Two more days pass with no sign of the Silver Prince. I search for him when I can, trying to appear nonchalant as I lose myself in the castle's wide corridors and sweeping stairwells. Soon, I am decently familiar with this place. But I still know precious little about the prince himself. Wherever he's hiding, he has concealed himself well.
Most of the guests who came to celebrate his birthday have departed, leaving only the duchess, the pink-clad girl from the feast, and a couple lords, all of whom have decided on an extended stay.
On the third night following our disastrous ride, the prince finally reappears. He strides into the dining roomâan appropriately smaller eating area than the Great Hall, though equally as grandâwithout even casting a glance towards me. He seats himself next to the pink-clad girl from the feast. Tonight, she's dressed in canary yellow.
As the meal begins, I watch the prince whisper in the girl's ear several times. She giggles each time, a blush lighting up her soft cheeks. When she looks at the prince, I see intense desire in her eyes. The prince gazes back at her, amused by the attention she lavishes upon him.
Due to my "relation" to the duchess and Dustin's status as a lord, we are more often than not seated next to one another. Tonight is no exception, and he never hesitates to make dull conversation with me.
Taking advantage of his loose tongue, I ask him who the prince's favorite is.
"That's the Lady Cordelia," he says, his words mushed through a mouthful of bread. "She inherited Bellvemarre when her father died last year."
"I see." Bellvemarre is a large estate about thirty miles west of Durnwall. It contains several orchards from which Durnwall purchases most of its produce, then sells to its citizens at exorbitant prices.
Realizing this makes me look at Cordelia in a new light. I feel a new, strong disdain for her, so intense that it curls my fingers into fists. She's the reason why everyone in town is starving. Despite being relatively close to Belvemarre, the peasants of Itoria get the worst of Bellvemarre's produce: the past-ripe, leftover stuff that the nobles refuse to take. I remember my father cutting the bad spots out of pears, and my mother discarding worm-infested apples. We would always have to cut fruit open to make sure that no creature had made a home for itself inside. Now, in spite of the ridiculous prices, I often buy myself the better fruits to spare myself the trouble.
The Silver Prince glances at me briefly before his eyes flick back towards Cordelia. He flashes her a debonair smile before brushing his lips against her cheek. It's barely a kiss, and lasts less than a second, but Cordelia's face turns the color of the roasted beets on her plate. She is ridiculous, to allow herself to be taken in by such a ruse. He cares nothing for her beyond whatever short-lived pleasure she can bestow upon him under the cover of his bedsheets.
"Where has the prince been?" I ask Dustin in a low voice. "He's missed supper these past few days."
Dustin chuckles. "Moping, I expect."
Moping? "Over what?"
An expression of mild shock crosses his face. "Were you not with him during his ride, when he evaded his guards?"
"Yes, I was with him."
"He may be a prince, but there are repercussions for his actions."
I glance at the Silver Prince again. He doesn't seem mopey in the least. In fact, he and Cordelia appear to be having a most enjoyable evening, which will surely continue into the night. The thought tugs at my stomach and nags at the back of my mind. I don't understand why it irks me so, but I have little patience for such foolishnessâespecially nowâso I push it aside as best as I can, forcing myself to focus on the more pressing issue of the Silver Prince.
Considering how spoiled the prince is, I find it hard to believe that he's faced any repercussions, no matter how serious a transgression running from his guards may be. Seeing the grand ball and lavish feast that were thrown in his honor, for something as arbitrary as a birthday, solidified my opinion that anything he wants is given to him, and he has no interest in the work that goes into creating events as splendid as those. Only a person with an overblown sense of their own worth would think to have a masquerade ball for himself, as well as a day-long feast. And, after seeing him flirt indiscriminately with all the young ladies in attendance, I have the distinct impression that he believes he can have anythingâor anyoneâhe wants. And, of course, there are no consequences for using people however he pleases.
