The Crown Prophecy

Chapter 12

D esperate to have some space to sort myself out, I hurried down the hall of the guest quarters on the third floor.

What did I just do? The slimy feeling of guilt had taken up residence in my chest, unpacking as if it planned to stay there for the foreseeable future. I kept searching for the regret that I thought would inevitably join it, but it was nowhere to be found.

Which is part of the problem, I reminded myself.

I wrenched open the gold handle of the door on the right and took a step inside before freezing. The layout was similar, but this was undoubtedly not my room. Colette and Vanessa sat on the settee at the end of the bed, an emerald green instead of the pink in my quarters, their heads together bent over a book.

Vanessa looked up first; her eyes flared in alarm but simmered down to annoyance when she took in my form.

Colette had no reservations as she jumped up and ran over to embrace me.

“Quinn! Hi!”

My arms felt heavy as I hugged her back, mortified that I had just burst into one of their rooms unannounced.

“Don’t take this the wrong way: it’s so good to see you, but what are you doing here?” she asked.

“I–um–wrong door . . .” I stuttered. “I must’ve counted wrong. This hallway is so long and everything looks basically the same.” Great, now I was rambling.

“Were you looking for another contestant? We know where everybody is so we can point you in the right direction!” She beamed back at Vanessa.

“Actually, um . . .” How could I phrase this without it sounding ridiculous? “I was looking for my room. I moved up here this morning.” No other information that might help my case presented itself, so I left it at that.

Vanessa’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline and she rose and stalked over to join us.

“Seems like a strange place for a baker to be housed,” she observed. Colette elbowed her sharply in the side. “No offense meant,” she added begrudgingly. “I just thought everyone who worked here was down on the kitchen level.”

“So did I. To be honest, I’m not sure why I’m here. Evander–” I froze as I caught my mistake but couldn’t figure out how to recover the rest of my sentence.

Now it was Colette’s turn to gawk at me. She hurried over to the door, which I had left slightly ajar, and shut it behind her.

“Evander?” Vanessa said, one eyebrow still cocked. “I’ve known the man since I was in diapers and I can count on one hand the people he allows to call him that.”

And here I was thinking I couldn’t mess up this situation further, I thought dryly.

Colette took my hand and led me to the four poster bed, sitting criss-cross atop the satin coverlet and patting the spot next to her.

“It’s . . . complicated?” I winced. I was beginning to hate that word.

But what else was I supposed to say? “ Oh, by the way, I just kissed the man you’re all competing to marry and then ran away because I have no self-control and I would’ve gone a lot further if I hadn’t been saved by my own godsdamned tarts”?

I was sure that wouldn’t go over well.

I buried my face in my hands, both in frustration and to hide the blush that crept into my cheeks at the memory of what just occurred.

Vanessa didn’t waste any time. “How long have you been sleeping with him?”

“Oh my gods, Nessa!” Colette shrieked, giggling, at the same time as I blurted “No, no, I swear! I would never!” (Lies. I would.) “He’s the prince, and I’m a baker, and you’re–”

“Oh gods,” Vanessa said, rolling her eyes, “That’s so much worse. You’re besotted.”

“You don’t hate me?”

“Why would we hate you?” Colette asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Since you’re all competing to marry him, I thought–”

“Evander is like my brother,” Vanessa cringed, shaking her shoulders to rid herself of the phantom germs. “I’m here because my mother says I’m required to be, but he and I both know there’s no way in hells that would ever work.”

I turned to Colette, who shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. “Between you and me, I’m just staying for the tarts.” She winked conspiratorially, making me laugh.

“Sooooo . . .?” she prompted.

“He kissed me.” I covered my face again.

Colette squealed.

“He kissed me and I didn’t stop him,” that was putting it mildly, “ and that can’t happen because . . . well, obviously.” I grabbed one of the brocade pillows and pulled it tightly into my chest as if I could squeeze out all the confusion I was feeling.

“You’re not a Wielder,” Colette pouted, disappointed for me.

“ His Royal Highness ,” Vanessa cut in, using the title as if it were some kind of joke, “has never given a shit about that.”

“But the Crown does,” I said, thinking of the prophecy.

“What are you going to do?” Colette asked.

“Do?” My head snapped up and I’m sure my confusion was plain on my face. “Nothing. Even if I wanted to, there’s nothing I could do about it.” I released the pillow and let it fall into my lap sadly.

No, I am not going to mope over this. Mourning means acknowledging something’s happening, which I absolutely refused to do.

“It’s nothing. Just a stupid, one-time mistake. It won’t happen again,” I finished, forcing flippancy into my tone and throwing in a shrug for good measure.

“Sure.” Vanessa rolled her eyes again.

We lapsed into an embarrassing silence as Colette looked at me with wide, compassionate eyes and Vanessa smirked to herself.

“Anyway,” I forced a change of subject, “I was just trying to find my room. Seven doors down on the right?”

“That means you and Nessa are neighbors!” Colette squealed.

I smiled halfheartedly at Vanessa.

“I’m only up here for the duration of the contest,” she clarified. “Then I’ll be down in the barracks again.”

“But that’s not for two more months!” Colette grabbed my hand and squeezed. “We’re going to have so much FUN!”

I couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. It would be nice to have friends to talk to about this. Well, a friend and a . . . Vanessa.

In my actual room, I found a set of cotton nightclothes waiting for me in the armoire. Too exhausted to even bathe, I slipped into the silky sheets and gave into sleep.