Page 18 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

I’m no longer having fun with this. Glaring at him, I sink back into the bath again. “Go away so I can finish my bath in peace.”

“I heard you talking to your lover.”

I don’t look in his direction. Instead, I just shrug. “So what if you did? It’s not against the rules. He’s not entering the tower and I don’t seem to be leaving it,” I say, my tone bitter. If Balon were braver, maybe I’d be taking a bath in an inn somewhere on land instead of a cold half-bath in a dark kitchen. The thought is a depressing one. Balon is a sweet man, but he’s still young and not nearly foolish enough to suit my needs. If he were more impulsive, he’d have already broken me out and damned the consequences. Instead, he shows up to tell me about his horses and how his latest hunting trip went.

I’m just a different sort of entertainment for him, I realize. The thought is a depressing one. When Balon gets bored of coming to visit me, he’ll just disappear…and I’ll still be here. Waiting.

“I won’t let you escape,” the Fellian says. “Not until the Golden Moon is gone once more.”

“Or until your people fall in the war,” I say brightly. “Which I shall hope and pray for every day.” I give him a tight smile. “You did know there was a war coming to your doorstep, yes? By now King Lionel and his knights have probably conquered your mountain…or whatever grimy little cave you’ve crawled out of.”

He huffs, and I realize he’s amused. “If he told you they’re winning the war, he’s lying to you.”

I glance over at him, dismissive. I’m getting cold, my nipples tight in the chill, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of covering my breasts. I rest my arms on the edge of the tub and comment, “Balon has no need to lie.”

“You think not?” Again, amusement. “As a reminder, female, if you try to leave, I will stop you.”

I eye him. “Are you going to stand here all night and ogle my breasts while making threats? Or can I finish my bath?”

The Fellian bares his teeth at me—fangs, of course they’re fangs—and then melts away into shadow. It takes me a moment to realize that when his eyes close, he’s not returning. I sit up, shocked. That was magic of some kind. He didn’t move his legs or his wings. He simply disappeared into the darkness. If that’s possible, how is anyone supposed to fight a Fellian?

As if agreeing with my thoughts, my candle gutters out and I’m left in the darkness.

Well, dragon shite.

Chapter

Thirteen

Time passes faster than I expect it to, and slower than I want. Each day seems to be made up of making fires, cooking, taking my medicine, recovering from my medicine, and cleaning. Gods, so much cleaning. Why must everything get dirty once it is used? My clothes smell of sweat. The dishes are endless. The bedding is no longer fresh. And my hair is still dirty. All of this takes a lot of work and strength and time that I do not have. I make a list inside Riza’s recipe book of all the things I need to clean, and by the time I mark one off, three more have taken their place.

How do peasants get anything done without a staff to clean up after them? It truly boggles the mind.

I wash clothes. I wash bedding and lay it out to dry. I hang my sodden linens flat on every surface possible, but they take forever to dry. I could light a fire, but I’ve already burned through all the wood of several of my trunks and it is not even winter. I have to remind Balon to tell them that I need much more wood for next winter, I fret.

And I’m almost out of candles. I burn each one down to a stub and I’m judicious with using them, but I’m still reaching the last of my supply and I don’t know how to make more.Riza’s instructions do not cover candle-making and I grow more anxious every time I light one of my tapers.

Do I burn my candles and save my firewood? Or do I burn the firewood and save my candles?

Or do I do neither and sit in the dark? I have no idea.

My food supplies seem to be lasting, at least. I’ve taken to eating less simply because it’s too much effort to cook and clean up. That’s going to help me stretch them, but I still don’t have nearly as much in the larder as the Fellian does.

Balon doesn’t return in two weeks, either. I’ve been making marks on the wall in my room each time I burn a candle fully. That’s as close as I can come to accounting a day, and when I’ve burned sixteen of them, I realize he’s forgotten me. Time crawls again, and I feel lonely.

The Fellian avoids me. I bathe several times in the kitchen, just to try to flush him out, but there’s no response.

I fear I’m going mad already and it hasn’t even been a season. How am I going to last a full year, much less seven of them?

It’sboredom that makes me reckless.

Boredom and sheer loneliness. I can only entertain myself for so long, after all. I’ve spent the last week lying in the darkness, singing songs to myself. Touching my knife and asking it all kinds of questions. Is Erynne’s baby well? Is she thinking of me? Is the war over yet?

Is Balon returning soon?

None of the answers are particularly satisfying. The world outside is forgetting about me as the months pass, and the realization no longer brings me comfort. I want Erynne to dwell on my imprisonment. I want the war to end. I want Balon to rushto the tower and pull down the bricks on the other side of the door to free me. I want him to declare his love for me and that we’ll run away to the distant mountains and damn the crops and the people that need the food.

I want a great many selfish things.

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