“Oh, of course. Thanks for the reminder.”
I grab it and put it into my pocket. After my accidental sun exposure, I definitely cannot miss this dose, but my stomach is roiling from the porridge, and the thought of taking the sickly-sweet tonic makes me want to vomit. Gods willing, it will be more palatable after my morning tea.
Filling a stone mug to the brim with the beverage, I take a sip, enjoying the warmth.
“I’ll be right back, Fred,” I say, slipping back into the hall and making my way toward my old sanctuary. With any luck, I just might get a few moments to myself.
The sitting room remains mostly untouched, and I take a deep breath as I light a few lamps. The familiar scents of parchment from the abundance of literature and of cinnamon from my favorite candles assault my nose. I really need to make it a point to come and relax with a good book soon.
I take another sip of my tea, allowing it to soothe my stomach. My fingers trail along the spines of the many books. I could use a little joy, and perhaps escaping into a story would help me manage the misery of my current situation. My fingers stop on a shimmering, opalescent tome—one of my favorites that is surely due for a reread. I trace the silver embossed title:The Fall of the Iris.
My stomach is much more settled, so I set down my mug and pull the tonic out of my pocket. I pop open the stopper and?—
“Raelyn!”
My name is screeched so loudly, I startle and drop the vial. As if in slow motion, I watch in horror as it bounces off the edge of the bookcase and shatters on the floor, the golden liquid staining the carpet.
Chessa screams my name again, and I groan. So much for my moment of solitude. Father would not have been pleased at the wasted tonic; perhaps it’s a good thing he’s not home to fret. I’m certain the medicine is expensive to acquire. One missed day can’t hurt too badly, right? I send up another prayer to the gods that I’m not making a big mistake. I’ll come back and clean this up later.
I almost bump into Chess out in the hall.
“You can stop screaming,” I say, unleashing my snark as I march past her toward the kitchen. To my annoyance, she follows me.
“What in the hells do you think you’re doing relaxing in the sitting room when you have work to do?” she accuses.
I point at the rich breakfast laid out on the tables. “Breakfast hasn’t even been served yet, Chess. You’re being unreasonable.”
She sniffs. “I’m only doing what Mother commanded—making sure you’re doing what you’re supposed to do.”
“What, you’re my keeper now?” I scoff.
“Clearly, you need someone to stay on top of you, you lazy wretch.”
I fist my hands at my sides, desperately holding myself back. She’s not worth the potential punishment.
Chess holds out a piece of rolled-up parchment, a haughty smirk on her face. “Better get started . . .”
I snatch it out of her hand, and despair hits as the list of tasks overwhelms me before I’ve even begun. I really hate it here.
Chapter Twelve
KIAN
TWENTY YEARS AGO
Colin grumbles in annoyance, complaining that he can’t ride his brand-new horse as we climb into the royal carriage for the hour-long ride to House Astoria.
“But why do we have to go?” Colin whines again.
Mother shushes him, but Father gives him a stern glare. “Lord Astoria is my oldest friend and one of my closest advisors. Paying our respects to their newest children is the least we can do.”
Mother smiles and pats my knee. “Who knows? Perhaps we’ll arrange a marriage for you with the family, Kian. They do have three daughters.”
I screw my face up in disgust. “Why would you even say such a thing?”
Colin laughs at me, quieting when Mother gives him another look before turning her attention back to me.
“Part of being royal means our marriage bindings are important,” she says softly. “Colin is already betrothed to theprincess of Tallinnia to maintain alliances. As heir, that’s his responsibility.”
