Page 63 of Downfall of a Princess

Salas had gone through some hard times and ended up at the very bottom of society. It had undoubtedly left him feeling bitter. Maybe he didn’t get the justice he thought he deserved. In that case, I should’ve talked to him. Unfortunately damaged and fragile as I felt that night, I couldn’t offer him any support at the time. And after the way I’d kicked him out, he might never want to speak with me again.

Gem had returned my diamonds the very same day.

“A palace guard brought them this morning.” She stared at me, clearly expecting an explanation. “Your slave gave them to her. Did he steal them, then came to his senses? Royal jewelry wouldn’t be easy to sell without risking an arrest for theft.”

“I gave them to him. There was no theft.” I took the earrings and the necklace from her, then tossed them back on the side stand in my bedroom.

“Why would you give a priceless jewelry set to a slave? What was he supposed to do with it?”

It had been such a stupid thing to do. I had no explanation to give to Gem, other than I’d panicked. I was not in my own mind that night. My life still felt off balance. The entire world did.

But Gem kept staring at me, expecting a logical answer. I gave her the best thing I could come up with.

“I gave it to him as a thank you for his services. He left me very satisfied.”

My answer had the expected result. Gem smirked.

“Did he now? He was that good, was he?” She sidled closer for juicy details, but I refused to give her anything more.

Whatever happened between Salas and me belonged to us and no one else. I could only hope he felt the same way too.

“Obviously, it was a useless present for him,” I said casually. “I realized that and replaced it with a full payout of his contract, instead.”

Just a day after, the queen had successfully petitioned the council for his freedom. Salas was a free man now. He could leave Egami or even Rorrim if he so wished. Maybe he had already done so.

I hid a sigh as Father adjusted the lapels of his suit jacket. He seemed excited about me fulfilling my promise to take him to the market today, and I didn’t want my troubled mood to spoil his day.

“We’ll have to let Her Majesty know we may be late for lunch,” he said, offering me his arm.

“I already did.” I threaded my hand through the crook of his elbow. Together, we headed to the carriage that waited for us in the courtyard. “I left a message with the queen’s maid. If we’re late, I’m sure Mother will forgive us. It’s not every day that I get a chance to go shopping with you.”

The market was busy that day. It was a good thing that I came with Father. As a man, the king would've been required to bring at least a few of his gentlemen-in-waiting when going out in public, along with an escort of guards. With me, he only needed a couple of royal guards. A female relative, regardless of her age, was believed to be better suited to protect a man’s reputation than a whole army of male friends.

As a much smaller group, we moved through crowds more easily, browsing the rows of merchants’ stalls.

“Did you want to find some gloves?” I asked, remembering him mentioning that he could use some.

“Not really.” He grinned somewhat sheepishly. “Frankly, I have more gloves than I know what to do with. It’s just nice to get out of the palace sometimes, isn’t it?”

Men, especially high-born men, often ended up house-bound for their own peace and safety since the outside world harbored too many temptations and aggravations. But it also allowed the wives to keep a better eye on their husbands in the world where male reputation could be so easily soiled by just a wrong look or a careless word from someone.

“Oh, these are nice.” Father stopped in front of a table with folded linen and stroked a brushed-cotton shirt. “So soft.”

“And comfy too, Your Majesty,” the merchant rushed to praise her wares.

“They are nice,” I agreed, stroking a shirt too. “I have pajamas like that. Perfect for winter.”

“You’re right, Your Highness.” The seller nodded eagerly. “But they’re fine enough to wear during the day too. Look at this one.” She unfolded the shirt I’d touched.

It was creamy white, with a narrow strip for a collar and small horn buttons halfway down the chest. A simple cross-stitch embroidery on the collar and around the buttons made it look tastefully festive. I could see a farmer’s husband wearing it to a fair. He’d give the best hugs, too, wearing something so soft.

Father shook his head, taking his hand off the fabric.

“It’s way too plain for me,” he said quietly, for only me to hear. “I’d have nowhere to wear it.”

“How about to bed? As a nightshirt?” I suggested.

He shook his head again, stepping away from the merchant’s stand. “The queen prefers I wear silk to bed.”

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