33. Chapter 33

thirty-three

“ T he queen is missing.”

Nevander's head snapped up, dread flooding his veins. How long had they been gone? How long had he stared at Castien’s still form, willing him to move?

Declan’s sharp eyes scanned the room, meticulously noting every detail. The silence stretched, unbearable. “Anything else?” Nevander demanded.

“And so is one of the kitchen staff,” Declan replied, his lips a thin line, his expression grim.

Nevander’s mind raced. Hadn’t Castien mentioned problems with the butcher just yesterday? “What’s being done?”

“The entire guard is scouring the estate,” Declan said, striding to the bed.

Nevander turned back to Castien. His breathing was still erratic, his chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm, and his skin icy to the touch. If Castien didn’t survive this, Lyra would be shattered. She’d already buried one son. And if they couldn’t locate her...

Sunlight sliced through the clearing storm clouds, a stark contrast to the darkness weighing on his mind.

Nevander’s gaze swept the room, landing on Castien’s ink-stained mahogany desk, usually a chaos of papers and books, now eerily empty. His gut tightened .

“Where is Ciana?”

“She took Wynna for a horseback ride to keep her safe,” Declan replied, leaning against the doorframe. “She also wanted to look around the estate.”

“She what?” Nevander glared at Declan. “Have you lost your mind?” Nevander lunged for the door, but Declan’s iron grip on his bad shoulder stopped him cold. Pain shot up his neck.

“Princess Ciana is the highest-ranking person here now. Not you,” Declan stated, his calm voice grating. “She has six sentries with her.”

Nevander wrenched his shoulder out of Declan’s grip and glared at him. Pain throbbed down to his fingertips. That was just like Ciana, not waiting for permission, doing what she thought needed to be done.

“Fine,” Nevander said flatly.

Declan raised one eyebrow before continuing. “She also said for you to keep watch over Castien.”

Nevander narrowed his eyes. “Was that an order ?”

A grim smile played at the corners of Declan’s lips. “Yes, I believe it was.”

Hours crawled by as the sky darkened and lamps flickered to life. Nevander’s legs had gone numb, his eyes aching as he kept vigil. They’d halted the festival with a fabricated story about the prince’s minor illness, but all Nevander could do was watch helplessly as Castien writhed in his sleep, caught in what looked like a nightmare.

Another groan tore from Castien’s throat. Nevander knew that kind of torment all too well. As he reached out, Castien jerked violently, kicking off the blankets. Sweat soaked his flushed skin, and his gasps for air filled the room.

Leaning in to check for fever, Nevander caught a fist to the gut. Stumbling back, he barely stifled a curse, coughing out a breath. How could Castien still punch so hard? He was nothing but skin and bones. But he still had fight in him. Good.

Snapping into action, Nevander yelled for the sentry. The guard burst in, concern etched on his face.

“Fetch the healer,” he ordered the sentry, who disappeared in a staccato of boots.

If Castien didn’t want the blankets on him, Nevander would leave them off. He yanked the blanket from the floor and folded it at the foot of the bed before he flopped down in a chair. The prince had calmed somewhat, but still hadn’t opened his eyes. Minutes rolled by as he watched for any sign, his eyelids fluttering with fatigue, his gut still aching where Castien had punched him.

His last night’s sleep had been interrupted by his own bad dreams of darkness and cold. And Kallessa. Face down in the frigid waters. He swallowed, an uneasy feeling creeping up his throat. No, that was just a dream. She'd be fine.

She and Dovina had to be close to home by now, back to her life before him. Before she’d ever met a broken down soldier with too much violence in his heart, a whore mongering prince. She’d be better off without him.

Anger welled up from that bottomless depth, that endless reservoir of fury he constantly fought down. If not for this chaos, he could go after her. Ciana’s words echoed in his mind. Do you love her? Then why did you listen when I told you to let her go?

Because he never deserved her in the first place.

Kallessa wanted to cry with relief at the sight of the owl-themed inn materializing through the rain. She ached from her fingertips to her toes, everything rubbed raw or throbbing in pain. Even Sunu’s head hung low.

“Almost there, girl,” she murmured, nudging the mare forward.

Flashbacks assailed her as she saw the well out front and the creek behind it. Had it only been two weeks since they’d been here? She felt like a lifetime had happened since then.

She left Sunu with the stableboy, patting the mare’s neck affectionately. Wincing at the rumbling noise from inside the inn, she trudged to the front door.

Raucous singing and boot-stomping exploded as she pushed open the inn’s door. The innkeeper’s eyes narrowed, taking in her bedraggled state.

So she was dripping on the floor. Get over it.

“We’re full up,” he said, gesturing to the packed tavern. Soldiers crowded every corner, in various states of inebriation—laughing, eating and swigging from huge tankards. Even the owls hanging from the ceiling shimmied in the cacophony.

Oh please, let her have misheard him.

“Are you certain?” Her head pounded in time with the off key singing, her ears ringing as the roar bounced against the walls.

“Quite sure, miss.” His dismissive tone cut deep.