And he has no thought of any person's well-being besides his own. I know this because of his skepticism at the duchess's willingness to take me in. Whether he's right about her having ulterior motives or not, his questioning gives away his own selfishness. He wouldn't offer his assistance to anyone, so of course he finds it difficult to believe that someone else would.
Still, I find it strange that he could see through my lies. He may be clever enough to discern that I was being dishonest with him, but surely he isn't clever enough to figure out the true reason why I'm here.
"What sort of repercussions?" I ask.
"I'm not sure," says Dustin indifferently. "Does it matter? As long as Prince Adrian is taught his lesson, it makes no difference what methods his father employs to keep him in line."
"Right." It's probably something insignificant, such as being forbidden to venture into town. I can't imagine anything of consequence happening to a princeâespecially not the crown prince of Itoria.
After supper, I decide to take a stroll through the castle courtyard. The past two days have been terribly boring; they were mainly spent receiving dull guests with the duchess. Drawn-out conversations about the latest Itorian fashions, which lord's daughter is marrying which marquis's son, and who is expecting a child soon are the only things that filled my time. I cared about none of it, but was forced to smile and nod and laugh as the duchess and her friends spoke of frivolous, immaterial things. In those moments, I was glad to not truly be one of them. It would be shameful if my greatest concerns were where I might procure the finest Touvian silk or the softest Valenfort wool.
I feel like I need to catch my breath.
The courtyard is empty, and the heavens are besprinkled with glittering stars, bright against an evening blue sky so deep it could swallow them if it tried. I am surrounded by rosebushes, which line the winding pathways and fill the air with their sweet aroma. This garden would bear a wonderful scent even without the rosebushes, as it contains a wide variety of Itoria's most beautiful summer blooms: bluebells, lilies, poppies, and more all bring color and fragrance to the palace. If I was blissfully unaware of the sort of people that have walked this courtyard, I might be more inclined to enjoy it.
As I take in a deep breath of the cool night air, my mind wanders. The Lord of the Underworld is expecting results, results that have so far proven difficult to secure. But I know I will succeed, because failure is not an option.
I wonder what Victor's plans are. The king is obviously not in good health; that much is apparent, no matter how he tries to hide it. His continued presence at every supper and outward display of health does not fool me. I can see the way his posture sags slightly, and I can see the telltale emptiness of impending demise behind in his eyesâit's the same look that haunted my parents' eyes in the months before their death. In my opinion, this is divine retribution. The king does not have much time left before he meets a painful end; he is clearly weakened by whatever illness he suffered from. His body has been irreparably damaged from it, and no matter what his royal physicians try, I know he will not recover.
Perhaps it is the same illness that took my parents. Is the king's death divine retribution from the gods? Did they send me Victor to help me into the castle so I can disenthrall the Silver Prince, thus exacting long-awaited revenge for my parents' death?
At the sound of approaching footsteps, I whirl around. The prince himself is strolling towards me, his four heavily armed guards at his heels. From the grim expressions on their faces, I can see that they're concerned about him slipping away again. I wonder if they had to face punishment at the hands of the king as well, for allowing the prince to escape, no matter how briefly.
The prince smiles at me, his vinous lips curled. "Lady Nyx. I didn't expect to see you here."
"I needed some air," I say, crossing my arms defensively.
"As did I. The castle can be rather...confining at times."
"It must seem so, when you lock yourself in your room for days on end."
The glimmer in his eyes matches the stars above us. "If I didn't know better, I would believe that you're saying this out of concern. Or, perhaps, you missed me."
"Then I'm glad you know better."
He stretches a hand, milk-pale in the moonlight, towards the nearest rosebush and plucks one of its lush blooms. Then he presents the flower to me.
I hesitate, not immediately accepting it. "Lady Cordelia will be disappointed if she finds out that you gave me a flower, and not her."
"Does that matter to you?"
After what Cordelia's done to the citizens of Durnwall, her pain is well-deserved. I take the rose, unable to contain a soft gasp from escaping my lips as a stray thorn pricks my index finger. Switching the flower to my other hand, I examine the miniscule wound. Small as it is, a bead of blood is steadily growing on the pad of my finger. It is the exact shade of the rose's brilliantly colored petals.
