family’s fault you’re here, our fault you’re sick. You don’t want me, not really. Now go eat your soup and get some rest. I’ll watch the window.”
Guilt sits heavy in my chest as I stare into the night. What kind of man is this gentle during the sickness?
Suddenly, the prince isn’t a political prisoner, a tool needed to secure the safety of our kingdom. He’s just Braeton, a man with kind eyes and a gentle voice.
Someone we have wronged.
“You’re a very honest vision,” he says from behind me. Before I realize what he’s doing, he wraps his arm around my middle once more and leans around to press his lips to my cheek. “And I hope this isn’t the last I see of you.”
He then releases me. In the window’s reflection, I watch him return to the bed and sit with his back to me. He takes the tray onto his lap and shakes his head after he eats a bite of the awful soup.
Suddenly, I realize the room is brighter than it was only moments ago. I look down at the candles and take a step back, startled.
Three flames blaze as if given a burst of extra fuel, twice the size they were when I first lit them. I study the candles, wondering what could be causing it.
They slowly return to normal, eventually flickering as usual. Uneasy, I pull a chair next to the window, keeping my eyes on the candles, nervous they’ll do it again and catch the drapes.
7
Light shines on the other side of my eyelids, waking me with its foreignness. I pry my eyes open, blinking several times, unsure where I’m at and feeling the remnants of some very odd dreams.
I find myself in a room I have no memory of. At one time, it might have been opulent, with massive, dark wood furniture and upholstered chairs. But dust obscures the surfaces now, and the room smells musty.
It’s the smell that makes me realize where I am—the wretched room the guards tossed me into.
I’m in Draegan.
Filled with anger, I sit up. I was sick—I remember it now. No one came for days, no one except…
And that’s when I see her. She’s asleep by the window, slumped in a chair. The sun shines on her, lighting her deep red hair as if its purpose is to shine for her alone. Considering how dark my life has been for the last several weeks, maybe it is.
I can’t place her name, but I know her.
Snippets of scenes involving this girl come back to me. I groan aloud, burying my head in my hands. Surely they’re dreams and not memories.
Clenching my eyes shut, I try to separate fact from fancy. It jumbles together, making it impossible to distinguish. I have memories of her with me in Renove, though I know I first met her here.
Tidbits of conversations float back to me, but nothing makes sense.
However, one detail stands out above the others. The young woman was not a figment of my imagination.
Resigning myself to that fact, I stand, stretching my back. An awful metallic taste coats my tongue, and when I scratch an itch on my chin, I find a month’s worth of whiskers.
Feeling like death, I walk to the window, eager to take my first look at this vile kingdom. While I traveled with the bandits, I was blindfolded. After they removed me from the dungeon, I’ve been in this dark room, sick and confused.
What I see steals my breath, and a sense of dread clutches my stomach. The sun is bright, and the sky is a wash of brilliant blue. But the land…
What happened here?
There are a few green trees inside the city gates, along with several patchy fields. But beyond, the forest is dead. It burned at one time, and now the trees are black skeletons, stretching their arms to the sky as if asking for mercy.
A strange species of scraggly brush has prevailed, taking advantage of the demise of its peers. Its dull red, thorny growth spreads through the once-forest floor like a ground cover, choking out anything green that might attempt to take back the earth.
The girl by my side shifts, letting out a sigh that catches my attention and has a smile jumping unbidden to my lips. I watch her, entranced by the contrast of her life to the outside world.
Her hair is thick. Half of it has fallen from her braided crown during the night, and it goes every-which-way, giving her the look