of a wild forest pixie.
She yawns, still more asleep than awake, not bothering to cover her mouth. She blinks several times and then sits up abruptly, looking like a woman who just realized she’s not where she’s supposed to be.
I lean against the windowsill, waiting for her to notice me.
Her eyes move to the bed, and she frowns when she finds it empty. Her hand rises to her neck, and I follow the movement, memories leaping back to me. I touched her face, held her in my arms, swore my love…
I resist the urge to groan aloud once more, deciding the only way out of this mess is forward.
She still hasn’t spotted me when I say, “I don’t recall much about the last few days, but I do remember you said I wouldn’t see you again.”
She jerks her head in my direction, and she twists in her seat to face me. “Braeton.”
Hearing my name on her lips does strange things to my pulse, but I ignore it.
The girl leaps from the chair, clutching her hands at her waist. “How are you feeling?”
What is her name? I know it.
“Cassia,” I say suddenly, pleased to remember.
The girl narrows her eyes. “You’re still not well, are you? But you look better.”
“I have a headache,” I tell her. “And I have the worst taste in my mouth.”
Though she stares at me solemnly, her eyes brighten with amusement. “It must have been the blue feather soup.”
“What?”
“Oh.” She takes a step forward, briskly pressing her hand to my forehead. “You are better, aren’t you? Your fever is gone.”
I stare down at the petite girl, thinking ridiculous thoughts—like how pleased I am that she’s shorter than me.
“I would like to apologize for whatever I might have said or done while I was…” I trail off, cringing.
Cassia laughs. “So you’re saying you don’t intend to take me back to Renove to make me your queen?”
I nearly choke. “I said that?”
“You did.” She lowers her hand and steps around me, smiling to herself. “I’ll just go unpack my things.”
I rub my hand over my temple, wishing I’d succumbed to the sickness.
She picks up the tray and heads for the door.
“Wait,” I say, stopping her.
She looks back, lifting her brows expectantly.
“When will I see you again?”
Her expression falls, and the smile leaves her face. “Once the fever breaks and the hallucinations lift, you’re no longer at risk of infecting others. Someone else will be tending you from now on.”
“Why not you?” I ask.
A swift, exasperated smile crosses her face. “I don’t see to prisoners on a regular basis. Consider yourself a temporary exception.”
Another memory, this one sharp and clear comes back to me:
“I’m not a maid, Braeton. I’m the king’s daughter.”
This beautiful girl, with her smiles and spring green eyes, who watched over me while I was delirious with fever, is a princess of this wretched, loathsome kingdom.
The realization is sobering.
She glances back before she slips out the door, looking like she wants me to say something. When I don’t, she gives me a brief smile and disappears.
The lock clicks behind her, and I suddenly feel as though I just let something slip through my fingers.
8
Saulette’s towers rise in the distance, welcoming us back. We’ve been riding for four days straight, only stopping at night. We’ve traveled through lush pastures and past verdant meadows blanketed with white, spring-blooming wildflowers, and yet my mind dwells upon the dead field.
Another disease of the Chasm, Rhys said. This one affecting the land.
I don’t want to think about it, certainly don’t want to think about the fairy’s words. There must be some other way to fix this—something we can do to appease the magic. Why would it care if I sit upon Draegan’s throne? Surely we can make peace some other way.
But just the thought of peace makes my blood boil.
Braeton has been imprisoned for almost two months now, probably locked in a filthy dungeon. Why, though? What is their purpose?
And how are we supposed to make nice with a kingdom whose first act of diplomacy in over a hundred years is abducting our heir?
They’re no better than heathens. I don’t care what the fairy said—they deserve all that befell them. Let the darkness take them and leave us be.
The world has no need for Draegan. It can rot for all I care.
“You seem deep in thought,” Aeron says, startling me.
I didn’t realize the knight had ridden up next to me.
“I keep thinking of the farmers,” I tell him with a sigh. “The dead