5. Chapter 5

five

K allessa awoke, bleary-eyed and exhausted. After she’d crawled into the tub of icy water to rinse off and stood shivering in front of the small fire she’d built, she’d hoped sleep would finally come. But every time she started to doze, the memories of rough hands on her waist and the harsh whisper in her ear jolted her awake with skin prickling awareness.

Dovina had draped a shawl over a stuffed owl on the wall in their room, and she refused to remove it until the last moment.

“I’m not having that horrid creature stare at me as I dress,” Dovina quipped as she twisted her hair, placing pins in her curls.

Kallessa bit back a sigh. “It’s dead.”

“I don’t care. Those eyes will follow me around the room if I do. What possesses a man to collect such things?”

“Perhaps he’s lonely,” Kallessa murmured, shoving the last of Dovina’s belongings into her travel bag.

Dovina scoffed, her reflection in the mirror catching the morning glow. “How can he be lonely? He runs an inn. He’s surrounded by people every day.”

A lump formed in Kallessa’s throat. “Sometimes that’s the loneliest time of all.” Kallessa felt that way every time she went to Teansong square, where she used to be welcomed, where shop owners used to call to her, inquiring about her father. Now, she could be in a crowd of strangers and feel completely alone.

Dovina interrupted her thoughts as she turned around, finally finished with her hair.

“That’s ridiculous. Lace up my dress and let’s leave this place.”

Outside, the horses’ soft breaths steamed in the crisp morning air. Kallessa helped the coachman load their belongings, her eyes darting nervously to the stable. But it was empty.

As she opened the carriage door, a small package on the tufted seat caught her eye. Wrapped in linen and tied with hemp string, an intriguing spicy aroma wafted from it. She slipped out a note from beneath the bow.

Please accept my deepest apologies. Eat this when your stomach bothers you.

Sincerely,

N

Her heart raced as she untied the string, revealing translucent golden slices of what she guessed was ginger root. She’d heard of such a thing but never seen it. Crystallized sugar delicately coated each slice. She touched one to her tongue, a peppery zing followed by a burst of sweetness.

“Are we ready?” Dovina’s voice shattered the moment.

Kallessa hastily slipped the package and note into her pocket. “Um, yes. Let’s leave.”

As they settled into the carriage, her mind whirled. N. Couldn’t he at least give a full name? But what did it matter? This was likely the last she’d ever hear from the mysterious stranger.

So why did that thought bring a small, unwelcome pang to her chest?

Nevander crested the last hill, squinting against the midday sun. Finally, Ravenbluff Estate sprawled before him. After two sleepless nights, his head buzzed with fatigue. But tonight, he’d sleep in a bed that wouldn’t be snatched from him, or filled with rough straw.

The previous night’s rest at a small wayside inn had been a disaster. Suspicious border sentries had put the innkeeper on edge, relegating Nevander to the worst room available. Akeela had shared his misery, crawling over his face just as he dozed off. He’d woken up coughing, mouth full of fur. Even she had despised the bed.

Thankfully, Sunu had healed from her injury, so they’d set a brisk pace, the dense forest giving way to rolling green hills where sheep grazed peacefully. In the distance, the sprawling Ravenbluff vineyards stretched for leagues to the west.

A bittersweet ache settled in Nevander’s chest. This place had once been his second home. He and Castien had explored these hills extensively, mapping escape routes, dreaming of sailing the oceans and exploring the world. They’d sworn to be free.

Now look at them. Nevander, weighed down by the burdens of war; Castien, heir to the throne of Krithadea. Freedoms snatched away by duty. The taste of salty ocean air, the thrill of uncharted lands, the bond of brotherhood—gone.

As he entered the estate grounds, a flurry of activity swarmed around him. Servants bustled about, carrying massive flower arrangements and platters of food. Of course, Castien’s mother, Queen Lyra, had a magical way of keeping those around her on their toes, especially as the festival approached.

He led Sunu to the stables, leaving Akeela to explore. The stable hand took charge of Sunu, leaving Nevander to enter unannounced, just as he preferred.

