Technically, servants weren’t permitted to speak unless spoken to first. They were background. To be seen and never heard. A slight smile tugged at the princess’s lips from under her veil, the dark lace curtained over herface from the black hooded cloak she and all oracles wore. As the king’s Oracle, the inside of her cloak was lined with crimson, silver, and gold for the Eltorian flag.
That crimson color had consumed Ambrose’s life. From the capes on the shoulders of the guards, to the robes that the mages wore and the flags that waved around the kingdom. The only absence of that color on the servants. Not claimed by any king or color. Purely property of the empire, ready to be dispersed and distributed as needed to whatever kingdom or king needed it. Devoid of the pride of claiming a kingdom, their only identifier was the brooch they wore with their appointed kingdom’s crest.
“Be careful,” Inanna whispered as Ambrose slid the dessert in front of her.
She lowered herself into a bow of acknowledgment, but once she lifted her gaze a pair of eyes the shade and feel of ice stared back at her.
Shereallyneeded to be more careful.
The eyes that met hers belonged to the prince, and the king’s brother, who was somehow more terrifying than the king himself. While the king preferred Lightning for his Fire Magick, the prince had an affinity for flames. The hottest flames in the kingdom to be correct. His hair was as dark as night itself and swept in the way of his eyes—eyes that pierced through her like daggers. His dangerously beautiful facial features, that usually caught the attention of every woman at court, were contorted into one look: displeasure.
“I don’t think you were spoken to, servant. His voice dripped with distaste.
Each word was like ice and fire in her veins as they left his mouth. As though each one had a magick all their own. Ambrose was sharply aware of the power radiating off the being across from her and all the attention in the room turned to them. The servants all too ready for what was to come. The nobles turned in giddy anticipation. The king couldn’t be bothered away from his plate and seemed as though he hadn’t noticed anything at all happening at his breakfast table. Inanna went stiff next to her as any life in the room was sucked out of it. Leaving only an empty, dangerousfeeling in the air.
“My sincerest apologies, Your Highness. I spoke out of turn.” Ambrose lowered herself into a bow once again, this time out of contempt instead of respect. Her heart pounded in her chest, racking against her rib cage. “It won’t happen again.”
His eyes watched her the way a predator might evaluate prey before it pounced. She kept her body bent into a low bow and held his eyes in hers. Something cold and distant sat behind his and she set her shoulders strong.
“No, it won’t.” The prince waved his hand.
A dull, blinding pain cracked across her back, almost sending Ambrose sprawling to her knees. Everything in her vision vanished and her world went black before it came back in spotted bursts. She strained, struggling to focus on the room around her.
Light exploded as another blow landed directly on her left side. Pain shocked its way down her spine, into her rib cage and down to her toes. This time the blow knocked her to her knees. To keep from crying out Ambrose bunched her skirt into her fist and squeezed as tightly as she could.
Another blow.
The taste of blood merged with saliva as she bit down on her cheek.
Another blow.
Bile touched the back of her throat but she swallowed it down.
Another.
Finally, something cracked and the nausea that followed she could barely fight. Her lungs screamed in protest with every breath she attempted to take. She took short sharp breaths and forced herself to calm.
Breathe. In. Out.
Fuck, that really hurts,she winced.
The Draconian Guard who’d stepped forward to deliver her punishment replaced his club in his belt and stepped back into the shadows with the rest of them by the time Ambrose was able to even out her breathing. She took it in ragged gasps and cradled her broken rib. Sweat pooling on her upper lip, she raised herself to her feet and lowered her body as best as shecould into a final bow.
One out of respect. One out of contempt. And one out of survival.
Holding back her tears, she excused herself from the hall quietly and without any more disturbance. Once she was outside the dining hall doors fighting the pain any longer seemed impossible and she collapsed into the hands of the nearest servants who caught her. She was pretty sure she vomited and a twinge of guilt for the one who would have to clean it up tugged at her but she couldn’t think of that now.
The only thing she could think about was the pain.
Then, nothing.
No one noticed the scorched hand mark on her dress as they carried her away.
Chapter 3
“Is everyone confident with the skills we worked on last week, or does anyone need further help with the details?” Magnus asked, turning to the mages that encircled him, Ambrose among them.
Still sore from her encounter with the prince, she massaged her side where the healers had mended her rib back together. The bruises were already fading to a muted yellow-brown and she’d likely have them for a few more days. Stiff moving limbs and tight muscles is something she had grown accustomed to over the years, to the point she hardly noticed anymore. Heal her enough to make her useful again, but not enough that the lesson didn’t stick.
