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Ash had been her second choice. Somehow, that made every awful thing that had happened to him even worse. Made me feel even guiltier.
But if he’d managed to evade her, if he’d moved away and vanished into the mortal world for the rest of his life, what would have become of me? Probably very little. I would have never gained my second name, remaining under her power forever. I would have never finally found the drive to truly go against her, causing her to punish me as she had when I was a boy by chaining me to her wrist.
I would have never lost my leg. She would’ve had no reason to tear it off with her teeth.
I was still staring down at the limb made from twisting branches as I sat in the bath. Realising it was near to overflowing, I quickly turned off the taps and leaned back until the cool water lapped around my chin.
If the Carlin’s plan had failed from the start, I also wouldn’t be sitting in a bath in the seelie palace all alone, naked and hungover, surrounded by the wrong kind of Folk, constantly feeling on edge and like I shouldn’t be here.
I shouldn’t be here. I hadn’t ever wanted the crown. I hadn’t wanted to become unseelie king. But with every moment that passed, the urge to go to unseelie and take what was mine grew stronger. It was almost like I could feel unseelie land calling to me, asking me to go back.
I didn’t feel ready to go after the Carlin yet, but I also suspected that I never would. That it was pointless to sit here and wait. To draw it out.
I scrubbed myself down and washed my hair, my hands trembling finely and my stomach still shaky, but I wanted to get the stink of wine out of my pores. I’d run a tepid bath, but I was still hot and flushed by the time I climbed out on unsteady legs.
I dried and dressed in the silent bedroom, then wearily strapped my blades to my back and hip, even though the mere idea of going outside to the training ring, where it was even hotter, was making my head pound worse. But I had nothing else to do while I waited for Ash to get back.
When I stepped out of the bedroom, I saw Jora hovering in the corridor.
“Prince Lonan.” She dipped into a shallow bow, even though Ash had told her she didn’t need to do that for either of us. “I wasn’t sure… Would you like some breakfast? I know it’s quite late, but…”
My stomach roiled, mouth filling with saliva. Shaking my head, I rasped, “No, I’m fine.”
“I’ve made—” She flushed, fiddling with the end of her braid. After glancing around, she lowered her voice and discreetly said, “I’ve actually made my pa’s hangover cure in case you want it. He swears it soothes a sore head after a, um… rambunctious evening.”
I gazed down at her, warily asking, “What’s in it?”
“Raw eggs with a ginger and orange mash. And a splash of apple cider vinegar, with some curried mint leaves.”
My gut churned even more. I shook my head sharply, eye twitching when pain stabbed behind my temples. “I’m fine. I appreciate the offer.”
“Alright.” She eyed me anxiously, then shot me a tiny smile. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, Jora, I’m fine.” I went to walk past her, but the warm air in the corridor made my head spin. The sharp tang of bile rose to the back of my throat, so I swallowed as I came to a stop and turned back to face her. “Actually, I will have it.”
“Of course.” She jumped into action, hurrying towards the dining room. “I set it out in the dining room for you, along with some bread and butter in case you want it.”
“There’s nothing else in it?” I rasped as I followed her in, my lip curling when I saw the glass on the table. Soggy brown mint leaves were poking out from murky pale orange liquid. Orange pulp drifted around globs of clear albumen, the egg yolks floating suspended. I counted three yolks.
Trying not to show any apprehension about drinking it, I approached the table and slowly picked up the glass.
“No, nothing else,” Jora said cheerfully. “Best to get it down in one go. My pa says you just have to open up your throat and let the eggs slide down.”
A fist flew to my mouth as my stomach convulsed. I cleared my throat to pretend that had been why. Letting out a slow, shaky breath, I brought the glass to my mouth and tipped it back.
The taste wasn’t all that bad—mostly fresh orange and sharp ginger, with just a hint of apple cider vinegar. But the texture made me want to vomit it all back up instantly as thick globules of raw egg slid over my tongue and down my throat.
By the time I pulled the glass away, I was shuddering. Ignoring the curried mint leaves, I set it down on the table and gave Jora a nod, trying to school my expression into my blank mask to hide the disgust.
Jora’s mouth twitched, and suddenly, I wondered if this had all been some cruel trick to get me to drink something disgusting. Narrowing my eyes, I took a step closer to loom over her.
“Was that really your father’s hangover cure?”
She blinked, confusion pinching her brow. “Yes, Prince Lonan. I said it was. He really does swear by it.”
I looked away to hide the flush staining my cheeks, not wanting to ask anything else that would give my suspicions away. Not wanting to wonder if the rest of the palace staff were eagerly waiting for Jora to return, to tell them that she’d managed to get the stupid unseelie prince to drink something vile as a joke.
I didn’t think Jora was cruel, but… she was seelie.
