“She hasn’t been herself.”
“Falling asleep in random places—”
“Why did no one inform me?”
“Aria always denied it, Father! I thought—”
“She needs rest, Your Majesty.”
Shh,Aria wanted to say, but she couldn’t manage words. She couldn’t manage dreams. She could only reach desperately for a thing just out of grasp, her fingers grazing its surface, her soul weeping at the loss.
Aria sat upright in bed, her fitful sleep stripped away by the onset of night. The familiar restless energy pooled in her belly, demanding that she move. She groaned at the sharp pains that surrounded her, taking inventory of her bandage-wrapped elbow, shoulder, and head. Everything throbbed, and when she moved her left arm, she hissed in agony. At least the physician had not affixed a splint or tied her arm against her body, soshe assumed no broken bones. By the feel of it, he’d reset her shoulder back into its socket.
Her father slept in an armchair beside her bed, snoring intermittently.
Aria reached out to squeeze his warm hand, though it remained slack at her touch.
As she pulled back the covers, a rolled parchment fell to the ground.
Frowning, Aria crouched to retrieve it, recognizing it as the letter the crow had brought. Had Eliza left it behind in the chaos of Aria’s accident?
Then she noticedPrincess Ariascrawled across the side of the roll; she hadn’t bothered to look when she’d first taken it. Aria blinked. Anyone seeking her simply came to the palace; they didn’t send a letter. And who would use a crow?
She thought of green eyes, beautifully out of place in the rest of court.
Barely able to breathe, she untied the parchment and rolled it open.
To Lady Your HighnessHer Royal Highness, Crown Princess Aria
The first half was written in one style of handwriting and the second in another, which sprawled halfway on top of the first.
She clamped a hand over her mouth, but it didn’t hold the laughter. All at once, the world felt lighter, and the pounding in her head became a bit euphoric. Crossing the room, she lit the oil lamp on her dresser and tried to parse a message between the two handwritings fighting for dominance.
Thanks for showing us the kitchen. Your cook is top cut. I make great bread, just so you know. I make even better cake.
Our brotheris an idiot.Much like a certain bread-obsessed person I won’t name.
Our brother really likes you. We told him he should tell you himself, but heis an idiot.
Baron says it isn’t simple. That’s because he’s too noble and nobles make everything hard because nobles are stupid. Things don’t have to be hard. You know that. Otherwise you wouldn’t have visited a kitchen during a ball.
What we mean is you should write to Baron. If you want. He’s really great.
Sincerely, etc., Corvin Reeves
and Leon
Aria read the letter through five times, smiling all the while. The paranoid part of her brain still fretted about mistakes and Casters and traps while the logical side held a curled letter to the lamplight and reasoned that ifthiswas a trap, she could not be blamed for falling for it.
She thought of Baron, standing tall before a king, asking for the same rights anyone else in his position would receive. Too late, she admitted something to herself with honesty.
If she removed the witch’s mark from the picture, she would have trusted him. She would have sought to get to know him better. Perhaps she even would have chosen someone other than Lord Kendall for a potential courtship.
There was no need to gothatfar, but while holding the petition of his brothers to see him in an honest light, Aria found it impossible to deny.He’s really great. The simplest recommendation imaginable.
In that moment, she chose to believe it.
Leaning over her desk, she penned a letter.