The grand halls of Ravenbluff estate never failed to fascinate him. Queen Lyra had transformed the once crumbling estate into a vibrant and inviting space. Whitewashed walls provided a fresh backdrop for the colorful tapestries, while pedestals showcased vases filled with golden sunflowers and purple mums. It felt lived in, even if it was the home of the royal family.

A harried maid hurried by and he caught her gently. “Where is Prince Castien?” He recognized her from his previous visits. But did she recognize him?

The maid’s eyes widened, but she quickly composed herself. “He is in his chambers, my lord, but he is in an odd mood. It might be best not to disturb him.”

Apparently she did.

Nevander chuckled. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Yes, my lord,” she curtsied before scurrying away.

He turned down the east hall, autumn sun glowing through stained glass, until he reached a large paneled door. A wave of heat accosted him as he opened it. Inside, a crackling fire blazed in the hearth near a massive bed draped with furs and blankets.

Opulent tapestries hung on walls, while indigo blue velvet curtains cascaded from floor-to-ceiling windows. Leather-bound volumes filled the towering bookshelves, and papers, parchment, and pens cluttered the ebony writing table. The room felt both lived-in and untouched, as if time had stood still during Nevander’s absence .

Near the windows, a painter stood, brush poised in hand, sweat trickling down his wrinkled brow.

His subject, Prince Castien, lay beneath layers of blankets on his bed, engrossed in a book propped on his knees. A ridiculous wool flatcap adorned with guinea feathers perched atop his black hair.

“Ah, he’s finally arrived,” Castien drawled, his dark eyebrow raised.

Shock reverberated through Nevander, but he forced his face into a mask of indifference. Two years had passed since he’d last seen Castien, and illness had transformed him. His face was gaunt and pale, his once vibrant gray eyes held a hardness in them that hadn’t been there before. Castien was only twenty-five, a year younger than Nevander, but he knew how tragedy could change a man.

“What are you doing?” Nevander asked Castien, gesturing toward the painter.

Silence fell, broken only by pages turning as Castien closed his book. He slid up in bed, taking the blankets with him, and waved at himself derisively.

“Mother insists I have my portrait painted for my future wife’s chambers. I thought it only fair to provide said wife with an accurate representation of her future husband.”

He must still suffer from the cold, even after two years of recovery. Nevander had received weekly reports from Shaydn, the healer he'd personally sent, about Castien’s progress until she’d left. However, seeing Castien in person was a harsh reminder of the damage caused by the poisoning.

“And don’t you look dashing, fair soldier.” Castien’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Why don’t you join me? We’re the two most eligible princes in all the kingdoms. The maidens would swoon to find Prince Nevander Lionskye of Dracia and Prince Castien Ravenbluff of Krithadea in one portrait. Imagine!” He clutched his chest dramatically.

Nevander scoffed and glanced down at his wrinkled cloak and stained breeches.

“I’m surprised they let me into the estate looking like this.”

“I’ve known you were coming since early this morning,” Castien stated flatly.

Of course he did.

“Does your mother know about your hired friends?”

Castien sipped from a mug, grimacing slightly. “My mother is too busy trying not to embarrass the family name with this crumbling estate to worry about what I do.”

He turned to the painter. “You may leave, Agnew. Inform my mother that her illustrious son’s portrait is almost complete.”

“This is highly irregular, my lord,” the painter complained as he gathered his tools.

Castien smirked. “Isn’t it?”

Illness hadn’t robbed him of his sharp sense of humor, at least. After the artist fled, Castien pulled off the ridiculous hat and threw back the blankets. He wore heavy woolen trousers, socks and a coat over a thick knit sweater. He replaced the flat cap with a woolen knit hat and, with a deep breath, stood to greet Nevander.

“It’s good to see you, you old bastard. You look like crap, by the way.”

Nevander scoffed. “So do you.”

Castien quirked an eyebrow. “That may be true, but at least I don’t smell like it. Have you been sleeping with the sheep? ”

Frustration and exhaustion crept into Nevander’s voice. “I was swindled out of my room by a girl, and then treated like a criminal by your Krithadean innkeeper at the border.”

