Page 12 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

I turn back to him, glaring, my jaw clenched so I don’t vomit again. I take three deep breaths, and when I can speak without getting sick, I manage, “I just got here today, just like you. WhenI have a moment, I will take all my trunks and put them away. Until then, you’re just going to have to deal with it. I don’t want to be here either, understand? So leave me alone.”

He makes a harrumphing sound and then his big, shadowy form retreats. Ever so faintly, I hear footsteps going up the stairs and I realize I’m alone again. Thank the gods. More bile threatens, and I lie flat on the floor, pinching my nose and willing it to go away, because I’m going to have to clean up whatever mess I make, and I do not have the energy to clean up vomit.

Morevomit. Whatever.

My stomach settles, and with the knife’s help, I find the vial of medicine and a package of dry oatcakes that Nurse tucked away for me. I eat one, heat my vial of medicine over the candle-flame, and then shoot the syringe into my veins. I break out in a cold sweat and lie on the floor again as I wait for my symptoms to disappear.

Tomorrow, I tell myself.

Tomorrow I’ll panic.

Chapter

Eight

It takes two days for me to decide that the worst thing about being trapped in a tower is the lack of light.

I miss the sun. By the three gods, I miss the sun. I miss fresh air and having light in my face when I wake up. I miss looking out a window onto a green lawn and the sight of flowers. I miss all of that so much that I ache.

That, or the aching could be due to the fact that I’m skimping on my medicine. Nurse’s vials will only last for so long, and I’m trying to stretch the concoction as much as I can, simply because it’s one less thing to do on my overwhelming list of things that I must now do in order to take care of myself.

In the two days since I’ve been here, I’ve gone through sixteen candles and a good deal of my tinderbox. I’ve managed to put away one garment bag of my dresses and cleaned up the mess I made on the floor in my room. I dug through my trunks and found a bedtick (thank the gods for Riza and her preparedness) and dragged it up both flights of stairs. I still have to put everything else away, but I’ve been exhausted and achy and absolutely, positively unmotivated.

After all, if I make a mess in the lowest chamber and no one is here to see it, does it even matter?

And if it bothers my Fellian neighbor, isn’t that even more reason to make a mess?

So I take my sweet time and I curl up in bed, dreaming of all the things I had back home that seem like too much effort to do now. I would love hot tea, but I don’t want to make a fire. A full dose of medicine—but I don’t want to take the time to make the medicine. Fresh clothes. A bath. Gods on high, I would love a bath. It’s just that I’ll have to do it all myself, and the task seems impossibly daunting.

Maybe I’ll just become a dirty hermit the entire time I’m here. Let the Fellian on the floor below enjoy my stink.

A clean dress does seem like it wouldn’t be too much effort, though, so I head back downstairs and open one of my trunks, my knife and candle ever present and at my side. Riza packed enough dresses for me to change clothes multiple times a day. Sweet, really, but I’d honestly have preferred more prepared medicine or even dry oatcakes. Maybe I can leave a note for next year as to what they should bring me.

It’s depressing that I’m already thinking about a year from now. I’ve only been here a few days. A year is so very far away.

“Your mess is still here.”

This time I don’t jump at the sound of the flat, irritated voice. I think it brings him too much pleasure when I’m startled, and I’m not in the mood. “I didn’t realize it was bothering you.”

“Well, it is. You need to clear your things away.”

“I’ll get right on that,” I lie without turning around. I pull out a thin chemise of butter yellow, wondering if it will match the deep red gown I just pulled out. I suppose it doesn’t matter since I’m sitting in the darkness most of the time, but for some reason, it’s very important to me that I match my clothes. I finger the lace on the collar, considering.

“You should know that I have taken half of the root cellar for my food supplies,” the Fellian continues in that imperious voice. “I expect you to keep your things clear of mine.”

“Of course,” I say absently. Definitely the yellow, I think. It’ll be a bold match with the red, but why not be bold if there’s only me to please? I look up but my shadowy companion is already gone. I guess he just came down here to gripe at me about where he put his food and to demand that I clean up.

Thinking about food makes me wonder about my own stores. I know half (maybe more than half) of the trunks here are goods that I’ll need over the coming year. In addition to my medicine, there’s probably…well, I don’t know. I don’t know much about cooking. I confess that in the palace I’d order cakes and pies and meats and cheeses, but those don’t seem like the types of things that will stay good for a long time. And the last day at the palace was so busy I only paid a little attention to Riza’s comments about things to cook. She left me a book. That’s good enough.

But I’m curious what a Fellian eats…and if he has more food than me.

I use my knife and a few more questions to determine which trunks have food. I open one and find a bag of hard, tiny apples, nuts, and dried meat. I nibble on a piece of jerky as I decide to take my food down to the root cellar and put it away. After all, my new friend wants me to clean up my mess. I’ll clean up and snoop at the same time.

A princess thrives on gossip, and if there’s no court gossip to be had, I guess I’ll make my own sort of intrigue.

It takes some juggling to hold the food and my candle aloft at the same time as I head down the stairs, but the kitchen itself is rather cool compared to above. I set my candle down on the table and open the door to the root cellar, and then peer in.

Dear gods.

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