Page 14 of The Princess's Chosen

I sucked on my own teeth in thought as Grandmother and I made a slow trek for the stairs so I could escort her back to her room. Cresswell was guarding my Chosen in my chamber after dinner, but Camellia had stayed suitably entertained with the collection of men she'd gathered from the staff.

I kept thinking of Daniel's story of his friend, of what I'd seen of the Chosen I'd grown up around and how it compared to my own. I couldn't remember a conversation I'd ever held with a Chosen. They were usually either…occupied, or they seemed simply to be waiting to be used.

"Is it…is it right for us to take Chosen?" I asked.

Grandmother's steps faltered, and she huffed as I held her steady. "Bryony, I am not unimpressed with what you've accomplished, but there arelimits. You may…may function as you do, but I can assure you that if you have a daughter and she has the Hunger prop—as the rest of us do, she will not becourtingmen patiently as you have done."

"They courted me patiently. And no, I understand the necessity of the Choosing. I amgladI had mine. I just wish it were less…mandatory? I…heard a rumor about one of Camellia's Chosen growing…"

"We have all been too fervent with our Chosen a time or two," Grandmother said, voice and body equally stiff before slowly relaxing. "It wasn't always mandatory. That was my mother's doing. The herd of volunteers was thinning, and she was…especially voracious." Grandmother sighed, and her hand patted mine firmly. "You may have a point, but I think I prefer your focus on reforming the nobles rather than the queen's line."

She softened the correction with an amused chuckle, and I sighed and nodded.

"I suppose that means I will have to take her with me when I go back," Grandmother mused with a wicked smile. "And here I thought I might leave her behind."

"I will lend you an extra carriage," I said quickly, and Grandmother chortled.

5

Bryony

Itiptoed out of my suite, pausing in the dark hallway as I found Cresswell straightening against the wall across from my door.

"What are you doing out here?" we whispered at the same time.

"Cresswell, when was the last time you were off your shift?" I asked.

He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders. "I catch breaks here and there."

I wracked my brain, eyeing him from the side as I glanced down the hall. When was the last time I'd been attended by a guard that wasn't Cresswell? Since before the incident with Camellia and Owen at least.

"You're no use to me if you drop from exhaustion," I said softly.

"They leave tomorrow. I have an afternoon shift arranged. What are you doing out of bed?"

I opened my mouth to reprimand him for asking, and then shook my head and sighed instead. He was my guard. Often he seemed to be the only guard who was really interested in protecting me and my Chosen, rather than just standing at the door.

"I'm going to see my sister."

"Is that wise?"

"Likely not, but I'd rather do it on my own than with the others. She'll be less likely to goad me, and I have some words left to say to her."

Cresswell's jaw clenched, a visible tick of muscle lit up by a lamp farther down the hall. "Lock the door behind you. I'm coming with you to stand outside the door."

I glanced behind me at the closed door and tipped my head. "Is there… Am I meant to have a key?"

Cresswell huffed, and then there was a metallic jingle from his pocket as he stepped forward and reached around me to lock the door. He smelled…soft was the only word I could think of to describe it, and it wasn't what I expected from my imposing guard. I wanted to lean in, but thankfully Cresswell stepped back before I made use of the impulse. His hand caught my wrist and pressed the key to my palm before releasing me and nodding in the direction of Camellia's rooms.

I'd arranged her in another wing of the palace, a room that looked down the mountain to the lights of Rumsbrooke. It was one of the rooms that'd been uninhabitable when we arrived, and although I'd never made any direct attempt to repair it or restore the furniture, the magic of the Hunger had seeped into every brick and rug and trinket of the palace so that by the time Camellia and Grandmother arrived, any room was as luxurious as they could hope for.

The door to the suite hung open by a few inches, and there was no guard stationed outside, although Cresswell didn't look surprised by that. Our steps slowed as we approached, and I waited for the usual wet slaps and strained moans that floated around Camellia, but the room was silent.

Cresswell's arm slid out in front of me as I made to step inside, and he raised a finger to his lips before moving ahead, pressing gently on the door and dipping his head inside. He leaned back a moment later and stepped back to the wall facing the door.

"Asleep," he said, shrugging.

Huh, I supposed not even Camellia could keep up her orgiastic habitsallnight and day. Still, it felt especially strange to step into the room and see the tableau before me. Men strewn about haphazardly like clothes dropped carelessly across furniture and floor. Most were still at least partially dressed, pants shoved down to their knees and shirts torn open. One had his ass exposed as he lay face down across the couch. Sam, the most familiar to me of all Camellia's Chosen, lay crookedly in a window frame like an abandoned doll, head pressed to the glass panes.

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