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“I—” I’ve hardly touched anything. “Yes?”
Jossalyn leans down and dabs color on my lips. “Stand up,” she whispers under her breath.
I stand up so quickly that I knock my stool over. “Sorry. Your—” No. Wait. He’s not royalty. “Ah—Master? Quint.”
His eyebrows go up. Jossalyn giggles and rights the stool.
He glances at her. “You do lovely work, Jossalyn. She hardly looks like an apothecary from the Wilds.”
She tucks her hands into her skirts and drops into a fluid curtsy. “Thank you, Master Quint.”
I feel like I should be taking notes. Maybe she can go with me to meet the king. I want to grab hold of her hand.
Especially when Quint says, “Leave us. She will be returned to her rooms at sunset to prepare for dinner.”
She curtsies again, then slips out the door.
“Thank you!” I call, but she’s already gone.
The guards exchange a glance, then follow, pulling the door closed behind them.
I’mleft staring at Quint. Jossalyn was so peaceful in her manner that I began to forget that I’m a prisoner here. This dress feels too tight to breathe in. I want to run, to burst through the door and bolt down the hallway and say a prayer for escape. I press a hand against my abdomen and draw a shaky breath.
“Be at ease,” he says. “The Tessa I heard stories of could scale the sector walls without fear and pick window locks without leaving a scratch. Surely I’m not so intimidating.”
No. He’s not. I don’t understand how a man like this can be a friend to a man like Prince Corrick. His voice is so gentle that my eyes begin to well.
He pulls a handkerchief free and holds it out. “Don’t ruin Jossalyn’s handiwork.”
I take it but sniff the tears back. “Right.”
Then I realize what he said. The Tessa I heard stories of.
Corrick talked about me? Every time I think I begin to understand him, something else comes along to shatter the illusion.
Quint flips open the book he carries. The pages are filled with notes that look hastily written, and I notice there are ink smudges on his fingertips. “As I’m sure Jossalyn mentioned, you are to meet with the king at nine, per his request—”
“Why?”
“He is the king. He doesn’t need to say why. But likely about your medicinal insights.” He looks at me pointedly, and I nearly choke on my breath, but I force myself to nod.
“Afterward,” he continues, “Consul Cherry has asked to see about your welfare, if the king permits, which he likely will, as you seem quite well this morning—”
“Wait—I don’t—”
“I have quite a bit to get through, my dear.” Quint doesn’t look up. “At ten, you will begin your lessons with Mistress Kent—”
“Lessons? Lessons in what?”
At that, he stops with his finger on the page and looks up at me. “Etiquette.”
I open my mouth. Close it.
Maybe the Hold would be better.
“Followed by lunch in the hall,” he continues, “and then the dressmaker will see you in her suite. Afterward, lessons with Master Verity—”
“More lessons?” I squeak.
