Waking to a world without Scythe was so much harder than slipping into sleep. Reality pressed down as I surfaced from restless dreams, the palace’s quiet bustle threading through thin walls. The scrape of a hearth being cleaned reached my ears, followed by muffled voices filtering through cracks in the stone. Life went on, indifferent to the void she’d left behind.
I had taken the silence of my old rooms for granted. Or perhaps the world simply roared louder in her absence.
A shuddering breath rattled through my chest. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, stifling the sting. A sharp jab in my palm made me hiss.
The bed dipped under Edith’s weight as she settled beside me. Without a word, she reached for my hand, unwrapping the bandage with a practiced touch.
“It’s nearly time for dinner,” she murmured, peeling away the crimson-streaked cloth. “Shall I send for a meal?”
My stomach grumbled. A full day had passed since I’d last eaten. I dreaded facing Egath or Tallon, but staying hidden wouldn’t do. Whoever sent the assassin needed to see I was still here—stronger than them. Defiant.
They couldn’t get rid of me so easily.
Edith prodded the wound, and pain lanced, forcing a grimace. The gash was deeper than I realized.
“I should fetch a healer,” she said. Her thin lips pressed together, her wrinkles deep with worry.
“I need to dress.” After pulling my hand from hers, I sat up, bracing against the ache in my muscles. To skip dinner seemed unthinkable, and I straightened my back, determined. “I won’t miss it.”
“It’s expected.” She searched my face. The bloodstained bandage dangled in her hands as she added, “No one would blame you for retreating. A few days would be understandable.”
That was the difference between Scythe and Edith. She embodied propriety, a reflection of her upbringing as a nursemaid and later as a lady’s maid. Etiquette clung to her like a second skin.
Scythe, on the other hand, was Draconis through and through. A handmaiden only in title, she would have leapt at the chance to help me prepare for dinner. She would’ve slipped a dagger into my bodice without a second thought.
“I’ll wear red.”
My legs protested as I pushed off the bed, muscles still stiff from the previous night’s events.
Edith, ever composed, said nothing as she retreated to the dressing room. I headed to relieve myself, moving with the sluggish determination of someone dragging their grief behind them.
At the washbasin, tears blurred my vision as I splashed cool water on my face. Crying had to wait. I wouldn’t show up to dinner with swollen, red-rimmed eyes. I braced against the vanity, studying the reflection staring back at me.
The woman in the mirror was fractured. Her features were youthful, almost soft, yet her midnight-blue gaze held the burden of someone aged by grief. Her jaw tightened, struggling to keep the burning wave of emotion at bay.
Kallias would protect me—I believed that much—but I couldn’t rely solely on him. I required more than promises; I needed a blade, and to know how to use it. No false sense of security would lull me again.
Next time, I would be ready.
Why hadn’t I thought of this before my father signed the marriage contract? I was marrying into a kingdom fresh out of war. I’d been naïve, a fool clinging to fantasies. Now, my best friend was gone, and all I’d done was cry.
Straightening, I raised my chin, determination hardening my gaze. The woman in the mirror was a princess—one who would become a queen. No others could face this for me. No one else could bear the crown. Life would never be fair, but I had to take it as it came.
My lips curled into a sneer as I spun from the vanity, my steps sharp as I stalked toward the dressing room. Fury boiled my blood, and I wrapped it around myself like armor. Anger at my naivety. Rage at the assassin. Shame for failing to protect her.
I would carry it all, and I would not break.
Edith selected a modest deep red gown, simple and unassuming. Its practicality grated against the sharp edge of my mood. With a shake of my head, I brushed past her and made my way to the small rack of garments delivered to my room, then reached for the one Scythe would’ve picked.
“I’ll dress, but I need you to fetch something first.” As I laid the gown across the bed, the crimson hem trailed behind me, and I smoothed the fabric with deliberate care.
“Yes, Princess?”
“My blade from my old room,” I said, shrugging out of my nightgown. The cool air prickled my skin as I stood bare. “The one with the green gem in the hilt.”
She hesitated, clearing her throat. Her fingers twisted the fabric of her apron before she met my gaze. “As you wish,” she murmured at last, dipping her head.
“Thank you,” I said, waving her off.
