Page 53 of Wrath of the Never Queen

“But…” The prince swallows hard, his throat bobbing. “But how is that possible? You said dragon magic cannot affect other people.”

I cringe at my earlier blanket statement.

“It has been known to happen.” I spread my hands, contrite. “Curses are…different. Their very nature defies the rules of magic, which is why they areextremelyrare. The wielder must not only be a master of their magic, but they…they must be a truly broken person to draw on such strong hatred.”

The prince’s shoulders sag, crestfallen.

“My mother could only curse me because she hated me that much.”

My mouth gapes uselessly as I try to find the words to comfort him.

“I am so sorry, Your Highness.” It is all I can think to say.

He stares at the floor for a long moment before taking both my hands in his.

“My apologies, Miss Shivani,” he says, his old formalities slipping in. “I feel I need to be alone for a while.”

I watch him as he presses his lips to the back of my hands, my mind desperately scrambling for something, anything, whichmight help. But I have nothing.

“I am sorry.” His voice breaks, and my heart snaps clean in two. Before I can reply, he leaves.

Chapter 22

Month Four

Inez and I share our supper in the art room, bundled under blankets against the chill.

She brings us a spread of roasted rosemary sparrow, garlic potatoes, and a bowl of carrots and watercress cooked in butter. Vanya has sent up extra portions of saffron spiced cookies, as per my recipe, alongside a note signed by the kitchen staff. I place the note delicately next to my bed, treasuring it, and smell the warm scent of the cookies. I ignore the churning nostalgia and sadness it brings, knowing my Aunt is not the one making them with me.

Inez and I sit in front of the glass wall, looking out over the treetops as the sun dips below the horizon. The sky is a vibrant mixture of pink and orange, spread like watercolour. We eat in silence, content with watching the world outside.

“This would make a beautiful painting,” Inez comments before biting into a crispy potato.

“It would,” I agree. “I am hoping to commit it to memory so I may paint it tomorrow.”

She looks over at the various canvasses sitting against the wall, each one a window into another world.

“I think you would fetch a pretty penny for those, miss.” She nods at them.

“Really?” I had never considered selling them—I painted for an escape and for peace more than anything. “I do not know if they are grand enough for that.”

“Oh, I think they are. They would fit right in on the walls here in this castle. I cannot imagine a grander place.”

I look sideways at her, then, curious.

“Have you ever wanted to see anywhere else other than this castle?” I ask, schooling my features and keeping my tone light.

Inez pauses, a forkful of sparrow halfway to her mouth before she replies, “No, I do not know anywhere else. I do not know what I would do.” She puts her fork down and sighs. “My brother was always the adventurous one,” she says, her eyes unfocused. I wait for her to elaborate, but she says nothing, lost in thought.

“Did he live here with you?” I ask, taking note of the past tense she used and treading carefully.

“Yes, our whole family lived here. Wehave for…well, as far back as my grandmother, at least. Although, back in those days, servants were not required to stay in the castle and could leave for their own homes at the end of their working day,” she replies. “Anyway, now it is just me left. Apart from my mother, but she was allowed out of the castle for her retirement. I like to imagine she is relaxing in a sweet little cottage somewhere.”

Inez smiles sadly but it slips off her face, replaced with a forlorn look.

“He was a guard here, although he always had finer dreams,” she says, her voice small. “My brother, I mean. Well, a guard in training. He was ten-and-seven when…when he was supposed to…” Inez stammers to a halt, her breathing ragged. Her eyes are shiny with tears, and her hands shake. I immediately put my plate on the floor and reached across for her, grabbing her hand with both of mine.

“Eight years ago,” she says hoarsely. “When the king took his life from him.”

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