’m not a teapot.”

“Hmm,” he said. “Maybe you stole me. Because I distinctly remember belonging to myself once, but now I’m all yours.”

I smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Don’t worry. I know it’s a difficult season, but this isn’t forever. And we have a lot to be grateful for this year.”

“We do. I’m sorry I’m so down today. I just feel—”

“Mallory!” I turned at the sound of my new name. “Where’s Mallory?” a guard asked, coming into the kitchen. He was with a girl I’d never seen before.

I swallowed before answering. “Here.”

“Come, please.”

His voice was urgent, but the fact that he said please made me less frightened than I would have been otherwise. Each day I fretted more and more that someone would tell the king Carter and I were living secretly in his home. I knew that if that ever happened, the caning would seem like a prize instead of a punishment.

I kissed Carter’s cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

As I passed the girl she gripped my hand. “Thank you. I’ll just wait here for you.”

My forehead scrunched in confusion. “Okay.”

“We’re all counting on absolute secrecy,” the guard said as he led me down the hall.

“Of course,” I answered, though I still didn’t understand.

We turned down the officers’ wing, and I became even more confused. Someone of my rank shouldn’t be allowed in this part of the palace. The doors were all closed except for one, where another officer was standing just outside. His face was calm, but his eyes were worried.

“Just do your best,” someone said from inside the room. I knew that voice.

I pulled myself around the threshold and took in the scene. America was lying on a bed, blood streaming out of her arm while her head maid, Anne, inspected the wound and the prince and these two guards watched on.

Anne, not breaking her gaze, barked orders back to the guards. “Someone get some boiling water. We should have antiseptic in the kit, but I want water, too.”

“I’ll get it,” I offered.

America’s face perked up, and she met my gaze. “Marlee.” She started crying, and I could see she was losing her battle with the pain.

“I’ll be right back, America. Hold tight!” I dashed to the kitchen, grabbing towels out of the cupboard. There was water already boiling in a pot, thank goodness, so I poured some in a pitcher. “Cimmy, you’re gonna want to top off this pot,” I called in a rush, moving too quickly for her to protest.

Then I made my way to the spirits. The best liquor was kept close to the king, but sometimes we used brandy in recipes. I’d mastered a brandy pork chop, a chicken with brandy sauce, and a brandy–whipped cream for desserts. I grabbed a bottle, hoping it would help.

I knew a thing or two about pain.

I came back to Anne lacing thread through a needle and America trying to control her breathing. I put the water and towels behind Anne and walked over to the bed with the bottle.

“For the pain,” I explained, lifting America’s head to help her drink. She attempted to swallow but coughed up more than she actually drank. “Try again.”

I sat beside her, steering clear of her injured arm, and tipped the bottle again to her lips. She did a little bit better that time. After she swallowed, she gazed up at me. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

My heart broke