Page 59 of Rise of a Fallen Man

“I don’t know this one well enough. He did perform a successful surgery that is healing well now. But I don’t know how skilled he is in anything more complex than inserting fish bladders or injecting liquid onyx.”

“The warlock wouldn’t be alone. The royal witch and her team are there. I’m not even sure if they actually would let him put a knife to the king. But I’d like to have someone with practical experience during the surgery, someone who could at least give a second opinion before they do something that can never be reversed.”

“All right.” He brushed a strand of my hair aside before returning my glasses to their usual position on my nose. His thumb stroked my cheek right below my glasses, and I wondered if he’d just connected my freckles into an arch on my skin. He blinked, his smile slipping away. “I know a warlock who might be able to help. He lives in the city. I’ll have to go there. There is no other way. He wouldn’t open his door to just anyone.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“It’s not the prettiest part of town, Princess. Noble folk avoid going that way.”

“Well, then I should visit it for sure.”

He gave me a penetrating look, but I held it steady.

“I’m not hiding from the sores of our society anymore, Salas. If I don’t know what the issues are, how can I ever attempt to fix them?”

“Do you really want to fix things? Do you think life in Rorrim can be good for everyone?”

“That’s the plan, to make it good for everyone. At least for when I get the crown.” I winced, thinking back to my unsuccessful arguments in the council. “As the queen, with a new council, I’ll have far fewer limitations to act than as the princess.”

“Are there limitations now?”

“Quite a few.” I sighed as he handed me a cloak. “Do I need to wear this?”

“Yes. There is no need to raise questions.” He draped the cloak around my shoulders, then put another one on himself too. “Also, it’s better for the peace and reputation of the man we’re going to visit.”

He opened the door for us to leave, and I took one last look at the place that he called home now.

It was a lovely room with a window, a balcony, and a large poster bed with green velvet curtains tied back with golden tussled cords. A writing desk stood by the window with a stack of sketch papers on it. The sharpened lead pencils lay in a small silver tray next to it. Pots of blooming rose bushes and colorful dahlias decorated the balcony, lending their sweet fragrance to the air.

It was a peaceful place, furnished with both function and joy in mind, filled with serenity and peace I only ever felt in his presence.

He waited for me, holding the door open.

“Is anything amiss, Princess?”

Everything in the world out there seemed to be “amiss” lately. I wished I could stay here, even if just to have some tea with Salas and take a nap in his four-poster bed with the green curtains.

“No.” I forced a smile. “But...how about Countess Ciryl?”

“Who?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Your appointment this afternoon,” I reminded him.

“Oh. Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell Lerrel to cancel it on our way out.” He closed the door behind us.

“Will the countess be upset?” I asked as we walked toward the stairs then down to the main floor.

“She’ll reschedule.” He found a servant in the main hall downstairs and sent him to let the games master know about our departure and the change to his schedule. “Is your carriage still here, Princess? It’d be faster than walking.”

In the carriage, I expected Salas to take the seat across from mine, but he sat next to me instead. His arm pressed to mine. There simply wasn’t enough space to accommodate his bulk and leave a gap between us, and I didn’t mind it a bit.

As the carriage moved with a jolt, I struggled to resist the urge to lean into his warmth. I’d long lost the right to be this close to him. Every moment spent next to Salas now was stolen.

“I’m sorry I ruined your shirt,” I said, pointing at the sliver of the tear-stained satin showing between the ends of his cloak.

“It’ll dry.” He shrugged, then added with a barely there smile, “It’s not the first time you left me with a wet chest.”

His words burst the door open for the memories I tried so hard to contain. It was not the first time I’d cried on his chest. He’d comforted me before. And shamelessly, I kept coming for more.

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