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It was a possibility for the future seen by one of my kind.

Possibility…

A shiver tumbled down her spine.

“The prophecy,” she whispered. “It wasn’t a guaranteed future. It was a warning.”

The cat’s lips tilted upward. “And what are you going to do with that information, Sleeping Princess?”

Chapter Fifty-Two

Thicket left her family’s suite. The world felt distorted somehow, as though everything she had ever known was just a pretty mirage covering the harsh reality beneath. She didn’t know where she was going. Her feet had a mind of their own, weaving through the castle until she came to stand outside of a room.

She knocked. It was a long moment before it swung open.

“Princess?” Marcellus leaned against the doorframe. He was dressed in only trousers, leaving his chest bare, exposing the hard planes of his muscles—and the bandages wrapped around his middle, still stained with fresh blood. Her heart twisted.

She shouldn’t have bothered him. The doctor said he wouldn’t be able to be on active duty for a few days while he healed, which meant that it wasn’t his job to worry about her.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, brows pinching in concern.

“No. I-it’s fine. I’m sorry to bother you. I’ll let you be so you can rest.”

She turned to leave but Marcellus reached over her head, grabbing the handle and pulling the door shut, trapping her between it—and him.

“What’s wrong, Princess?” his chest rumbled, so close she could nearly feel the vibrations.

Thicket didn’t know why she had come. She could have talked about this with Caspian or Lotta. Probably should. But her feet had carried her here instead. She was probably burdening him. The problem was that she had already let herself start to rely on him. Now that she had, she had grown too accustomed to his constant presence and the way he was always there, catching her when she fell and pulling her back from the brink of despair.

Thicket clutched her mother’s dress tighter. She didn’t even remember carrying it with her.

Marcellus’ fingers found her chin, lifting it so her eyes were forced to meet his. “You came here for a reason.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft. “Stop overthinking about it and just tell me what it is.”

Thicket’s eyes fell away, snagging on the rippling fabric bunched in her fist. “I learned something today,” she said. “When I went to visit my family’s old wing.”

Marcellus’ expression shifted, as though trying to gauge what kind of information her words would reveal. Then he was crossing the room, tugging her after him towards his bed. The sheets were rumpled, as though he had just emerged from it when she came to knock. He left her to perch at the edge while he pulled on a shirt. Thicket dug her fingers into her eyes. The pressure alleviated the spiral of her thoughts. For the first time since she left her family’s wing, she felt like she could breathe.

Marcellus sat beside her quietly, letting her process whatever she needed. His body was still. Not a single movement rocked the bed. Not even his breaths, which were silent enough to convince her he wasn’t breathing at all.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered finally.

“About what?”

She still couldn’t find the words to explain the clutter of her mind, so she handed him Murdoc Vogeli’s journal.

“What’s this?”

“Just read it.”

Marcellus flipped it open, skimming the pages. His eyes grew wide. “Is this…”

She hugged herself tightly and nodded.

“The one about you and Lavender?”

Only the press of her lips answered this time.

“Thicket,” he said. It was the only thing he could have said that would have made her eyes pop open. “I don’t know what is wrong unless you talk to me.”