"Don't be frightened," the prince says quickly, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. He reaches out to wipe the blood from my finger, but I step back before he has the chance.
"It's only a little blood," I say before sticking my finger in my mouth. The blood is salty against my tongue and vanishes quickly.
The prince tucks his handkerchief away. "I expected you to be more..."
"Weak?" I have to swallow my laughter. If he knew how many of my own wounds I've tended to, he would probably faint the same way I'm sure he expected me to. I wonder what he would think if he saw the long, jagged scar down my thigh from one of my failed attempts at shadow-stealing. He probably wouldn't understand the significance of it; I'm certain that he's had no such experience with pain.
He smirks. "I see you're as fearsome as a warrior, despite the delicacy of your manners."
He's mocking me. Try as I might, I am indelicate, wobbling in my heels and speaking far more plainly than I should. This man really does treat others however he pleases, with utter abandon.
"Thank you for the flower," I say curtly. "If you'll excuse me, I think I should return to the duchess."
"You are not excused, Lady Nyx."
We stare at one another the same way we did in that clearing by the stream. I have no words to describe how much I despise this man, the embodiment of everything I hate about the Bancroft Houseâand the monarchy in general. He is worthless and commanding, somehow sure of himself while being completely oblivious of how he is perceived. He has no idea how the people of Durnwall despise him, with his visits to town that seem to ridicule us as he flaunts his wealth.
He is hateful. Selfish and hateful. And he thinks that he can force me to stay.
"I wasn't asking," I tell him. Turning on my heel, I push through his guards and stride back towards the castle. My heart pounds; I expect him to shout at me, to command me to return, but he doesn't say a word.
Instead of immediately reentering the castle, I hide behind a pear tree that grows by the door. Thankfully, Morwen has fixed more of the duchess's dresses for me to wear, and today I'm dressed in a simple black gown that helps me blend into the background. Morwen has thoughtfully removed much of the trimmings from this gown, making it far more manageable than the ones I've worn previouslyâand surprisingly practical.
I wait in the shadows, heart still beating faster than it should, until the Silver Prince and his guards approach the staircase leading to the doors. The prince pauses before mounting the first step, turning back to look at his escorts. Through the heavy leaves of the pear tree, I can see the vexation on his face. I know he won't notice me, he won't find out that I'm watching him, but I still hold my breath.
"There's no need to follow me further," he says commandingly. "I can make it back to my chamber without incident."
"My apologies, Adrian, but you know we can't allow that."
I recognize the speaker's voice as belonging to Ingram, the man who snapped at the Silver Prince after I fell off of my horse in the clearing. It's strange to hear him call the prince by his first name, without using his title. When Ethel or Dustin call him Adrian, it's not so strange, but to hear it from Ingram, who is so much lower in station than any of them... I almost want to applaud his boldness.
"Lady Cordelia is meeting me there," says the Silver Prince in a voice as cold as winter frost. "I don't wish for you to frighten her off."
"Surely she is used to having guards around. She arrived with a few of her own."
"She would be wise to keep her guards by her side, if she plans to open more than just her heart to our dear Adrian," a new voice says.
Lord Dustin steps into view. Most of him is hidden behind the leaves, but I can see his dominating posture, hands resting on his hips. On flat ground, the Silver Prince is a couple inches taller than him, but Dustin remains on the step just above him, looming over the prince.
The Silver Prince hasn't lost his languorous confidence. His arms are crossed and, even as he looks up at Dustin, it's clear that he isn't intimidated in the slightest. I'm not sure why I feel he should be, since he's the crown prince and Dustin merely a lord. But there's something about Dustin's casual assertivenessâand, perhaps, the fact that the prince's guards don't even seem to be on their charge's sideâthat gives me pause.
"I hope you don't plan to spoil my fun." The prince's voice is cheerful, but tinged with the slightest knife's edge to sharpen it. A thinly veiled warning for Dustin to get out of his way.
