Page 22 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

“Thank you, Balon. That’s all I ask.” I smile into the darkness. “And you’ll be back soon?”

“As soon as I can get away. It is terribly difficult to get away from court, you know. Did you hear that there is a holiday ball next week? For the Feast of Pious Arthell.”

It’s the Feast of Pious Arthell already? I mentally go over a calendar, trying to count the days. The feast always happens in harvest season. Maybe I’ve been here longer than I thought already. “I love the Feast,” I say, moving into safer territory with the conversation. “What are you going to wear?”

Balon settles in with a happy laugh and proceeds to tell me all about his wardrobe choices for the upcoming festivities. When he leaves a few hours later, he promises to return “swiftly” andwith news of my sister, the war and to tell the others about my predicament.

I get up from the floor and straighten my blankets, folding them, and as I do, I think about his promises. I don’t know if he realizes just how dire my situation is. I think of spending the long winter in the darkness, parceling out my wood so I can make my potion, and eating cold, raw food. The thought is a depressing one.

“You should tell him to forget you.”

I jump in surprise, my heart thudding wildly in my chest at the sound of the Fellian’s voice. I clutch the pillow to my breast, glaring into the darkness where he’s hiding, only his eyes visible. “Gods above, you really do enjoy jumping out of corners to startle a girl, don’t you?”

He chuckles, and the sound is hollow and strange, and yet oddly enticing. “Not trying to startle you. It’s not my fault you can’t see in the dark.”

“Mm. I still think you’re doing it on purpose.” I set my pillow atop the sled, along with the blanket. There are no more trunks left, after all. There’s junk on the top floor, but after that, I’m out. The sled is my final resort. Once I have to break it down for wood, I’ll know I’m truly in danger. For now, just knowing that it’s there is comforting. “Have you come to chastise me again? Remind me that I’m not to touch your things? Because I’m not.”

“I heard you talking to your fool of a lover,” he says. “And I wanted to remind you that we are both trapped here. He cannot free you, and I won’t let you leave. It’s best if he forgets you entirely.”

Such words of encouragement. “He’s not going to forget me,” I say, lifting my chin in a show of defiance. “Balon loves me. He’s not forgotten about me despite the fact that everyone else at court has. And besides, I don’t want him to forget me. Why should I listen to you?”

“Because seven years is a long time to be alone.”

His words are simple, but devastating. My happy mood vanishes, and I’m left feeling like a hollow shell. Seven yearsisa long time. It feels like forever. It might as well be forever. “Thanks for that. I was in a bad mood earlier and now I’m in a worse one. You’re not very good company, you know that?”

“I know.”

Hmph.

It’s silent in the large, echoing chamber, but I don’t feel alone. I know he’s still in the shadows, watching me. Waiting for…something? “What’s your name?” I ask impulsively. When it remains quiet, I add, “So I can quit calling you ‘that damned Fellian’ when I think of you.”

“Do you think of me?”

“As little as possible.”

That elicits a laugh from the shadows. “Nemeth. I am called Prince Nemeth of the First House of Darkfell, Princess Candromeda Vestalin.”

So he knows my name. Is it because he’s researched the Vestalin line or because he’s overheard me talking to Balon? I don’t suppose it matters. “You can call me Candra.”

“You can call me Prince Nemeth,” he replies, and I could swear I hear amusement in his voice before he fades out and I’m alone in the room once more.

Chapter

Sixteen

It’s the next morning before I realize that I’ve lost my knife.

I wake up in bed, reaching for the blade that I keep tucked between my breasts, only to find that I’m wearing nothing but a loose chemise, and there’s no bodice in which to tuck the sheath. I grope my breasts anyhow, just in case, but there’s nothing to be found.

Dragon shite.

I must have set it down when I was bathing. Or when I was talking to Balon. Or when I was cleaning up, lost in a dizzy hum of happiness that my erstwhile suitor would soon be arriving. Really, it could be any number of places. I get out of bed and run my fingers over the mattress and blankets, looking for the knife, but my fingers encounter nothing but bedding. I do a blind search of my room as well, but it’s fruitless. I head downstairs and fumble through the darkness, searching the kitchen and then by the door.

I can’t find it. Not without some light to guide me.

Panicked, I return to my quarters and find my strikers and the box of candles. It’s empty except for two. Two lonely candles are left to last me the rest of the year. My panic increases and I clutch the candles in my grip. Do I dare light one? For somethingas frivolous as finding my knife? Or do I simply wait for it to surface again? After all, I can’t leave the tower. There’s only so many places it can be and I’m bound to find it at some point.

The loss of it hits me hard, though. It feels like I’ve just been abandoned by my only friend. Without the knife, I can’t check to see if Erynne and the baby are well. I can’t ask if someone’s coming to get me, or if the war is over. It doesn’t matter that the answers are unsatisfying. What matters is that I have some sort of connection to the outside world, and I feel lost without it.

---