The Crown Prophecy

Chapter 11

T he golden morning sun peeked into the room through a slit in the curtains, turning specks of dust into enchanted snowfall in the beam of warm light. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, disoriented. It only took me a moment to realize where I was and sit bolt upright in shock.

I cannot be here.

Swinging my feet off the bed, I was horrified to note that my boots had left dirt and debris on the luxurious fabric of the coverlet; I had never taken them off last night. Frowning at the space I’d just occupied, I smoothed the covers until no ident of my form remained.

Then, as quietly as possible, I crept out of the room and into the antechamber. A wave of relief washed over me when I found the entire wing empty. If Evander was still in his mother’s chambers and no servants presented themselves, there was still a chance of getting out of this unscathed.

I tiptoed into his study to look at the grandfather clock just inside the door and gasped. It was already ten o’clock–far past the time I was expected to report for duty in the kitchen.

My frantic escape was interrupted by a piece of parchment stuck to the warm wood of the door.

Quinn,

Take the morning off and get settled in. I’ve already alerted the kitchens. Georgette will help you find your new chambers.

-E

So he had come back into his rooms. Or had asked a servant to place this where I would find it. I didn’t know which was more mortifying.

I snatched the note off the door, tucking it away in the pocket of my skirt, and checked to make sure the hallway was empty before hurrying to the stairwell.

Sticking to the servant’s passages, I made it down to the main floor and opened the door into the grand foyer. Because the kitchen had its own entrance, I hadn’t seen it since the first day I arrived, and it was just as breathtaking the second time. An oil painting on the west wall caught my eye. A swath of grassy plain stretched across the canvas, the picture of serenity. In the distance was a small cottage and a windmill, framed against the soft pinks and oranges of the setting sun. Something about it filled my heart with quiet longing.

“Can I help you?” came a voice from behind me.

I swung around, embarrassed, to find a chambermaid waiting expectantly for my answer.

“Do you happen to know what I can find Georgette?”

The woman cocked her head as if she wasn’t sure what to make of me.

“I can take you to her. She’s usually in the greenhouses at this time of day.”

The chambermaid led me to the most breathtaking garden I had ever seen. The entrance connected to the castle via a huge dome of paneled glass, under which thousands of vibrant blooms were nestled, spilling out the other side and into the sunshine.

It had an air of being unplanned, wild flowers dancing whimsically along the paths, but was so pristine that I knew a great deal of work must go into tending it. I couldn’t believe I had never been here before. Had Colette seen this? She would adore the whimsical foxgloves swaying in the wind, the sweet scent of jasmine climbing up the walls, and the sea of colorful aster surrounding the marble fountain in the center.

We found Georgette a slender, elegant-looking woman in her mid-sixties snipping some yellow roses from a bush. Every grey hair on her head was immaculately placed, and the color only served to make her look more distinguished.

She glanced up from her work, looking me up and down with a critical eye.

“You must be Ms. Parry.”

“I am,” I confirmed, schooling myself into stillness. I had a feeling squirming under this woman’s gaze would not endear me to her, so I resisted the urge to flatten my curls or run my hands over the creases in my clothing. After the events of last night, I must look atrocious.

“Follow me,” she ordered. Taking care to ensure I didn’t track mud into the castle, I trailed after her into the foyer. She led me up the main steps, but instead of turning to enter the servant’s stairwell, we made our way up to the third floor–another space I’d never seen.

The long hallway was lined with dozens of beautifully-carved double doors. Between each set was a burgundy velvet bench, and miniature versions of the chandelier from the grand entrance hung about every fifteen feet. Why were we here?

Georgette stopped two-thirds of the way down the hallway. She stood in front of a set of doors on the right and pursed her lips.

“It would seem that these are your new accommodations, Ms. Parry.”

I stared at the fleur-de-lis chiseled into the doors in front of me and fought to make sense of her words.

“I don’t understand. We should be below the main floor. Isn’t that where servants are housed?”

“Apparently not all of them,” she said curtly, opening the doors and striding into the giant, sun-drenched room. Along the northern wall was a massive four-poster bed adorned with a canopy of the softest pink satin. A tufted sofa sat at its foot, and the floor was covered with a massive Gondorean rug. On the eastern side, there was a carved writing desk with a chair and a small pianoforte. I even spotted a door to what looked like a private washroom.

“I’m so sorry,” I hesitated, looking at Georgette apologetically. “I think we’re in the wrong place.”

She dragged her gaze from my head to my toes and I prayed I’d managed to wipe all the mud off my boots.

“You are Quinn Parry?” she asked, with an air of tremendous exasperation.

“Yes.”

