Chapter 17: Chapter XVII

When Morwen delivers my tea, she also hands me a small paper folded in half. The jagged cursive belongs to none other than the Silver Prince.

My dear Nyx,

I offer you my humblest apologies that I must cancel our morning ride. Unfortunately, I have caught some mild sickness. I do not expect you to worry for me, but should you feel so inclined, know that the royal physician does not anticipate that it will last more than three or four days. If you are still game after I have fully recovered, I will show you how I won Burr over. She may yet grow fond of you.

Yours most sincerely,

Adrian

His letter carries all of his usual sarcasm. He must be feeling better this morning—though I certainly didn't expect him to have recovered enough to ride a horse. Inexplicably, however, I am disappointed. Perhaps I wanted to see him as he truly is one last time before I steal his shadow. Then all of him will be lost to Victor.

"What does he want?" Morwen asks curiously.

"He's ill," I tell her. "He had to cancel the ride we planned for this morning."

"Another ride? And only a week after the last!"

Has it only been a week? It feels like so much longer. I drink my tea in one scorching gulp and, tongue afire, hurry to the wardrobe. "I have to see him."

"You don't want to catch it."

"He said it's mild." Today, I choose a peach-colored linen gown. I dress quickly, starting when I turn around to see that Morwen is still in my room.

She smiles at me, her green eyes bright. "You're very eager to visit with him."

"No," I protest. "I just..."

"Have fun," she giggles before leaving the room.

I wait until I hear her and Ethel leave before I put the Immaterial Ring and the glass vial into my pockets. Keeping my breaths even with my footsteps, I walk to the end of the West Wing. The prince's guards are in their places in front of his door already, and slight nervousness makes me wobble in my heels. After witnessing their treatment of Adrian last night, I'm not sure they'll allow me inside.

"Good morning," I say, bobbing a quick curtsey. "I'd like to see the prince."

Ingram glares at me. "He's not seeing anyone at the moment."

Floyd chuckles. "I doubt he's even awake."

I imitate Morwen's cheery smile. "Will you at least ask him?"

Ingram sighs, not bothering to conceal his irritation, but pounds on the prince's doors. "Prince Adrian? Lady Nyx is here to see you."

Nothing but silence comes from the other side.

"I told you: he won't see you."

But not a moment later, one door opens a crack. In a low, hoarse voice, Adrian says, "Come in."

I can't resist flashing a gloating grin at Ingram before squeezing through the narrow space that Adrian left me.

He's dressed in gold silk nightclothes, and soft wool slippers cover his feet. His eyes are bloodshot and, once again, he smells of sweet wine. His white hair is rumpled; he hasn't smoothed it since waking. But he stands with his back straight and his broad shoulders squared, an infuriating smirk on his mouth despite his swollen bottom lip.

"Did my letter disappoint you that much?" he asks. "I'll apologize in person if that's what you came for, but don't expect it to be quite as sincere."

"You lied," I say. "You aren't sick." He isn't even trying to pretend.

"I haven't fooled you?" He curls his arm over his mouth and fakes a cough into his bent elbow. "What about now?"

I don't understand why he's so genial after last night, but maybe he's stronger than I first gave him credit for. Still, I don't think anyone would be entirely unaffected after being beaten at the behest of their own father. I wish I could ask him why his father called him a whoreson—actually, I have many questions for the prince, most of which I can't ask.

"I prefer the truth," I tell him. "If you wish to avoid me, simply say so."

He shakes his head. "I have no desire to avoid you. In fact, I'm glad you came. There's nowhere else that we can speak in private."

"And what would we have to speak about?"

Adrian settles into an armchair in front of the large window. The sunlight illuminates the smooth skin of his face, almost obscuring the dark circles beneath his eyes. He gestures to the chair beside him, and I sit down without hesitation.

"My father is upset with me because I turned up to my lessons drunk," he says plainly. "He confined me to my room for a few days."

He's not giving me the full truth, but I'm shocked that he would even tell me that much. The partial truth is meant to make this story credible, so that I won't ask questions. But I need to ask questions. I need to know if I'm right.

"You've still been drinking," I say. "I don't think it's a suitable punishment, seeing as you must keep a supply in here."

"No punishment is suitable. I'm far too old for it to have any effect."

"Yet here you are."

He laughs. "Here I am."

"Does he do this often?"

"It depends on his mood."

"I would expect a king to be very much in control of his emotions," I say, knowing full well that Adrian will recognize my jab at his hotheadedness.

He takes it in stride. "Would you? Many wars waged between many great kings have their beginnings in nothing more than reckless passion."

"Hopefully you will do things differently, when you are king."

His smile almost becomes a grimace. "Oh, surely."

