“That’s shocking, considering he looks like an old fart.”
A throat cleared behind me. When I turned, I spotted the counselor giving me a droll stare.
“I sent for your midday meal,” he said.
I sighed, returning my gaze to Sainte. He slept soundly, his face relaxed in a way I’d never seen. On the road, he’d always been guarded, even in sleep. Now he seemed at peace.
“He has suffered this before,” Anderz added.
Not by my hand—the girl he saved and cared for.
“He will heal,” Gilead said again, rising to stand. “I must tend to others. Stay here for the day. It would be expected.”
I frowned, staring at my hands as she left. I would gladly hide away here for several days until Sainte recovered. He lay prone on the cot, his fresh bandages already spotted with crimson. With his boots removed, his wool-wrapped feet dangled off the edge. I stood, grabbed a blanket from a nearby cot, and draped it over his legs.
“Could you have stopped it?”
“Princess, no one could have prevented it.” Anderz scratched his jaw as he let out a heavy sigh. “I would’ve had you wait until it ended, rather than see him in that condition.”
Was that supposed to make me feel better?
“This is my fault,” I whispered.
“In a sense, it is.”
Usually, people offered consolation or comfort, insisting the blame was elsewhere. But I was a princess, and he, a counselor, was telling me that yes, I was responsible for Sainte getting beat within an inch of his life.
“This is the price he paid to bring you back.” Anderz held my stare in that unnerving way of his, as if he could read my thoughts and intentions. “There will be far greater prices paid before this is over, Princess.”
If these people truly wanted to remove my brother from power, one would think they would’ve devised a more effective plan.
“What am I supposed to do now?” If my mistake before was not seeking his advice, I wouldn’t make it again. “Where do I go from here?”
He observed me for a moment, scrutinizing my expression. “You would do well to lie low, Your Highness. Gilead will inform the regent that you require time before the first rite, and we will use that time to prepare.”
“What is it, the first rite?” I asked, wiping my wet cheeks on my sleeve.
“Trial by Nellium.”
Days later, the significance of naming the rite after the Goddess of Frost and Chill became painfully clear. Isolated in a courtyard encircled by a tiny audience, I sat huddled on the frigid stone. Within a circle crafted from ice, courtesy of the Priests of Nellium, I was told if I left the boundary or called for warmth, I would fail the trial.
A cold breeze teased my brother’s hair, seated a few paces away, his eyes locked on me with unwavering intensity. His posture remained composed, legs crossed beneath him, palms resting on his knees, his breath visible in the frosty air.
Clad in white linen, both of us endured the hostile elements with bare feet and hands. The garments were devoid of gems, stones, or any form of embroidery. They embraced simplicity.
With nerves wreaking havoc, I rubbed my palms together, hoping to generate some heat, all while cursing Sainte for having me raised in a tropical climate. I longed for the familiar clammy warmth of the ports, not this bone-chilling wasteland. Only moments passed, yet I trembled and shivered uncontrollably, my skin prickling with gooseflesh, desperate for respite from the numbing chill.
For the first time, I regretted chopping my hair short—its warmth would’ve been a solace against this freeze. Though, knowing my brother, he would have insisted it be cut to match his.
As if being raised in this bitter climate wasn’t already an advantage.
My face scrunched when I peered over to find his relentless, emotionless stare. To distract myself, I surveyed the small gathering assembled. I appreciated theprivacy of the event, limited to priests, healers, and select nobles who sought attendance. They sat with focused expressions, gloved hands wrapped around steaming mugs.
Sainte’s absence stirred conflicting emotions within—sadness, but also gratitude. His role as a recruiter limited his access to many aspects of my new life, leaving me uneasy. He was the sole person in this gods forsaken place I trusted.
Anderz sat near the rear of the meager crowd, draped in a thick fur cloak. The last few days, his demeanor exuded reliability, and I did my best to lean on his counsel. He had been invaluable in helping me avoid my brother while providing insight into what was expected of me. In uncomfortable situations, when I struggled with words or actions, he covered for me. With him, the facade was easier to maintain.
And Sainte trusted him, so that had to count for something.
