Page 1

Chapter 1

Roksana

Ican’t breathe.

Reynard’s bedroom was the safest place in the castle. His masculine scent surrounded me, the familiar herbs and poisons of my trade, but nothing helped.

My hands shook, clawing at the velvet collar of the beautiful blue dress. Fabric ripped, freeing my suddenly tight throat, and finally cool, exquisite air filled my lungs.

‘I’m sorry,’ I gasped through clenched teeth, fighting a wave of nausea. Danka, my new maid, pulled back with a frown, assessing the damage. ‘It was too tight.’

‘Yes, milady, that’s all right. You don’t need to explain yourself to a servant. I’ll just fetch another,’ the girl scolded, grabbing one from the wealth of fabric strewn over every available surface.

I leant on the nearest table, dislodging a mound of yellow lace, and concentrated on calming my racing heart.

It’s not an augurec collar. I’m not… and yet the memory of Tivala’s dungeon, of the cold metal suppressing my magic, rubbing my flesh raw, felt so real. I fought against the mirage even as it refused to fade.

The sweat beading on my forehead.

‘Fine, but pick one with an open collar. Oh, tell the seamstress that my dresses should allow for free movement. I can’t fight if I’m unable to lift my arms. And call for Lady Tivala,’ I commanded, modulating my voice to sound more regal, desperate for solitude, if only for a moment.

Reynard’s family was coming. He loved Ormond. The pride in Rey’s voice when he regaled me with stories of how his baby brother defied all the odds to take over a kingdom and find the people he loved was unmistakable.

I wanted Ormond to talk about Rey in the same way. To be proud of his brother’s achievements and choices, but right now, I wasn’t cutting it.

Even the damned maid was trying to console me.

Danka left, and I instantly fell into a chair and closed my eyes. Flashbacks from Tivala’s dungeon didn’t overwhelm me often, but when they did…Gods, I was a mess.

‘I am more than the sum of my fears. I am the Deadly Nightshade, and I’m not broken.’ I slammed my fist on the table, letting the pain centre me. ‘I refuse to be broken.’

It took longer than I wished, but eventually the world stopped spinning, and the need to curl into a tight ball faded. I opened the window, listening to the sounds of the bustling court life below. Rey was in the garrison again, arranging the army relocation as inconspicuously as possible while I was stuck in the court playing a lady of leisure to mislead any prying eyes.

The knock on the door came just in time to pull me out of my morose thoughts.

‘Why did you call for me?’ Inga stormed into the room without waiting for an answer, glasses half down her nose, cheeks red, highlighting her freckles. Tova was right behind her, holding the stack of folded vellum in his hands.

‘To help me find the right dress, but since you both are here, what did you find in the schemata I brought from Tivalaran?’ I asked.

‘I’m nose deep in Wey Gate schemata, and you called me to pick out a dress, and then ask how far we got?’ Her nostrils flared, jaw clamping shut when I smiled.

‘Welcome to the court of Dagome. Now, are you going to help me or not?’ I asked, removing the torn dress and reaching for the corset.

‘Do I have a say too?’ Tova asked, grabbing a piece of fabric from the pile. ‘And we have a problem with the schemata. That’s why it takes so long.’

Inga squealed, looking around as she searched for something to throw at him.

‘Tova Orenson, she’s almost naked. Avert your eyes! Were you born in a barn?’ she huffed, but my friend just shrugged.

‘No, in a mine. My mother decided that, if she could conceive me at work, she could deliver me there too. Besides, we lived together. I saw Sana’s tits more times than I care to remember.’ He quipped, and Inga’s eyes went wide.

‘You… how can I work with you when you keep acting like you have no manners?’ she snapped.

‘Well, we have to work first.’ He turned to me. ‘We were supposed to meet in the library to decipher the runes. Instead, she’s here playing lady’s maid.’

‘I— what? Oh, you uncultured brute…’ she started, and I chuckled.

‘He’s cultured and even has manners. When it suits him. Just so you know, he was born at home, and his mother was a wonderful, kindhearted woman,’ I said, pretending I hadn’t seen his cheeks getting redder the longer he stared at Inga. ‘What is the problem with the runes?’