"You don't want to be king?" I run my thumb over the velvet arm of my chair, momentarily distracted by the fine material. Everything in this room—in this castle—bleeds decadence. Everything from the furniture to the tapestries to Adrian's pajamas, which only very few people will ever see him in. A slight warmth creeps into my cheeks as I recognize that I am one of those few.

"It is as much a burden as it is a gift," Adrian says, with striking honesty.

"It is better than being a peasant."

He speaks carefully as he says, "I am grateful to have been born under a lucky star."

I notice that Adrian is sitting straight up in the center of his chair to avoid leaning against its back. "You should relax, Your Highness. Or does my presence make you uncomfortable?"

His carefree mask slips ever so slightly. "Have you ever been told that you are uncommonly perceptive, Nyx?"

"The duchess has said something like that before." She hasn't, but I need to work her into this conversation somehow.

"Then that is one thing that she and I can agree on." He braces his elbow against the armrest and leans his head against his hand. The position scrunches up his cheek, which I find rather endearing. Remembering the first time I entered this room, the same words I thought then come to mind once more, completely uninvited.

He's beautiful.

As terrible as it is, I can't deny the truth of the matter. He looks otherworldly in this light, with his unusual pale hair and crystalline eyes. My own eyes drift to his mouth, which is strangely gentle despite the harsh words that sometimes spill from it. I wonder if his kiss would feel like Victor's.

Maybe it would be better than Victor's.

"I think the duchess is interested in you," I tell him.

"Did she ask you to speak to me?" The idea appears to disappoint him.

"No. But, as you said, I am uncommonly perceptive."

"Well, if you feel the need, you may tell the duchess that I have no interest in a woman twice my age. And if you are feeling particularly bold, you might add that she shouldn't waste her money on beauty potions, as she looks perfectly fine without them. Besides, we all know her birthday. She makes such a big production of it that there's no possibility of anyone forgetting her true age."

That's news to me, though it's not exactly surprising. "Beauty potions?"

"You didn't know? She takes them twice a month, I believe. They're ridiculously expensive."

His silk pajamas don't exactly denote frugality on his part. And how would he know the price of beauty potions? "Have you bought many?"

"I've seen them at the black market."

Now, that I find shocking. "Really?" How would he conceal himself? His hair is an instant identifier; no one in Durnwall has hair like that. He must have some disguise, but I wonder how he manages to get away from his guards long enough to visit the market.

Adrian nods. "I've been all around Durnwall."

"How? Your guards seem to keep you close."

He bites down on his tumid lip, wincing and releasing it as he remembers his self-inflicted wound. "Has my reputation reached Vaelune?"

I can't be sure, but Ethel would certainly know about his perception, and it might be believable that she would tell me. After all, she is a serial gossip. "Yes. At the very least, it has reached me."

"You know about the brothels, then."

"I don't believe there are many who are unaware."

His expression turns slightly sour, but since he is the one who frequents such establishments, I think his reputation is well-deserved.

"They help me see the real world," he says quietly. "It's not always carnality, you know. My...companions will often sneak me outside, since the guards never come into the room. Then, I can see what Durnwall is like. I have to wear a hood, of course, and commoners' clothes, but that doesn't detract too much from the experience."

"How many women do you see?" I ask, not caring how blunt my question is. It's his own fault for behaving the way he does.

His cheeks turn pink, but he answers honestly. "Three. But not as often as you might think."

My face heats as well. I feel stupid for somehow allowing myself to think that the attention he's been giving me is in any way special. It was some ridiculous delusion brought about by his superficial charm. I can't believe I fell into his trap, even briefly.

Cordelia's distraught face as she was being sent away comes to mind. I may steal shadows, but Adrian shatters hearts like glass. I can't decide which is worse—perhaps we are evenly matched in our misdoings.

"What do you do in Durnwall?" I ask.

"I walk around, mainly," he says. "It's unfortunate, the state that town is in."

My blood boils, causing all my sympathy to evaporate. "You should do something about it, then."

"What do you suggest?" he asks. "I have no access to the Bancroft House coffers, and my father doesn't listen to a word I say." His eyes flick away as he realizes what he's done. But I can't look away from him when I realize it as well. He's opened up to me.

I stare at his lip and wonder how much his back must be aching. A single drop of pity returns. "He does seem like a difficult man to speak freely to."

"My reputation certainly doesn't help. He only looks upon me with disappointment."

"You do seem to drink too much."

Adrian laughs. "The bars are my weakness, the brothels usually a mere front. But I tire of speaking of myself, Nyx. Tell me more about you."

I falter. I have no idea what to say, because I'm not sure there's anything I really can say. Making up stories will only twist my tongue, but the truth is obviously off-limits. Yet I think I can get by with half-truths, like the prince.

"This castle is too big," I confess, "yet the courtiers make it seem so small. The duchess speaks of nothing beyond her little world."

"For her, there isn't much."

He's right, but it's a melancholy thought. "I've never lived like this before. It's enjoyable, I think, but I find myself sure of nothing."

