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Departure?As though she’d taken some time away from the palace and her delusional husband.
The king smoothed his clothes and cleared his throat. “Please, let it be known how Lark is cleared of all suspicion.”
“Of course, Your Highness. Do you want us to… search for another perpetrator? Or will that be all?”
“Yes, yes. I need my aides, where are my aides? And Claude? Bring Claude. Claude will know what to do.” He waved them away. The trio bowed and left, and the king’s stuttering, jittery movements stilled again, his shock passing. Behind the bluster, he could be dangerous. But so was I. “I will not forget this,” he said, “nor will I forgive it.”
I knelt, careful to avoid the broken glass, and took his left hand in my right. “Neither will the girls you raped.”
He yanked his hand away. “Get out, Fool. Before I retract my generosity!”
Generosity, indeed. “My pleasure.”
I left his chamber as free as I’d ever been in Love’s Court, but now the cracks had begun to widen. And soon, the whole palace would shatter at my feet. Just like the king’s glass.
CHAPTER4
Free to roam, I walked the palace grounds. Dew from the manicured grass soaked my black boots, and the salty morning air dried my lips. Despite events, or perhaps because of them, the palace was quiet. Some days, I walked the meadows between the palace and the town and stayed there a while, sitting among flowers while the breeze whispered to swaying flowerheads. Not today, though. Today, exhaustion tugged at my body and mind.
Returning to my bunkroom—separate from the main residence chambers and the servants’ quarters, a side chamber, like an afterthought—I swept inside, tore off my coat, and plucked at my shirt buttons, stripping off layers. Smells of salt air, dungeon dampness, and stale wine had followed me back. I could not abide uncleanliness.
I filled the washbasin with cold water, splashed my face, and blinked at the man in the patinaed mirror. A purple bruise had bloomed on my jaw, where the guard had struck me. Purple, the color of pain. I ran trembling fingers over it and winced.
It didn’t matter.
It would heal.
Anything that didn’t kill, healed eventually.
My reflection smiled, which meant I must have. I didn’t feel it.
I plunged my hands into the water again, caught sight of the stump where my missing finger should be, and froze. Some thingsdidn’theal.
But this court wasn’t that one. For all the lies and hypocrisy, the Court of Love wasn’t the worst of the worlds I’d been trapped in. The countless little white scars marring my chest were evidence of that, each cut accompanied by a memory of laughter.
I splashed water up the mirror, warping the man there, and snatched up a towel.
There was no use in dwelling in the past. There was nothing there for me but nightmares. I swept the towel across my chest, watching in the wet mirror how the tiny scars gleamed in the candlelight. A wax-sealed envelope lay on my pillow, behind me in the mirror.
I turned, and there it was, as plain as day. I’d missed it on my return. The door had been locked, hadn’t it?
I approached, as though the note might bite, and eyed it cautiously. The seal was purple, of course. If I tossed it out of the window, would its words still find me? The symbol in the wax seal wasn’t one I recognized. Perhaps the purple wax was just purple wax and didn’t mean a damn thing.
I laughed. I must have been tired, for a purple seal to spook me.
Just a note. Nothing to fear. I snatched it up, broke the seal, and unfolded the thick cream paper, reading the words once, then again… Like the news of the queen’s death, the words swept over me, through me, taking too long to sink in.
I know who you are.
Meet in my chamber.
D.
Warlord Draven. It had to be. The written words echoed those he’d spoken in the garden. Well then, it appeared the lord was determined to talk about truths that had nothing to do with him. I’d go to him, discover what he knew, who he’d told, and from there… we’d see. There was a chance he could be used. War weren’t the brightest of foes. Which begged the question how he knew as much as he did.Traitor’s son.He’d answer my questions, either by pleasure or pain.
News of my innocence was new; the note couldn’t have been left for long, or it would have been delivered to the dungeon. I’d visit him now.
I threw on a plain grey suit, attire the court’s jester would never wear, and shrugged my hooded coat over the top, then tucked the note inside a pocket—it wouldn’t do for anyone else to see such things. One loose end was quite enough. After leaving my chamber, I hurried back inside the servants’ corridors, keeping my chin down and hood up.
