won’t back down, though. Not now.
The knight steps up to me, forcing the others back. They scatter, giving us room. Rhys looms in front of me, too tall, too strong, too intimidating. I gulp…but I refuse to budge.
Lowering his voice to a controlled growl, Rhys grasps the hilt of his sword. “I swore to stay by your side, didn’t I?”
Relief washes over me, and I let out a soft sound of relief. I’m not sure what he sees in my face, but his brows soften.
“But I’m asking you to reconsider.” He says the words quietly so the others won’t be able to hear him.
“I can’t, Rhys. I must do this.” I reach for him, setting my hand on his arm. “But I can’t do it without you. Please—I won’t be strong enough if you’re not by my side.”
He swallows. “As your guardian?”
“Is that all you’re offering?” I search his eyes, wanting so much more.
The knight pauses before he slowly nods. “For now.”
“Then I will accept it,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment.
“I’ll give you a few days to change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
He doesn’t look pleased, but he turns to address his men. “Prepare to leave in two days.”
They nod, turning to exit the room. Rhys is the last to go, but before he’s through the door, I call his name.
“Yes?” he asks, turning back, looking too distant for my liking.
I sit, brushing a stray lock of hair over my shoulder. “Play aloof if you must, but do not forget I’m still in possession of our minutes.”
Something dark crosses Rhys’s face. It melts my insides and makes my fingers dig into the upholstered arms of the chair.
“I haven’t forgotten,” he says, his voice dropping to a silken promise.
Then he leaves.
11
Somehow, Father found out I was tending Braeton. He ordered the guards to move the Renovian prince into a new room days ago, claiming a princess should never reduce herself to the status of a maid. Edwin took the brunt of Father’s irritation, claiming responsibility for the entire situation. I, however, still got my fair share of the scolding.
Braeton’s new room is supposedly deep in the heart of the castle, with no windows for saelties to lurk outside. I have no idea where he is, and for obvious reasons, no one has deemed it necessary to tell me.
I haven’t seen him for over a week, which is fine. It’s a bit inconvenient, perhaps, since I’ve been carrying candles with me for days that I’ve been meaning to give to him, doubting the guards will show him that small courtesy.
But I’ve barely thought of the prince. Certainly not in the morning, first thing when I wake up. Not during the evening meal, when the soup course is served. And not at night, when candles flicker atop the table next to my bed.
I don’t worry about him trapped in the dark, with no light. Or wonder if his appetite has returned now that he’s recovered from the sickness.
These are trivial things that do not take up space in my head.
Mother winces as I hit a snarl, and I turn back to my chore, instantly reprimanding myself for letting my mind wander.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, leaning down to embrace her from behind. “I wasn’t being careful enough.”
She laughs softly. It’s a tired sound, but she always sounds tired. Today is a good day, one where she’s able to move a little more. She agreed to sit up for a while—she was even able to drink her own tea this morning unassisted.
I continue with her long auburn hair, brushing it carefully this time, paying close attention to get the braid just right.
“There.” I step back to survey my work once I’m finished. “You look lovely.”
Slowly, taking a great amount of her energy, she reaches back and holds out her hand, waiting for me to clasp it.
I take her palm in mine, trying not to think about how frail she’s become. I can feel each of her bones through her soft skin.
“Love…you,” she says softly.
“I love you too, Mama.” My throat tightens with emotion. She doesn’t talk much anymore. It’s difficult for her, and far too exhausting.
Thankful I’m standing behind her, I blink several times to chase away moisture that’s gathering near my bottom lashes. Once I’ve controlled it, I step around her and give her a sunny smile.
Though she is only able to return it wanly, her eyes are warm. She hides the pain from us as much as she can—doesn’t want to burden