Page 12 of Downfall of a Princess

What did he thank me for then?

I learned to hold my own in the most difficult of conversations with high standing officials, court members, and foreign dignitaries. Why did I feel like I was losing ground here, after exchanging only a handful of words with a slave?

“Your Highness.” Gem rushed to my rescue. “What an excellent handling of the situation on your part,” she gushed in a voice that anyone who knew her less than I did would undoubtedly take as a praise. However, the veiled sarcasm in her words didn’t escape me. Gem was clearly annoyed by the interruption of our ride and by my meddling in things she didn’t think I should’ve meddled in. “Shall we proceed with our day now?”

There was nothing left for me to do. Eager to escape the confusing feelings taking over me in this man’s presence, I nodded and went back to Revlis.

Gem and I rode in silence until the execution platform remained far behind us and the canopy of the forest obscured the blue sky above.

The thoughts of the punished man wouldn’t leave me.

“Since when does Mother own slaves?” I asked Gem sharply.

“You know she doesn’t. We just contracted their owner to help with the garden work. The spring was short this year, with too much work left to do for the palace gardeners. The stone paths behind the east wing were badly damaged during the winter. The head gardener asked for help, and I couldn’t deny her. The one thing that slaves are really good for is the heavy manual labor.”

I said nothing to that. I didn’t feel like talking at all. The sun shone just as brightly. The day remained as lovely as ever. Only nothing felt as pleasant as before.

Clutching the verdict scroll in my hand, I almost wished to find nothing that warranted a reduced sentence for that man. Then, it’d mean the laws worked exactly how they should, and nothing was wrong with the world I’d grown to love as my one true home.

Chapter 3

Ari

“Good morning, Your Highness,” the guards greeted me as I approached my mother’s breakfast room the following day.

Mother sat in her usual place at the head of the table opposite her husband King Trebor, the King Consort. Dressed in a flowy lavender dress that reached down to her flat-soled velvet shoes, she stirred cream and sugar in her cup of coffee.

At fifty-two, the queen was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and to me, she’d always stay that way. Her dark hair was swept up into a voluminous bun inside her wide golden crown. There were just a few silver strands over her temples, which only enhanced her beauty and emphasized her years of wisdom and experience.

“Morning, Mother,” I gave her a peck on the cheek, inhaling a whiff of her flowery fragrance.

“Good morning, dearest,” she murmured. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” I lied.

Some nights had been better than others. After ten years in Rorrim, nightmares had become rare, but I’d long lost the ability to “sleep like a log” that I had when I was younger. Last night, I’d stayed up way past midnight to pore over the paperwork of the punished slave’s case, but I saw no reason to bother the queen with complaints about my insomnia.

I made my way to the other end of the table.

“Morning, Father.” I placed a kiss on the cheek of my other parent, King Trebor.

He gave me a bright smile. “Good morning, sweetie.”

Father was a tall man with vivid blue eyes and sandy-blond hair that was neatly cut and styled into perfect waves. Unlike the queen’s, there was not a glimmer of silver in the king’s locks. His team of skilled groomers made sure to maintain his youthful appearance by dying his hair regularly.

The king was wearing one of his usual dress coats with rich embroidery along the stiff collar and wide cuffs. Tall and slim by nature, Father had gotten a little wider around the middle with age and now wore a waistcoat corset for a slimmer shape. The padding of the shoulders of his coat and the slightly raised heels on his boots further enhanced the masculine form and the elegant, regal stance that was appreciated in all high-born men.

“The head chef made your favorite muffins this morning,” Father informed me with his ever-present smile. “She sure loves to spoil you.”

“I’m glad she does.” I beamed in response and grabbed a lemon-cranberry muffin from the basket in the middle of the table, then took my place between him and Mother on the right-hand side of the queen.

Squinting at the sunshine flooding the room through the three sets of glass patio doors, Father took a sip of his tea.

“It looks like it’s going to be another gorgeous day today,” he said. “Any plans for this afternoon, Ari? Did you have a fun ride with Gem yesterday?”

His words brought yesterday’s gory flogging scene to the forefront of my mind. I cut the warm muffin in half, smeared a dollop of butter on it, then watched it melt. My mouth should be watering at the delicious aroma. Instead, a bitter taste lingered in it.

“Mother.” I turned to her without answering Father’s questions. I simply couldn’t match his cheerful tone this morning. “Since when do we hire slaves at the palace?”

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