Page 2 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

At my side, Riza begins to weep quietly even as Nurse rubs cream into my arm so I won’t get an infection.I have no tears. I don’t remember Meryliese. But only myself and Erynne are left in the line of Vestalin. And one of us has to be the sacrifice to the tower.

I suddenly want to hide in my closet again.

I hold my hand out for the message. The man hands it over to me and I stare at the important looking parchment, as if it somehow holds answers to the very real problem of my sister’s death. I want to feel something for Meryliese, but I don’t. I have vague memories of a toddler with ebony curls like Erynne’s and bright green eyes. I remember my mother’s relief upon hearing that Meryliese wasn’t cursed. I remember my mother waving her handkerchief bravely as the Alabaster Citadel sent monks and priestesses to come and take my sister away, and I remember Mother crumpling the moment they were out of sight. She’d cried for three days, and then dried her tears, never to cry over it again.

A Vestalin must always do her duty, she’d told me and Erynne. But her focus was on Erynne as she said the words, because I’m cursed and useless. I remember that, just like I remember Erynne’s brave smile.

Poor Erynne. She’s just as trapped to her destiny as Meryliese. I’ve been the only one with a modicum of freedom because of the curse that makes it impossible for me to carry on our bloodline. I’m too weak, too fragile for childbirth. With the curse in my blood, I must eat regular meals and avoid strenuous activity, lest the bad blood go straight to my heart. My sister Erynne has always been the important one. She spent her childhood preparing to marry a king while I spent mine trying to avoid my nurses for the inevitable needles. Erynne learned to speak four languages and how to ride a horse. I learned that I get headaches if I sit up too quickly after taking my medicine,and it’s best to take a brief nap afterwards. Erynne can read and write, draw and sing.

I read passably, but can barely scrawl my name. No one cares, because I’m the cursed one.

At least, no one has cared untiltoday. But now that Meryliese is dead, I worry what this means for myself and Erynne. I stare at the letter in my hand and then crumple it and toss it aside. “You said this was delivered to the king and my sister a short time ago?”

“Aye, my lady.”

Dragon shite. That means they’re going to want to see me soon. I jump up from my chair and then immediately get dizzy, the concoction racing through my veins with painful heat. Immediately, I sit down again, pressing my fingertips to my brow as I break out into a cold sweat.

“My lady,” Nurse chides. “You know you must rest for a few minutes after your medicine.”

I nod absently, rubbing my brow. “Riza, I need to change to see the king.”

“Something elegant, my lady?”

“No, something garish. Pink, I think. And get the panniers.” I hate those things, but they do make quite an entrance. “And the yellow chemise that normally goes under the rust-colored gown. Let’s pair the two of those together.”

“That is…quite a choice, my lady,” Riza murmurs.

It’s a hideous choice, loud and obnoxious and wholly unbecoming of the Vestalin line, but that’s exactly the point. I mean to show the king in very small, subtle ways, that I’m not right for his plans. That Meryliese’s death means he should call off his war. That no Vestalin is suitable to go to the Tower of Balance and we’ll just have to figure something else out. “Get my jewelry, too,” I tell her. “And cosmetics.”

I aim to be as unpalatable as possible when I see my dear brother-in-law again, just to remind him once more that Candra Vestalin is a disappointment to all.That no one can depend on her to serve the gods, and that the entire matter should just be forgotten.

Chapter

Two

While I’m not the most diplomatic of princesses, I have to admit that I excel at petty court aggressions. Some people are good with lutes, I’m good at getting under King Lionel’s skin. He’s an absolute twat and doesn’t deserve to be on the throne, but such is fate. I flick a hand over my wide, heavily embroidered panniers, and adjust the puffy yellow sleeves of my chemise. They poke out between the cuffs like lemony tufts and look garishly bright on such a solemn occasion. Wholly inappropriate and absolutely perfect. Sitting by the window in my room, I toy with the jewel-encrusted belt at my waist and wait to be summoned.

I don’t have to wait too long. The king’s official messenger arrives and I pretend to be very interested in the embroidery upon my cuff as Riza harasses him on my behalf. When she finally lets him in, I feign surprise that the king wishes to see me. My sister has been married to Lionel for all of a year now, and other than official holidays in which he cannot avoid me, Lionel avoids my presence. It suits me quite fine, as I loathe the boor.

Gathering my skirts, I follow the herald through the enormous keep. Castle Lios should be a place of enlightenment, of learning and joy like it was in the time of my ancestors. But Lionel has taken to ruling things with an iron fist, and he picks endless fights with the rocky borders of Darkfell. Now, instead of courtiers and musicians, Lios is filled with tense advisors and soldiers. They give me uneasy looks as I swan through the halls in my garish clothing, as if my cheery presence offends their war-leaning sensibilities. Lionel is going to drive this kingdom to ruin, I just know it.

And he will drag us all down with him.

“The Princess Candromeda Vestalin,” the herald cries as I enter the throne room.

I feign more surprise to see the throne room full of courtiers and ambassadors, and blow kisses and wave at the gathered men as if they’re all here to see me. The men in their armor and wearing their war-cloaks look less than thrilled at my antics, but I don’t care. I beam at everyone and then sink into a low, perfect curtsy before the paired thrones on the dais.

When I rise, I glance over at my sister, who sits at King Lionel’s side.

I shouldn’t have looked. Erynne’s face is blotchy with tears, her eyes red. She dabs at them with a silk handkerchief that matches her dress, and a woeful expression is on her pretty face. Her other hand caresses her heavily pregnant belly, and I’m stricken with guilt. Here I am, acting the jester and my sister is weeping over the loss of our sister. I’m filled with a hint of shame that I don’t have the same memories of Meryliese that she does. I was too young to remember much, but Erynne is four years older than me and probably remembers a great deal more.

I bite my lip, because a princess shouldn’t cry in public, but Erynne’s tears can be blamed upon her pregnancy at least.

“Greetings, my queen,” I say sweetly, and then add, “and my king.”

Lionel’s jaw clenches and I just know he wants to say something unpleasant to me. I brace myself, ready for it. We’ve gotten into such spats in the past—he thinks he gets final say in all things, and I think he is a dreadful louse, and so we’ve squabbled in front of courtiers many a time. He can’t do anything to me as I’m Erynne’s sister and I clearly have the cursed blood of Vestalin in my veins, but I know he’d love to bring me down a notch if he could. He glances over at his bride, frustration clearly written on his face.

I dislike Lionel intensely. I dislike his florid face and his blond beard and the way he laughs so loud so as everyone will look over at him. I hate his jovial manner because it’s fake, and I hate that he married poor Erynne when Erynne is in love with her maid, Isabella.

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