Page 22 of Enslaved

It isn’t really morning, of course. There’s never any morning in this realm of perpetual twilight. The hours are marked by bells, and I cling to my human understanding of a twenty-four-hour cycle. Even now, when I peel my eyelids open and glance across the room to the cracked curtains, I half-expect to see some gleam of dawnlight peeking through. But it’s all purple gloom and shadows. Just as it was last night.

I groan and press the heels of my hands against my eyes. They ache and sting all at once. But it’s just because I’ve awakened so early. Surely. Sitting up, I push back my coverlet and climb from bed. It’s an hour earlier than I usually rise, but why should I lie around? There is much to be done. So I rise. Dress. Pin up my hair. Pack a blank book and my magicked quill in my satchel. It all takes but a few short minutes, and then I stand before my mirror once more, gazing at my pale face by the light of a moonfire candle. My eyes are wide and ringed in purple hollows following my restless sleep. Slowly, I reach up. Touch one eyelid.

For an instant, I could swear I feel fibrous thread and criss-crossed stitching—

I pull my hand away, shake my head, and square my shoulders. Enough of this! I know what I must do. No more hesitation. No more dilly-dallying. The time has come to act. Turning on heel, I march across the room and step into the hall. There I must force myself not to linger, not to turn toward my children’s door. They’re still asleep. I shouldn’t wake them. Besides, I will be back. Before the end of the day, surely! I’ll be home in plenty of time to hear all about Sis’s second round of lessons with the low priestess, for the boys to regale me with tales of their adventures as underling guards-in-training. I’ll feed them, wash them, tuck them into their beds as usual. Nothing will change.

I just have to do this one thing first.

The palace feels gloomier and more cavernous than ever at this hour. Here and there I spy the flickering shadows of guardsmen on patrol. Other than that, all is still. Not peaceful, simply still. Now and then my pricking ears try to trick me into believing I hear bare footsteps following at my heels, but that’s nothing more than my own grogginess playing with my mind.

I reach a certain stone door so cleverly hidden within the wall I would have walked right by it had I not already known it was there. For a moment I stand still, forcing my lungs to draw several long breaths. Then, pulling my head a little higher, I knock.

Silence. Long, uninterrupted silence.

I continue to wait. And I don’t knock again. He heard me. I know he did. Finally, a crack appears in the wall. The next moment, the door swings silently open.

My eyes widen.

I should be used to this by now. It’s not as though this is the first time I’ve knocked at the Prince’s door expecting a servant to answer only to be met with the vision of the Prince himself. Shirtless. Disheveled. Like he’s just tumbled out of bed. And yet somehow more devastatingly handsome than ever. I try not to see it, try not to note the way the glow from the hall sconces highlights the chiseled muscles of his torso. Or the way his trousers, partially unfastened, hang low on his hips, revealing the seductive lines of his hipbones.

My mouth goes dry. Curse him! He’s doing this on purpose. I’d be willing to bet in the time between when I knocked and the door opened, he purposefully disarrayed himself to this exact degree of careless allure, designed to get a rise out of me.

“Good morning, Darling,” he purrs. Raising one arm, he leans his elbow against the doorframe. His wrist hangs loose, long tapered fingers relaxed. “Have you had a good look? Or would you like me to turn around so that you may complete your inspection?”

I jump back a hasty step. Gods spare me, how long have I stood here, gaping at him in dumbstruck silence? Clearing my throat, I harden my brow and cross my arms. “Why aren’t you ready?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I suppose that depends on what you expect me to be ready for.” His full lips quirk in a dangerous smile. “One might argue I’m ready for any number of things.”

Heat roars up my cheeks. I can only hope it’s not too obvious by moonfire light. “Don’t play the fool. I expect you knew I would be coming.”

At this, his smile melts away. “Perhaps I’d hoped you’d think better of it.” His voice is low. Almost sad. “Are you really so determined? So set on this course of madness?”

I cannot hold his gaze. So I drop my eyes, only to now find myself staring at his hard, bare chest. That doesn’t help, so I drop it further to my own feet, peeking out from beneath the hem of my skirt. “It is my free day.” I sound much more petulant than I like, like a stubborn child intent upon naughtiness. I’m too committed now to stop, however. “I may choose where I go, what I do.”

“Then visit your brother. Visit that gods-damned doctor sweetheart of yours. Go make their lives a little better with your smile and your listening ear, then leave them to the hells they’ve made for themselves.”

A muscle in my jaw tightens. Deep inside my head, a soft voice whispers urgently:You’re not seeing rightly. You’re not seeing rightly.

“I know you, Darling.” The Prince’s voice once more. The sound of it draws my head back. My eyes lock with his. “Iknowyou,” he insists. All that insouciant charm is gone. The mask of his smile is melted away, leaving behind an expression of earnest entreaty. “You can choose better. You can be better. You are strong.”

You are the strong one.

“Be strong for those who need you. Be strong for yourself.”

You are the one who must protect him.

You are the one who must save him.

You are the only one who can.

Love him.

Love him.

Save him—

“Enough!” The word bursts from my lips in a cry, echoing against the stone walls. I press my hands to my ears as though I can squeeze that voice and all other voices out of my head. Then, pulling myself straight once more, I face the Prince. “You will help me.”

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