Ruling involved knowing when to trust—but also when not to.
“I’m not here for Hinyte.”
“No?” She reclined, head tilted in curiosity.
“I’d like to negotiate on my behalf,” I said, a mischievous smirk playing on my lips.
“Oh, do tell.”
That afternoon I stepped out of the tavern, inhaling the crisp winter air. It stung my lungs and nipped at my flushed cheeks. I welcomed its bite with a smile.I may not have been raised in this world of rulers and noble deceit, but I was adapting.
With a grin plastered to my lips, I linked my arm through Sainte’s. This had been just the push I needed to get through the day.
Yes, my friends suffered, and my heart throbbed with pain and conflict. But my brother would pay. Alliances were falling into place, allies joining my cause.
As Sainte said, I had no power yet…
Yet.
Chapter 23
Iwas in good spirits upon my return, right until I saw Counselor Reuthland waiting outside Lyana’s door.
No one entered her room without my express permission.
Regent’s pawn or no.
We narrowly missed being caught by the woman, sneaking into my room not a moment too late. The servant girl was in tears, trying to hold herself together. When I asked what was wrong she wailed, claiming if anyone found her in my clothes, she’d be kicked onto the streets, her reputation as a maid ruined. Sainte gave her a silver coin for her troubles and sent her on her way with a long, warning look.
“You trust her?” I asked.
“Servants are the worst gossipers,” he said, changing into his regular attire, “but the best secret keepers.”
With that, we stepped into the corridor, off to check on my friends.
Dark, hooded eyes turned toward me as Reuthland lifted her chin. My teeth clenched at the arrogance in her glare. Beside her, a servant kept his face down, clutching a teapot, and a healer stood at her back. The braids piled atop her head had me wondering how heavy all that hair was.
“Reuthland,” I called, pulling myself up to my full height to meet her gaze.
“Princess,” she sneered.
The door to Lyana’s room was open, but Urien blocked the way, his hip propped against the doorframe, arms crossed tight, with a weary glare darkening his features.
“I would have you know—you are not allowed to post personal guards in the castle,” she said, “Not to mention, he’s a common soldier–”
“Actually,Counselor,” I shot back, mirroring her condescending tone. “General Jorgeson assigned Urien to my personal guard. As a member of the high court, I’m sure you’re aware that within this wing, I am permitted to post my guards as I see fit.”
“While that may be true, the prince regent has final say over his guests,” she arched a dark slash of eyebrow, “and he has ordered that Lady Lyana take the bitter waters.”
I knew of moon tea, used to bring on a woman’s cycle, but bitter waters? Never heard of it.
“Urien, send for Gilead,” I said, pushing inside.
Sainte followed, plowing into Reuthland, eliciting a shocked gasp. Urien rushed off, and I turned to flash a smile at the counselor.
Then slammed the door in her face.
I frowned, pinching the bridge of my nose to ward off the beginnings of a headache. “What are bitter waters?”