“And we are on the third floor, are we not?”

“We are.”

“Then we are in the right place,” she huffed. “For reasons unbeknownst to me, the crown prince has seen fit to house you with the ladies of the royal competition. I am not one to question our future sovereign, but I will issue you a warning.” Her steely eyes filled with suspicion and something that looked a lot like malice. “Do not mistake this for anything other than a show of our good prince’s generosity and kindness toward his subjects. Put any designs you may have on him out of your mind. There is far more at play here than you know.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t ever–”

“Good.” Without another word, she strode out of the room.

After hearing the door click shut, I turned around slowly, taking in my surroundings.

The coverlet on the bed was the same pale pink satin as the canopy, embellished with beads and tassels, and silk sheets lay underneath.

My fingers danced over the keys of the piano, plinking out a few sparkling notes. While I’d never learned to play, even I could tell it was a fine instrument.

I walked over to the desk and found a large envelope with my name written on the front.

Inside were four pieces of parchment, which I extracted as carefully as possible. It was sheet music. Reading the title, I let out a shaky breath.

“The Ballad of Brynne.”

. . .

After an all-too-brief inspection of my new accommodations, I made my way back to the kitchen in a daze. It was the middle of the lunch prep chaos, but I needed to talk to Mellie.

I found her working on a batch of Monte Cristo sandwiches modified with a bit of Maddreccian flair. The scent of thyme and lemon wafted through the air, calming my heart.

“May I speak to you, Mellie?”

“One moment, Dumpling. I’ve just got to finish assembling these–” turning to face me as she worked, her hands stilled as she saw took in my appearance. I could only imagine what I looked like, still in yesterday’s clothes and with a bruise blooming under my right eye.

“Franc!” Mellie yelled back without breaking eye contact with me. “Take over here, please.”

Mellie grabbed my hand and led me to her quarters, closing the door behind us once again. Once inside, I sat down on her bed, running my hand over the quilt.

“Quinn, what happened?” My friend’s eyes were wide with worry.

All the tears I had been keeping at bay released at once, and I was suddenly wracked with sobs, my nose running and breath shuddering in my chest with each inhale. Mellie sat down next to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, waiting until I was able to overcome the vice-like grip of my grief and distress.

Then I told her everything: my unlikely friendship with Evander, my fight with my mother, being kicked out of the cottage, and the room Georgette had led me to this morning. I left out the part about where I had slept last night, letting her believe I wound up on the third floor earlier than I had. That part of the story was still too much for me to face.

“Oh, Dumpling,” Mellie comforted, draping an arm around my shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

And that was that. She would've been within her rights to say “I told you so,” or to warn me about how foolish my actions had been, but she just sat with me, not trying to fix or diminish the experience.

I cried until there were no tears left and was about to straighten myself up so I could get back to work when James came skittering into the room.

“Permelia,” he bleated, “you need to come now! Something’s wrong with Serena.”

We rushed back to the kitchen and found her bent over the counter, breathing rapidly. She vomited into the sink and crashed to the floor.

“Serena! What happened?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” she repeated, clutching her head. “I was working on my mousse and got hungry, so I grabbed one of those cookies and started feeling strange. I’m lightheaded and nauseous . . . something’s wrong, James.” She clutched his hand.

“Who made these cookies?” Mellie asked, picking up the tray carefully. There were only about a dozen, and I didn’t recognize the serveware.

No one answered.

“Does anyone know where they came from?” she tried again. We all shook our heads.

I picked up one of the cookies and sniffed. It smelled like browned butter and amaretto.

“We need to send these to Maddox immediately,” Mellie said.

Walking over to Serena, I crouched down to where she was slumped against the lower cabinets.

“How much did you eat, Serena?”

“I don’t know. Half of one? I got distracted because I thought my chocolate was burning.” She pulled the half-eaten cookie out of her apron pocket, and I carefully set it on the counter.

“We need to get you to the healer,” I said. “These were laced with something.”

James paled. “Laced with something? How do you know?”

“I read a book where a character was poisoned with ground peach seeds,” I explained. “It said they smelled like almonds.”

“We’re basing this on a book?” he asked warily.

“Obviously I don’t know for certain, but the healer should be able to figure out what it is. But we need to act quickly. Serena, can you walk?”

She shook her head dismally and I knew how hard it must’ve been for her to admit her helplessness.

“James, you take her right side. Franc, take the left. I’m coming with you to the infirmary to let the healer know my suspicions.” On our way out the door, I grabbed the half-eaten cookie and wrapped it in a napkin.

Mellie was frozen in place, her hand over her mouth in a mute gasp.