"No, no, of course not." Dustin rests a hand on the prince's shoulder. "I am well aware that this is what makes you feel...liberated."
The lecherous tone of his voice makes me shudder but, admirably, the Silver Prince seems unaffected. He brushes Dustin's hand away. "Yes, my lack of freedom is much mitigated by her company."
There's a heavy layer of sarcasm that shrouds his voice, controverting his words. The impression this gives me is that he isn't especially eager to sleep with Cordelia. At least, not Cordelia in particular. It only confirms my suspicions: any girl will do. To him, she's just a warm body that will suit his needs for the evening. That realization gives me a strange sense of satisfaction, though I'm not entirely sure why. Perhaps because it means that the prince is easy to get close toâbut I despise him enough that I hope to garner the information I need by simply spying on him. I have no interest in becoming yet another of his conquests.
"I visited your father earlier," says Dustin. "He seemed concerned about your loose morals. The drinking and the brothels...these are detrimental in excess. And he will not stand for the evasion of your guards."
The Silver Prince's voice hardens like steel. "I know very well what he will and will not stand for."
Dustin raises his hands as though in surrender. "I'm only trying to help you, Adrian. I want to shield you from your father's anger. He may impose more restrictions upon you, should you continue this behavior. And I wish you'd consider the consequences of stringing Lady Cordelia on. The Bellvemarre orchards are vital for feeding Itoria's citizens. And, of course, you would have precious few of your beloved pears without her."
My body stiffens as Dustin gestures towards the pear tree behind which I stand. Luckily, the prince only casts a brief glance at it before turning back to him.
"Lady Cordelia is well aware that I am disinclined towards romance," the prince says coolly. "And she is not the sort of person who would hold Bellvemarre's food supply as ransom for my affection."
"Perhaps not your affection, but your hand is another matter entirely," Dustin insists. "She would be a fool to allow you to bed her without a promise in place."
"Not everyone in Itoria is as rigid as you." An amused lilt sneaks back into the Silver Prince's voice. "In fact, I would venture to say that you border on prudish."
The bit of Dustin's face that I can see turns red. "At least my morals are intact."
"Considering how intently you gaze upon Lady Nyx, I imagine that there is no truth to your words."
I shudder again, shocked that even the prince has noticed Dustin's unwelcome interest in me. I find it strange that he would care enough to mention it, however. He has no stake in my well-being. From the way he behaves, it's quite clear that he has no interest in anyone's well-being. As much as I dislike Dustin, I have to admit that he has a point: it's incredibly selfish of him to disregard the sway that Cordelia has over Durnwall, and Itoria in general. He has judged her wrong, as well: she is most certainly the type of person to ransom Bellvemarre's food supply. The price at which she sells to the vendors of Durnwall is evidence enough of her own self-serving nature.
Maybe she and the prince are a perfect match after all. Whether the Silver Prince cares for romance or not, he and Cordelia seem to have similar values. It's unfortunate that he'll have to marry the duchess insteadâunfortunate for Cordelia, anyway. While she may be aware that the prince is using her for carnal pleasures and has no serious intentions towards her, I can see quite plainly that she is deeply in love with him. Were she not so avaricious, I might be inclined to pity her.
Through gritted teeth, Dustin says, "Heed my warning, Adrian. That's all I ask."
The prince steps up beside him. Now, he's taller once again. "I appreciate your concern, Dustin, but I never take advice from lesser men."
I watch him sweep past Dustin dismissively. His guards follow, leaving Dustin alone on the stairs. He clenches his hands into fists at his sides, his face so red it makes me think of a raging furnace.
My own hand clenches the rose that the prince gave me so tightly that the stem snaps in half. I didn't realize before just how vital my mission is, but now I see. The Silver Prince will listen to no one whom he considers "lesser" than himâwhich is everyone.
He would make a rotten king.
The duchess was right. Victor was right.
He must be controlled before King Thurstan dies.