49. Jess

Chapter forty-nine

Jess

I pressed my hands to my head as I woke. My temples throbbed, and it hurt to just open my eyes. What had they given me this time?

I sat up in the bed before realizing . . . I was in a bed!

I looked down at the luxurious linens stitched with the finest needlework. I grew up in the Palace. Being surrounded by ornate furnishings wasn't new or shocking; but after weeks of running from my mother, then running from kidnappers, I was a little thrown by the surrounding extravagance. The woodwork on the bed and headboard was remarkable, but I couldn't figure out who might want the Phoenix staring down at them while they slept.

After scanning the room, the dizziness from before didn't return, so I sucked in a breath and threw my feet off the side of the bed.

I glanced down at the scratches crisscrossing my legs. When had that happened ?

The last few weeks were a blur. None of it felt real.

I should've been back in Fontaine with my parents learning the finer points of diplomacy and queenship, readying to rule; yet here I sat, captive, alone, and utterly terrified.

My mind drifted to Danym, the square line of his jaw, the sparkle in his eyes, his infuriatingly flawless hair.

Fear twisted into bitterness, then anger.

I was sure we were perfect together, sure we were building a life together . . . and then he betrayed me. The look in his eyes when I recognized him behind his mask made chills claw their way across my skin.

The kind, gentle adoration I fell in love with was gone, but that wasn't what fueled my anger. The arrogant amusement that replaced those emotions boiled my blood. He hadn't felt bad about deceiving me, about breaking my heart. On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy the whole game and appeared entertained by my shock and pain.

And for what?

What did these people even want?

I scoured my memory for any lessons on the Children or something my father might have shared. All I could remember was the group traced their roots back to Irina, the woman who tried to take over the world—but that was ten lifetimes ago, and no one cared about a long-dead queen.

Did they ?

I set my feet onto the floor and tried shifting a little weight onto my legs. They were wobbly but didn't buckle. I shuffled to one of the chairs by the fireplace and allowed its pillowy cushions to engulf me.

A tray of cheeses, meats, and fruits sat on a nearby end table. I reached for a pastry, but the door burst open, and a figure in deep crimson robes wearing a strange, featureless mask entered.

"It is nice to see you awake. You will need to eat to regain your strength." The husky voice grated in my ears. "I will have a Healer repair those scratches and any other damage that might have occurred. Rest and recover. Your coronation will take place later tonight, Mistress."

The woman—I assumed she was a woman—bowed deeply as she said the last word, then turned to leave.

"Wait . . . What? What coronation? What happened to my father?" I pleaded.

I would only be coronated if—

"Oh, Mistress, you are heir to so much more than one man's kingdom." The masked woman reached out and cupped my cheek, her ring pressing into the tender skin of my face. "All will be clear when you ascend the throne. We— You are so close, Mistress."

The woman glided out of the room before I could ask anything more.

My head spun, but it was no longer cloudy .

Despite everything, I attacked the charcuterie and emptied the crystal pitcher of wine, then stalked from one end of the room to the other, again and again.

It felt good to move, but I tired quickly and threw myself back onto the bed.

My thoughts were troubled by scenes of my father being shot by an assassin . . . or being trampled by his horse . . . or being run through by a swordsman in a grand battle. I couldn't stop dreaming ways he might've died, each more gruesome than the last.

Hours passed before the door rattled again, and two figures entered, one carried a basket filled with soap and towels, while the other brought a golden gown bearing the crest of the Phoenix.