Grinning, he says, "Growing up in a barn will do that to you."

"Very funny."

"Do you miss Vaelune, then?"

It's almost as though he has asked if I miss my parents, a question that hurts me with an almost physical ache. "More than anything," I say quietly.

Adrian looks at me, but I don't meet his eyes. In my periphery, I can see the confusion on his face, a look that quickly gives way to empathy. He reaches out and rests a warm hand on mine, squeezing it gently. Reassuringly. Perhaps he realizes that I am thinking of my dead parents. I'm truly amazed at him; I never expected such tenderness from a man I have always regarded as nothing but selfish.

We are interrupted by a knock at the door. Without asking for permission to enter, Dustin strides into the room. His giddy smile vanishes the moment he sees me, with Adrian's hand clasped over mine. I stand and curtsey as he bows, but Adrian remains in his seat, regarding the man with a cold gaze that ought to send a chill down his spine. There is unbridled hatred in the expression, and I wonder if Dustin has been responsible for past inflictions of punishment upon Adrian. Suddenly, I think of the days the prince was missing after our ride in the woods. Had he been flogged then, too? I'm almost certain now that the king had confined him in his room as recompense for evading his guards. Maybe it was Dustin's idea.

Dustin gestures towards my chair. "Please, have a seat."

I sit down again and force myself to lean back, as though perfectly at ease in his presence. But I now find him twice as repugnant as I did before.

"Your father asked me to see how you are."

"No, he didn't," Adrian says flatly, molten anger flashing in his silver-gray eyes. "You came on your own accord."

Dustin grits his teeth. "Your Highness—"

"Go fetch us some tea," he commands. "And cakes. I know Lady Nyx is rather fond of those."

He noticed?

Eyes flashing with anger, Dustin says, "I'll tell a servant to—"

Adrian shakes his head. "Not a servant. You are to bring it yourself. Otherwise, how am I to trust that it hasn't been tampered with?"

Dustin glances at me briefly. "Adrian, I wanted to speak—"

"I don't." He snaps his fingers imperiously. "Go. Make yourself useful, Lord Dustin. And don't keep Lady Nyx waiting."

Red-faced, Dustin turns his back and leaves the room.

"I apologize for the interruption," Adrian tells me, his manner turning spoiled and lazy. "At least we'll have worthwhile refreshments out of it, though."

I'm glad he refused to hear Dustin out, but I also worry about what the repercussions will be. And I find it concerning how dramatically his demeanor changes whenever he's with his father or Dustin. That's odd—am I worried for the prince? Why should I care what happens to him?

Dustin returns quickly, setting a large tray on the table on the opposite side of the room.

"Now," he says, "I need to speak with you, Adrian."

"You may return when I am done visiting with Lady Nyx," says the prince.

We both stand, and I follow him to the table. My stomach growls when I see the cakes of varying colors that crowd a porcelain plate. I think Adrian must have heard, because he glances at me and winks, smirking roguishly.

"Fine," Dustin growls. "But I will return, Your Highness."

"I have no doubt."

Adrian pours the tea, not looking up as Dustin storms out of the room for a second time. "Do you like milk or sugar?"

I stare at his pale hands, which hesitate beside the respective containers. Why is he serving me? "Um...both."

Obligingly, he adds them, then passes me the cup. As he fixes his own, he says, "I suppose you used to drink milk by the gallon."

"What?"

He glances at me. "Being a milkmaid's daughter."

Oh. "Straight from a cow," I joke.

His smile doesn't quite reach his discerning eyes. "What is the countryside like in Vaelune? Is the weather as poor as in Durnwall?"

I wish I had picked up a geography book once in a while—or that I had traveled even a single mile past of the city gates. "Yes, unfortunately."

"Well, I must be fortunate. Every time I visited, there wasn't a cloud in the sky."

My heart skips a beat. "Yes, you must be."

He takes a sip of tea, gazing after me over the rim of his cup. "What are you hiding, Nyx?"

He shouldn't be this clever. I always thought him a fool, and this would be so much easier had I been correct. Setting the teacup down forcefully enough to crack the saucer, I back towards the door. "I have to go."

"Wait." He puts his own cup down and strides after me. "Whatever secrets you have, they're safe with me. Just tell me what you're hiding."

"You're mistaken."

He slides between me and the door, blocking my exit. "Nyx—"

I grab the front of his shirt and give it a threatening yank. "Let me out. Now."

His face darkens. "Or what?"

"Or I'll call your guards. I know they have little fondness for you."

He steps out of my way, face twisted with anger. I hurry out of the room as quickly as I can, almost running down the hall until I reach the duchess's room. I lean against the door and take a moment to catch my breath. But even after I do so, my heart still pounds like a drum inside my chest.

I have never felt so lost, nor so confused. What has he done to me?