Ash Princess (Ash Princess Trilogy #1)(8)

The words don’t bring me any comfort. Ampelio is dead, and with him my last hope of being rescued.





I’M NOT TEN STEPS DOWN the hall when a hand grips my shoulder, restraining me. I want to run, run, run until I’m alone and I can scream and cry until nothing is left in me but emptiness again. You will live. You will fight. Ampelio’s words whisper through my mind, but I’m not a fighter. I am a frightened shadow of a girl. I am a fractured mind and a trembling body. I am a prisoner.

I turn to find Prinz S?ren, a sliver of concern cracking through his stoic expression. The hand that stopped me is now light on my shoulder, the palm and fingertips surprisingly rough.

“Your Highness.” I’m careful to keep my voice level, hiding the tempest tearing through me. “Does the Kaiser need something else from me?”

The thought should terrify me, but instead, I feel nothing. I suppose I have nothing left for him to take now.

Prinz S?ren shakes his head. He lets his hand drop from my shoulder and clears his throat.

“Are…are you all right?” he asks. His voice sounds strained, and I wonder when he last talked to a girl. When he last talked to anyone but other soldiers.

“Of course,” I say, though they don’t feel like my words. Because I am not all right. I am a hurricane barely contained in skin.

My hands begin to shake, and I tuck them into the folds of my skirt so the Prinz won’t notice.

“Was that the first time you’ve killed?” he asks. He must see the panic flash in my eyes, because he hastens to continue. “You did well. It was a clean death.”

How can it possibly be clean when there was so, so much blood? I could take a thousand baths and still feel it on me.

Ampelio’s voice echoes through my mind: You are your mother’s child. The time has come for little birds to fly. You will fight. My Queen.

A memory surfaces and I don’t try to smother it this time. His hand around mine as he walked me down to the stables. Him lifting me up to sit on his horse so I towered above him, on top of the world. The horse’s name was Thalia and she liked honey drops. The feel of his hand at my back, keeping me safe; the feel of the sword, slicing through his skin.

Bile rises in my throat but I force it down.

“I’m glad you thought so,” I manage.

For an instant, he looks ready to ask another question, but he only offers me his arm. “May I escort you back to your room?”

I can’t refuse the Prinz, though I want to. I am in tatters and I don’t know how to smile and pretend I’m not. Thora is so much simpler. She is a hollow thing with no past and no future. No desires. No anger. Only fear. Only obedience.

“When I turned ten,” Prinz S?ren says, “my father brought me to the dungeon and gave me a new sword. He brought out ten criminals—Astrean rabble—and showed me how to slit their throats. He did the first, to demonstrate. I did the other nine.”

Astrean rabble.

The words rankle me, though I’ve heard them called worse. I’ve called them worse under the Kaiser’s always-watching gaze, pretending I’m not one of them. I’ve mocked them and laughed at the Kaiser’s cruel jokes. I’ve tried to distance myself from them, pretended they were not my people, even if we share the same tawny skin and dark hair. I’ve been too afraid to even look at them. All the while, they’ve been enslaved and beaten and executed like animals to teach a spoiled prinz a lesson.

Now that Ampelio is dead, no one is left to rescue them either.

Bile rises up again, but this time I can’t hold it back. I stop and retch, the contents of my stomach spilling all over the Prinz’s suit. He jerks back and for a painfully long moment we can only stare at one another. I should apologize; I should beg for forgiveness before he tells his father how weak and repulsive I am. But all I can do is clamp my hand over my mouth and hope that nothing more comes up.

The shock in his eyes fades, replaced with something that might be pity.

He doesn’t try to stop me when I turn and dash away down the hall.



* * *



—

Even when I’m back in my room, stretched out on my bed, alone, I can’t fall apart. I can hear my personal guards settling into the small rooms on the other side of the walls that the Kaiser had installed after the siege. Their boots click against stone floors and their sheathed swords clatter down. They are always here, always watching through three thumb-sized holes. Even when I sleep, even when I bathe, even when I wake up screaming from nightmares I only half remember. They follow me everywhere, but I never see their faces or even hear their voices. The Kaiser refers to them as my Shadows, a nickname that has spread so far and wide that I think of them that way myself.

They must be laughing now. The little Ash Princess lost her stomach over a bit of blood, and all over the Prinz, too! Which of them will get the honor of telling the Kaiser that story? None of them, more than likely. The Prinz will tell it himself and the Kaiser will know of my weakness in minutes. He will only try harder to beat that weakness out of me. This time, he might succeed, and then what will be left of me?

My door opens and I sit up. It’s Hoa, my maid. She doesn’t look at me, instead focusing on undoing the buttons that run down the back of my bloodstained dress. I hear her sigh with relief when she realizes that the blood isn’t mine this time. Cool air hits my flesh as the fabric falls away, and I stiffen for the sting as she peels off the bandages on my back. Her fingers are gentle as she checks on my welts, making sure they’re healing properly. When she’s satisfied, she dabs on ointment from a jar Ion gave her and replaces the bandages with fresh ones.