Rise of Fire (Reign of Shadows #2)(32)

Leaving the balcony, I stopped before the heavy oak door of my chamber and pressed my ear to its length. I heard nothing on the other side. Closing my hand on the latch, I slowly opened the door and stepped out into the wide corridor.

A rasp of breath and rustle of fabric alerted me to the fact that I wasn’t alone, after all. I spun around to face the individual.

“Can I assist you, Your Highness?” a guard asked.

I flinched. It still startled me, hearing that designation applied to me so naturally. Would I ever grow accustomed to it?

I lifted my chin, grasping for an air of imperviousness, imagining that was the regal thing to do. The guard was actually shorter than I was. The sound of his voice fell below where most men spoke. I angled my gaze downward as I answered him. “I would like to see my friend, Prince Fowler—”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, you’re not allowed to see him.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

Maris had seen him by now. I was certain of it. She said she would see him this very night, and I doubted she had been turned away. Later, I would likely hear all about it from her—including how handsome Prince Fowler was . . . how he was beyond all her imaginings. An ugly sensation took hold of me. It was unreasonable, but I was jealous that she could see him while I could not. I needed to let that go. The only thing that mattered was that he was receiving the help he needed. Once I had that assurance, I could escape from this place.

I settled my hands on my hips and addressed another question at the stoic guard. “Were you assigned to guard my door?” That would toss a hurdle in my plans for escape.

“Just for the night, in case you should need anything, Your Highness.”

“Am I free to wander the castle?”

“With an escort, of course.”

I inhaled thinly. “I don’t need a watchdog.”

Silence met the statement. Sighing, I shook my head. “Very well. Escort me to Prince Fowler. I’m certain with an escort it’s acceptable—”

“No one is allowed in to see him without express approval of the king.” Although he spoke in a deferential manner, there was an edge of iron to his voice. He would not be swayed.

“You mean I do not have the king’s approval to see him?” The guard shifted uneasily on his feet, but neither confirmed nor denied me. “Very well.”

I spun around and jerked the door to my bedchamber open again. Without another word, I plunged back inside the chamber and resumed my pacing, my thoughts churning as I tried to think of ways I could see Fowler. I couldn’t go until I did.

Several minutes passed as I came to accept one glaring fact.

I was a prisoner.

I fell asleep eventually. My exhaustion must have been deeper than I’d realized. When I woke, there was a lightness to the air. It was midlight.

Instinctively, I relaxed, the tension that greeted me the moment my eyes opened ebbing away. I stretched my arms above my head, pleasantly pulling my aching muscles and marveling at the sensation of a bed beneath me again.

“Your Highness, you’re awake,” a feminine voice said.

I sat up on my elbows, smoothing a hand over my mussed hair.

“Come,” the woman said, a different servant from the one who’d attended me last night. “I’ll help you dress and escort you to the dining hall. You missed breakfast, but it’s almost lunch. You must be famished.”

I was famished. The prospect of food had me hopping from the bed. I stood still for her, malleable if not anxious as she dressed me in a gown and pinned my hair back on my head. “There you are now,” she said, patting one last tendril into place. I followed her to the door, where a different guard waited. He escorted me down a corridor and winding stairs into a dining area that was smaller than the great hall. The smell of food tantalized my nose and hunger pains clawed me.

I hovered at the threshold, my senses prickling as I marked the sounds, the various voices, the clink of silverware, and the tread of servants circling a great round table.

“Ah, she has woken at last!” King Tebald exclaimed.

My face warmed at the sudden attention swinging toward me. I inched forward carefully, hoping that I merely looked shy and tentative.

“Come, there is a seat for you beside Maris. We reserved it for you just in case you roused in time for lunch.”

At the king’s declaration, I nodded in thanks, my ears perking at the sound of a chair being pulled out, its legs scraping the floor. I tracked this, stepping carefully in case there were any steps or obtrusions. Reaching the chair, I gathered my skirts and sank into the seat, lifting myself slightly as I was scooted in with the aid of a servant.

“You’re looking well,” a voice breathed at the back of my neck, and I realized it was no servant holding out my chair, but Prince Chasan himself, with his liquid-silk voice. “Blue is a fine color on you.”

I nodded again, the only form of thanks I could muster. A niggle of sympathy for him wormed through the back of my heart as I recalled how his father had treated him last night. It threatened my resolve to not like him. He sank down in the chair beside me. I realized I was wedged between brother and sister—both of whom I didn’t precisely want to be around, but here I was, trapped.

I had just managed to pick up my spoon and take a sip from a hearty broth before Maris whispered excitedly, “I saw the prince. He is as handsome as rumored.”