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“Another… another child?”
“He’s only one child, May. He is not worth dooming a kingdom.”
Aspen was right, of course, but his words cut deeper than a dagger.
Hawthorn turned and fled.
The corridor disappeared beneath his feet. He tumbled into the great hall. Snow covered every surface, and still, frozen bodies slept among the snowflakes.
Bones carpeted the floor.
He cried out for Jules, but when he turned, he found a skeleton clutching her sword.
He shuddered awake.
Juliana was already up, sitting in a corner of the loft space on a sack,cleaning her sword. It was still dark outside. She was completing her task by moonlight.
“Juliana,” he said, ashamed of the hoarseness of his voice.
“We’re all right,” she told him. “It’s not yet day. Go back to sleep.”
“Why are you awake?”
“I don’t need much sleep.”
He swallowed painfully, the nightmares loosening their hold. He let go of the blankets.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Just… dreams,” he said, unwilling to say more. He didn’t want her ridicule.
Juliana nodded, placed her sword aside, and scurried down the ladder. She returned a few minutes later with a leftover cup of tea.
“You’re not the only one to have nightmares, Prince Prickle,” she said, handing it over.
He took a slow sip, watching her the entire time, wondering perhaps if he was still dreaming, or she’d been replaced by a shape-shifting demon.
The coldness of the tea suggested otherwise. “What do you dream of?” he asked.
Juliana returned to her sword, voiceless.
“Do I ever feature?” he probed.
“You want to be in my nightmares?”
I want to know that whatever I did to you when we were children doesn’t haunt you.
Jules sighed. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, almost as if she could read his mind. “Nothing you did to me was ever terrible enough to warrant a second appearance.”
Then what is?He wondered.Do you dream of assassins in the dark, of coldness, of parents that don’t care, of blood seeping onto thorns, of whispers behind your back? What haunts Juliana Ardencourt?
He knew he should probably use this moment to apologise. A mortal likely would. But if he accepted fault, he would be expected to make amends, and he had no idea how to do that.
“Your bed is likely the cause of all this,” he said instead. “Vile, uncomfortable thing. Also, this tea is cold.”
Juliana’s glare could melt stone. “Then heat it up yourself.”
He did so, and lay back down again. A few more minutes ticked by in silence.
