Fists they banged on the doors.
“Send him out!”
The girl ducked into the gardens and sneaked soundlessly inside.
The house was quiet. Servants gathered in dark corners, wringing their hands, looking to the east wing.
The girl didn’t need to ask why. The answer was coming down the hall.
She watched her father drag a fighting, sobbing boy into the small room across from her.
“Hush. This is for your own good.”
The son of the king swung his fists and dragged his feet.
“Where’s my mother?” His voice trembled. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I want to see my mother!”
His eyes caught sight of the girl.
“Help!” he cried, reaching for her. “Help me, please!”
The girl stood silent, watching as he begged. Watching as her father shoved him into the storeroom—the only room in the house without windows—and locked the door from the outside.
It shocked her.
Scrublanders didn’t lock things. It was a violation.
Her father fell against the wooden door, his mouth twisting with sorrow as the boy banged from the inside, his questions getting more and more frantic, until they broke into sobs.
The girl felt nothing.
Her heart was already broken.
Her father, however, pressed one palm to the door, then covered his face with the other. His shoulders shook. The girl watched.
When he finished, when he dried his eyes, he straightened and strode to the front of the house to address the crowd. They shouted at him, demanding he hand over the son of the king.
“Go home!” said her father. “The boy has been dealt with! He’s imprisoned and will be held here until my daughter is mourned. You will get your justice. I swear it.”
The angry, grieving crowd dispersed. The servants returned to work. Warily, her father rode back to the funeral.
The girl remained behind, staring at the locked door.
Slowly, she approached and sat down.
With her back pressed to the wood, she listened to the sound of him crying.
“It should have been you,” she whispered, thinking of her sister falling from the roof—right after she saved him. “It should have been you.”
The girl hated him.
She would never stop hating him for what he’d taken from her.
And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to leave him.
They intend to strike at the king by striking his son,her father had said.
Perhaps you should let them.