She couldn’t face the rain again, not with darkness falling. Her shoulders, already aching from holding the reins, slumped forward. This was payback for kicking the prince of Dracia out of his room last time. Kallessa keenly remembered his resigned face when he realized he wasn’t sleeping in a soft bed that night. Now she knew exactly how he felt.

As the tavern keeper continued to watch her, his expression softened slightly. “You can stay in the tavern for three coppers. That includes a hot meal.”

Her legs wobbled with relief. Oh, a hot meal. At this point, she would happily curl up on the floor as long as she didn’t have to go back out in that awful weather.

“Is there a place I can change my clothes?”

The innkeeper yelled to the serving girl. “Carly, come here!”

A tall girl with golden braids hurried over. Her plain cotton skirts swung about her ankles as she moved, and the worn leather serving apron tied around her waist stained with splashes of ale and wine.

“What is it, Da?”

“Show her where to change and find her a table,” he instructed.

Before Carly could lead her away, the innkeeper cleared his throat and held out his hand. Oh yes, the three coppers. Kallessa would have next to nothing left after this, but tomorrow she would be home. She could make it. Tomorrow she’d sleep in her own bed by the seashore and let the waves crashing on the beach lull her to sleep.

Carly led her to a cramped but blessedly dry storage room. Kallessa changed quickly, praying her stockings matched in the dim light.

Carly waved her over to a small table at the back of the tavern, far from the roaring fireplace and rowdy crowd. However, reaching it meant navigating through the tavern packed with tipsy men singing off key. Steeling herself, Kallessa lowered her head and attempted to barrel through. Halfway through, a meaty hand seized her waist.

“Where ya going, pretty girl?” A deep voice slurred. The man reeked of alcohol and body odor, and his fingers dug painfully into her ribs.

“Let me go,” she demanded, but instead her voice came out as a tired squeak.

The man yanked her against his chest. She landed roughly on his lap, struggling to regain her footing.

“Aw, don’t be like that, sweetheart,” he laughed, the rumble vibrating against her back. Suddenly, he jerked forward with a pained yelp as a broom handle came crashing down on his head.

“Let her go, Marshall,” Carly growled at the soldier.

Marshall scowled, rubbing his head. “Can’t a man have some fun around here?”

Carly yanked Kallessa out of his lap. “Sorry about that,” she said with an apologetic grimace. “The weather has us all cooped up in here. The boys get restless.”

“Are they all here for the night?” Kallessa asked. Please say no.

“Afraid so.”

Kallessa groaned inwardly. No rest tonight either. Her head spun as Carly led her to the table, giving the stink-eye to any man who looked their way.

“I’ll have your food out in a few minutes.” She waved back to the men. “Don’t worry about them. They’ll all pass out in a few hours.”

Kallessa sank down in the smooth wooden chair, finally sitting on something flat that didn’t move. Even her tailbone hurt .

Carly returned quickly with two heavily buttered biscuits, mashed turnips, and two small chicken legs.

“Sorry, they ate all the venison and potatoes.” She set down a tankard beside the meal. “Cider, just pressed yesterday.”

“Thank you so much,” Kallessa said, her voice breaking. “And thanks for earlier.” She waved toward the men.

Carly paused, studying her. “You look like a wrung out dishrag.”

A weak laugh escaped Kallessa’s lips. “I feel like one too.”

“Just eat. I’ll check back later,” Carly promised, then hurried off.

She barely tasted the hearty meal, only the soothing heat as it calmed her aching stomach and sore throat. Once she’d devoured every last morsel, a grogginess crashed over her so strongly that the raucous yelling, off-key singing, and thunderous stomping of boots faded into an indistinct, fuzzy background noise. Even the rough-hewn wooden table before her blurred and wavered as her eyelids grew impossibly heavy.

A firm hand gripped her arm just as her eyelids fluttered closed, the sudden jolt jerking her back to reluctant alertness. Kallessa blinked owlishly, struggling to focus on the concerned face swimming before her bleary gaze.

Carly stood there, shaking her head. “This won’t do.” She pursed her lips, looking across the tavern, and Kallessa followed her gaze. Her eyes ached. They felt scratchy as she looked about the room, trying to care about what was going on, but it had all just turned into noise and flickering light.

Carly picked up her bag and pulled Kallessa up from the hard seat .

“Come with me,” she said, and not waiting for a response, dragged Kallessa through the tavern and up a narrow stairwell at the back of the inn.

She should care where this girl was taking her, but she just couldn’t. The heavy food, the awful, wet day, the week prior, before everything had gone wrong, was all catching up with her at once.

They stopped at a small door, and Carly produced a key. The room walls slanted down from the vaulted ceiling, but all Kallessa could see was the bed. Carly pulled back the blankets.

“Sleep for a few hours. I’ll be back later.”

Gratitude overwhelmed Kallessa, but all she could manage was a feeble nod. She yanked off her boots and collapsed onto the mattress, sighing as Carly pulled the warm blankets up to her neck, cocooning her in their comforting embrace.

As oblivion claimed her, Kallessa’s last thought was of home, and the ache of all she’d left behind.