Page 6 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain
Though the trip felt like it took a year, the guard did return her to her chambers. He placed her in bed, her muscles screaming as a fever burned her up. She was still sweating, her now messy hair slicked back and tangled. He didn’t leave right away, as the guards usually did. In her haze, she sensed him lingering for a moment and thought he might have turned around to say something—but it must have been a trick of her eye, because when she blinked, he’d disappeared.
A wave of peace washed over her as a breeze came in through the far window, and she sank lower into bed.
It didn’t take long for Millicent to enter. Alethea could only lie there in her misery as her handmaiden undressed and changed her like a helpless child, not the twenty-six-year-old woman she was. Neither of them spoke. Millicent left her with a tray of tea and a few biscuits, and before the sun reached its highest peak in the sky, Alethea slipped into a deep slumber she wished she would never awake from.
“He is nearly ready. If Fate were kinder, I would have stayed to guide him through the last of his doubts. He has Evanthia’s courage and Lazaros’s wisdom, though the crown has stolen much from them both.
Zenobia smothers the kingdom with luxuries no one asked for. She feeds her court while her people starve. A queen should not glitter while her land gathers dust.
If I erred in trusting the hooded stranger, let the consequences fall upon me alone. My loyalty has always been to the Hasans, and to the future they were meant to build.”
—THE FINAL LETTER OF GORAN ARRANIL TO XYTHARIA QUELLCREST
CHAPTER TWO
Hunter’s Moon, Day 17.
It took Alethea an entire day to recover from using her gifts on Goran Arranil. She hardly had reason to leave her rooms, so her two handmaidens joined her in her sitting room and took turns attempting to distract her from her own thoughts.
The ceilings were painted to create an illusion of endless skies, while delicate white curtains billowed gently against the open windows, allowing sunlight to spill in and illuminate the room. The bed, with its ornate white canopy and blue bedding, stood as the focal point. The furniture, meticulously crafted from pale woods native to the island kingdom, was carved with intricate patterns and celestial motifs. Luxurious blue carpets lined the floor, muffling footsteps and providing a comforting contrast to the white tiles.
It was a gilded cage.
It was also the last piece of her father she had. He had commissioned the room’s remodel for her sixteenth birthday. Itwas the one place she was free from her mother, as the queen never bothered her here.
Alethea spent most of her time in her rooms, dedicating herself to her small library. The many tomes she’d collected over the years granted her the freedom she longed for within the bounds of her own sanctuary.
Talia particularly enjoyed the romance section and had pulled a novel down from the highest shelf to read. Yet, despite the thrilling erotic tale, something else had captured the handmaiden’s attention, as she’d been lingering on the same page for a long while.
“What a dreadful affair,” Talia murmured, letting go a long, troubled sigh.
“What happened?” Alethea asked quietly. Millicent had set her up on a sofa by the open doors to the balcony, so she could enjoy the early-afternoon breeze, and now the handmaiden was attempting needlework in a chair opposite Talia. They were the very picture of three courtly young ladies.
Millicent cleared her throat in the middle of one of her stitches. “The execution of the Great Lord Arranil this morning. Well, former Great Lord, I suppose. What a gruesome event.”
Alethea’s stomach twisted. Her handmaidens knew of her abilities, of course—they were sworn to secrecy on both counts, her powers and anything she uttered because of them—but there was no way they could know of her involvement in the matter. She schooled her features regardless. One of the few benefits of being so ill after using her powers was that Alethea had been spared the spectacle of Goran’s public beheading.
“I wish they would excuse us from the executions,” Talia added, turning the page of her novel to punctuate her remark. “The blood makes me faint.”
At the tender age of nineteen, Talia had a great interest in the romance in her books but floundered and panicked when it came to real-life courtship. It was a shame. Her coiled auburnhair and warm, tawny skin made her quite popular among the young noblemen.
“I know the feeling,” Alethea muttered, letting her head fall back against her chaise. Her stomach rolled with guilt to think of Goran Arranil’s fate. “Maybe we could… talk about something else.”
“I heard the queen is planning a trip to Rai’Sharr,” Millicent offered. She and Alethea might have been mistaken for sisters in another setting, but Alethea’s blonde hair was long and curly—toolong, spilling down to her thighs in waves that tangled and caught on everything—whereas Millicent’s hung straight, only reaching the tops of her shoulders. Alethea’s eyes lingered there for a moment, on that neat, practical length. There was something freeing about it, she imagined. Her own hair had never been cut, not once in ten years; her mother would not allow it. A symbol of their wealth and status, Zenobia always said.
Millicent had no mother to speak of, and sometimes Alethea wondered which of them had it worse—a mother who was an absence, or a mother who was a presence that suffocated everything she touched.
Talia lit up, lifting her eyes from the page for a moment, a sly smile crossing her face. “Perhaps to arrange a marriage for you, Your Highness.”
Alethea’s relief at the change of topic was short-lived. “Towhom?” It wasn’t uncommon for her future to be discussed like this, but it never failed to twist her stomach.
Talia finally set down her book, a gleeful smile on her face as she made her guess. “Who else? The Crown Prince Aureo Macierre, that’s who. Oh, he is sodreamy. I hear he’s an incredible swordsman, a skilled hunter, and he even raises and trains his own houndsandhorses. Not to mention, he’s a fire mage. He’s theperfectprince. Handsome, charming… did I sayhandsome? He’s six and a half feet tall! And he’s going to beEmperor.”
“That is entirely too tall,” Alethea groaned. She was only a fewinches over five feet. “Can you imagine it? When we walk anywhere together, it’ll look like he’s kidnapping me.” While she’d also heard those same rumors about the Crown Prince, she hadn’t seen him since they were children. “And he’s seven years younger than me. Besides,”—she turned her head lazily to Talia—“it sounds likeyouare already in love with him.”
The handmaiden blushed, sinking lower in her chair and hiding behind her novel once more.
“When will you tell us what happened with Reingard?” Millicent asked, though Alethea wished she hadn’t. “You two seemed like such a good match, is all. He’s handsome, which is clearly important to Talia.”