“Where were the trays on this table headed?” I asked her.

“The ballroom,” she whispered.

. . .

A few hours later, Serena was sleeping soundly in the infirmary. The healer had confirmed my theory and provided an antidote quickly enough that Serena wouldn’t have any lasting effects on her health, but it could’ve been so much worse.

Something like this didn’t happen by accident. Someone was targeting the contestants . . . but why? Whoever it was didn’t want this competition to continue, that much was certain. Could it be possible that Falerin was behind it? News of the contest hadn’t been made public, so I don’t know how they would have found out across the border.

I puzzled over it as I rolled out my dough later that night. It was late, and again I was the only one in the kitchen. While I’d told Mellie I needed some time to catch up from this morning and afternoon, I really just needed to keep my hands busy. What happened to Serena had shaken everyone in the kitchen, and I knew the Crown had been made aware as well. Mellie had already taken the cookies to Maddox by the time I had returned from the infirmary.

A small voice in the back of my mind whispered that I was also avoiding returning to my room, which I knew I needed to do eventually. There were just too many unanswered questions for me to face right now.

So for now, I would bake.

I had just popped the tart crusts in the oven when I heard a noise by the door; Evander was leaning against the frame with my rucksack hanging from two fingers.

“You left this last night,” he said. “I tried to bring it to your room, but you weren’t there.”

“You didn't need to come all the way down here. You could’ve left it there.”

He sighed. “I suppose I could’ve. As it turns out, I’m horrible at keeping my distance from you.” Something in my chest fluttered at the words, and I tried to tamp it down.

He advanced, coming all the way around the island to hand me my bag.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, his voice raw and full of concern.

“All right,” I lied. “The healer said Serena’s going to be okay.”

“I heard we have you to thank for that,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“Who would’ve thought that reading so many books would actually help save someone’s life one day?” I offered a watery smile.

Do not cry, I warned myself. Do not cry right now.

My useless eyes didn’t seem to get the memo, and silent tears started rolling down my face.

Evander reached up to swipe them away, his hand lingering on my face. His next words were quiet, as if he were afraid of frightening me away.

“When I heard that it was a baker that had been poisoned, I was terrified it was you. It took everything in me to stay and hear the rest of the information instead of bolting right here to you. When they told me about a redheaded colleague who identified the poison and brought the affected girl to the healer, I nearly fell to my knees in relief.”

He was still cradling my face, and his eyes flicked down to my mouth for a split second, his gaze darkening.

“Evander, you can’t say things like that.” My voice came out breathless and shaky.

“Because you don’t want me to?” He shifted a few inches closer and my skin felt like it was going to catch fire.

“No, but–”

“Tell me you don’t want this.” He searched my eyes for an answer he didn’t want to find.

“I can’t.”

He leaned forward, the gold flecks in his eyes sparkling as his lips barely brushed against mine, asking the question again.

No more lying. I had no fight left in me. Even if we couldn’t have tomorrow, we could have this moment.

My lips met his with my answer, and the way he captured my mouth was all protection and possession, like a light went on in some dark corner of his soul long abandoned. He poured reverence into every movement of his lips against mine and it felt delicious. I tilted my head to deepen the kiss and ripped a low groan from his throat.

Something shifted and our movements became frantic. His hands left my face to slip under my thighs as he hoisted me onto the counter. I lost all capability of rational thought at the first stroke of his tongue behind my teeth. Only a small whimper escaped my throat. I had no idea a kiss could feel so good. So right, even when it was most assuredly wrong.

His hands traveled back up my body as if memorizing every curve, ending their pilgrimage in my hair. He found the leather tie I used to bind my braid and unraveled it, plunging his hand into my hair at the base of my newly freed waves.

When I pressed my body flush to his, needing him closer, needing more, I found him already hard underneath his trousers.

“Gods, Quinn.” His voice vibrated against my lips as my hands tangled in his hair. The smell of parchment, ink, and leather was a heady cocktail that dared me to take what I wanted without considering what came next. But there was something else too. Something . . . smoky?

Shit.

I broke the kiss, mourning it already as confusion bloomed in his eyes, and hopped off the counter, racing to the oven. By the time I yanked out the tray of tart crusts with the push-pull, they were already blackened to a crisp. I stood there, facing the oven, breathing heavily for what felt like an eternity, too terrified to turn back to face him.

“Quinn,” he called, his voice still heavy and full of desire.

If I turned around, I wasn’t sure what I would do. I didn’t know if I had the self-control to stop whatever would come next, and it would only hurt us both.

Ignoring every muscle in my body that begged me to stay, I did the only thing I could think to do at that moment and bolted for the door.