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6
Days passed, and Anthea’s existence in the Crimson court fell into an uncanny rhythm. Part of her still hoped that she would just wake up and it had all been a dream after all. But with every passing day, her new reality settled in.
In the mornings, Miriel would sometimes assign her tasks within the servants’ quarters. Anthea was to aid in cleaning the kitchen or the communal eating room and in helping with preparing the food for the day.
Her movements were clumsy and slow at first, but with time, she grew accustomed to the chores. Peeling the thick-skinned vegetables, without knowing what they where, not daring to ask in case it would raise suspicion, was a challenge at first. The knife slipped and slid as she wrestled with the strange otherworldly purple produce. She had gotten some strange looks at that—a slave who didn’t know how to do the simplest tasks. Anthea had just faked a smile and mumbled how she had not worked in a kitchen before.
In a way, she found an odd sense of peace in the work—it provided a grounding tether to reality, giving her mind a break from all the thoughts and worries that plagued it.
On days when she was left without tasks, Anthea would hide in her small room, waiting for the evening and mulling over her options of getting back. She had analyzed and reanalyzed every aspect of the night when she had stumbled into this world—at least every aspect she could remember, which wasn’t much. Her memories were fuzzy. She remembered a man, and he had been extremely strange and off putting—He had killed himself, at least she thought he had, but she couldn’t be sure. Then she remembered tripping and throwing up on Endreth?—
She was sure there were blanks in her memories—there had to be something else, something she was missing.
Something important.
In the evenings, Endreth would summon her to his expansive study where he would test different spells on her, test her immunity against them. Ever since the first tests, each encounter with Endreth’s magic had been the same—a rush of unknown energy, a tingling under her skin, and then, inevitably, nothing. The magic bounced off her, as if she had an impermeable barrier it could not breach.
At times, Aegonar would join them. Anthea had learned quickly that despite his seeming levity, the older prince brooked no disrespect and had less patience for her wit. He was much quicker to chastise her if he felt she was stepping out of line. She preferred it when he wasn’t there. His presence meant Endreth would also be stricter with her. She couldn’t believe it, but she was glad she had to play the younger prince’s slave.
At nights, she would stay in her tiny room. There, she allowed herself to grieve, allowed herself to feel the loss of her home, of everything that had been familiar to her. She would think about her sisters, would wonder what they were doing and if they had reported her missing already. She would wonder if Ari had gotten the job—Anthea desperately hoped her sudden absence hadn’t made Ari miss her interview. She would wonder if Treia had gotten her scholarship for the Egyptian project.
She missed them so much.
At nights, she would even miss the chaos caused by those damn cats.
“Anthea.”
They had just finished their evening testing session, when Endreth’s voice stopped her from leaving.
“I have noticed a peculiar pattern recently. Some of my books seem to have developed the ability to relocate themselves. Vanishing mysteriously and then returning a few days later.” The elven prince raised an eyebrow at her. He was leaning back against the white wall as he looked at her.
Anthea felt her heart skip a beat, and her stomach tied itself into knots. One evening, as she had casually browsed the pile of scrolls on Endreth’s table, while the prince himself had been in the back room: his bedroom. Anthea had been surprised to learn her uncanny ability to understand the language spoken in Isluma carried over to the written word. Ancient scrolls, written in scripts that should have been undecipherable, transformed before her eyes into comprehensible texts, as if her brain had a built-in universal translator. She had boxed it away as another oddity to consider and had thought it was something she could really use to her advantage. After all, knowledge is power, and she needed every ounce of it she could get in this strange land. So, she had begun pilfering books from Endreth’s personal library. On the rare occasions when she had found herself alone in his study, she had grabbed a book from one of his bookshelves. Anthea thought she had been so careful, choosing small, worn-out books that wouldn’t be missed. She had hoped her actions had gone unnoticed, never taking more than one book at a time and always replacing them after a few days. Clearly, she had underestimated the youngest Crimson prince.
“I’m not sure what you are implying.” She crossed her arms over her chest. For all her bravado, she was still walking on eggshells in this alien world.
The corners of Endreth’s mouth twitched. He reached into the folds of his robe and unveiled one of the books she had just returned the day before—a book filled with detailed maps, marking the territories of the various elven courts—Crimson, Obsidian, Nephrite, Cattleya, Iron, and Azure. Anthea schooled her features as he opened it, leafing through the pages, his sharp gaze flickered from the book to her.
“Then tell me. Why was this book not where it was supposed to be two days ago?”
“Why would I know why it wasn’t there?”
“You know exactly why.” Endreth put the book down on the corner of his table and walked closer to her. “When I found it this morning, right back at the spot where it was supposed to be . . . it had your scent all over it.” His fingers tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
He had smelled her on the book? Anthea didn’t dare to breathe.
“I remember now, I found it yesterday on the floor, right there.” She pointed to the corner of the room, to one of the plush armchairs in front of the large window. “I put it back to the shelf. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”
“Do not insult me.” His hand grasped her chin, making her meet his eyes. “Tell me. What exactly did you hope to accomplish with these thefts?” he asked, a ghost of a smile on his face.
“I’m sorry.” She lowered her eyes, biting her lip. “I have been so bored on the days I have no chores. So I thought . . . I was merely looking at the pictures. They’re quite fascinating.”
“That lie might have worked a couple of days ago, if not for another curious observation I made yesterday,” he said, letting go of her chin, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. “I noticed you reading the scrolls on my desk.”
Her heart sank. The realization hit her with a sobering clarity: Endreth was not as oblivious as she had believed. He was watching, noticing, piecing together her actions with an acuity she had underestimated.
That wasn’t good—not good at all.
Endreth fixed her with a steady gaze, a gleam of curiosity flaring in his striking ocean eyes. “It seems you can read, Anthea—scripts you should not be able to understand.”