Castien erupted into laughter, doubling over. Gasping for breath, he managed, “Go take a bath, you dirtbag. Then we have some catching up to do.”

Jagged cliffs towered above Kallessa, daunting against the brilliant blue sky. A sheer drop-off plummeted to a rocky ravine a hundred feet below. Kallessa’s heart hammered as she gripped the sides of the carriage, her knuckles turning white. The road ahead narrowed, the sharp hairpin turn looming in front of them. Her breath caught in her throat. The carriage had no top, only slick leather seats stained with glistening blood. The wild-eyed horses thundered on, pulling the carriage faster and faster. In a sudden moment of terror, Kallessa found herself holding the reins, the weight of her family’s lives in her shaking hands.

“No! Stop! Stop!” she screamed, the wind ripping the words from her mouth. But they only drove faster. Mother and Father sat across from her, their faces twisted with manic joy as they raised their hands in the air. Their skin peeled away like rotting fruit, revealing grinning skeletons adorned in fine clothing. Blain’s mouth stretched impossibly wide, emitting a piercing string of notes. She screamed and screamed as they hurtled over the edge and into the abyss below.

“Kallessa, wake up!”

She jolted awake, Dovina shaking her arm. Her heart thundered in her ears as the horrors of her dream overlay the present. Swallowing against her parched throat, Kallessa forced herself upright, trying to shake off the residual unease. She hadn’t had that dream in months.

Dovina sat across from her, cradling her travel harp, her eyebrows furrowed.

“You were screaming like a steam whistle. I couldn’t even hear myself play. I need to practice.”

Kallessa’s cheeks burned. It had been a rough two days since the incident at the inn. They’d stayed in two more unremarkable inns, thankfully avoiding the soldier. The ginger he’d given her had helped with the nausea, but nothing could ease the anxiety of riding in the carriage.

As they approached their journey’s final leg, Kallessa retreated into silence while Dovina’s chatter filled the carriage. She’d never known her cousin to talk so much. Her demeanor had changed to almost childlike excitement as she animatedly talked about the prince.

“I heard rumors that Prince Castien is throwing this grand festival to find a wife.” Dovina giggled. “Can you imagine being a princess? No, well, of course you can’t, poor thing. But I can.” Dovina held her chin high and gave a mock wave to an imaginary crowd. “Princess Dovina. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Kallessa bit her lip, stifling the urge to roll her eyes. If being insufferable and entitled were prerequisites, Dovina would make a perfect princess.

“Ever since his older brother, Prince Dane, died, there’s been mystery surrounding the family,” Dovina explained, her voice tinged with intrigue. “Supposedly he was thrown from his horse, but there was no state funeral and no one ever saw the body.” She yanked the curtains open beside her, letting in shafts of dappled daylight.

Unwilling curiosity got the best of Kallessa. “How do you know this?”

“Well, I live in society, unlike you. I try to keep up with what’s going on.” Dovina’s eyes sparkled. “Oh my goodness, I’m so excited!”

Kallessa was developing a pain in her stomach that no amount of ginger would fix. Five years had passed since she’d been out in society. Of course, she still remembered how to act, but the idea of all those people made her palms sweat. Hopefully, the estate would have places she could tuck herself away, like a library. She could almost smell the scent of old books and cozy wingback chairs.

Yes, that would work. She’d make an appointment with the prince, then hide away until it was all over.

“I responded to the invite immediately, so we should have choice rooms,” Dovina said. “And since father is an upstanding member of society, we should have no problems.” She paused, tapping her chin. “Perhaps you should go by an alias. I don’t want to be associated with tragedy, just in case anyone has ever heard of you.”

Kallessa’s chest tightened, the dream still raw. “I’m sure no one has heard of the tragedy in this kingdom. We’re a long way from home, but I’ve already been using Mother’s last name occasionally. I guess it will do.”

Dovina plucked a few harp strings, the sound bouncing around the small compartment. “Perfect. No one will even know we’re related.” A mischievous smile played on her lips. “Would you like to hear the song I wrote for the prince?”