Page 39 of The Crownless Prince

Marcus didn’t feel inclined to lie for the benefit of Thorne’s reputation. “A punishment administered by my lord for spilled wine.” He relaxed against the back of the wood chair as he pressed the cloth over the wound, the cool water immediately easing some of the white-hot pain.

Alban’s lips thinned beneath his gray beard, his eyes flashing disapproval, but he said nothing as he turned away and started grabbing things from a cabinet and off a table. What was there to say? Legally, Thorne had done nothing wrong.

“At least it’s red and shiny. And it hurts?” Alban glanced over his shoulder as Marcus nodded. “Good. If it didn’t, that would mean it’smuch worse. I wish we could have gotten water on that sooner, though.” He shook his head as he continued mixing and grinding ingredients in a small mortar.

“What’s that?” Edwin asked.

“Burn salve. With a little magic.”

Marcus leaned sideways to peer around the healer’s back. “You’re an enchanter?”

“One with minimal skills, but enough that I can speed up healing for most things and strengthen the beneficial properties of plants and foods.” Alban stilled, and a faint green glow briefly shone from the mortar. “That should do it.” He flipped over a sand timer about as large as Marcus’s fist and turned to face him, flexing and shaking the fingers of his right hand. “Does your lord require you back soon?”

“I don’t think so.” He hoped not. Likely Thorne wouldn’t want to see him again for a while and would be busy with Adriana. The thought turned his stomach. It didn’t matter whether he got out unscathed—whatever it took, even if it killed him, he would not let Adriana marry that villain.

“Good. You’ll want to keep the cloth on until that timer runs out. If the cloth stops feeling cool, we’ll rewet it. After that we’ll dry the burn, apply the salve, and cover it. You should come by tomorrow so I can clean it and decide if it needs more salve or just to be covered to prevent infection until it heals.”

Marcus nodded. That sounded manageable. “Is your hand all right?”

“Hm? Oh.” The healer continued flexing his fingers. “Yes. Usingmy magic can make my extremities numb. Have to wake them back up. I’ll be fine momentarily.”

After a moment, Alban turned to tidy up his supplies. “Have you been with Lord Thorne long?” His carefully neutral tone and the way he avoided looking directly at Marcus suggested the innocent question was more than it appeared.

“No. Only two days.”

“I was going to ask if he’s usually so vindictive, but if he jumped to this so quickly, I suppose that answers my question.” Alban slumped back against the edge of the table, his expression worried.

Was the healer also concerned about how Thorne would treat Adriana? “I’m only a servant,” Marcus said, feeling like he should offer some reassurance. “I’m sure he won’t treat the princess like this.” He’d make sure Thorne wouldn’t have the chance if it was the last thing he did.

Alban’s countenance grew sadder. “It’s my granddaughter. She’s the princess’s maid. She’s supposed to go with the princess to join Thorne’s household…” The older man abruptly spun around, but Marcus saw him wipe at his eyes.

There was nothing Marcus could say. He could offer to protect Leena, but he couldn’t even protect himself, so Alban wouldn’t be reassured. If only he could tell the old healer that the wedding wouldn’t happen. There was no way he could explain without putting himself and any chance of stopping the wedding in jeopardy.

Perhaps he was delusional for thinking that a hunted former prince turned servant had a chance of disrupting the plans of kings and lords.But he had failed to protect his subjects from suffering the ravages of war.

He would not fail to protect the woman he loved.

Chapter 18

The remainder of the day dragged on, every minute longer than the last. Adriana couldn’t feel relaxed around Lucien, not after glimpsing the controlled fury that she feared he had unleashed on Marcus in private. She’d dared to ask how he’d punished the servant, but Lucien had only told her that such tasks fell under his purview and that she needn’t worry about it and could be assured Marcus wouldn’t make such a mistake again. Lords were allowed to do a great many terrible things to punish a servant, and the fear that somewhere in the castle Marcus was bleeding or beaten black and blue plagued her.

It was worse when Father called Jairus away, leaving her alone with Lucien and two silent servants, one of the castle’s and one of Lucien’s. Somehow, though, she made it through. She even got revenge for his boring prattling about himself when she pulled out some embroidery and told him all about the various stitches and minutiae of embroidering while he clearly didn’t care.

They ate supper in the great hall, and Adriana retired immediately afterward, complaining of a headache. She couldn’t stand to spend another moment in Lucien’s company.

The evening couldn’t end fast enough. Leena coaxed her into taking a bath to unwind and pass some time, but after her hair wascombed through and scrunched and twisted and patted dry into springy curls, it still was too early for her to sneak downstairs. She tried to read but couldn’t focus.

At long last, it was time. Adriana lit a candle and hurried through the castle in her slippers, listening carefully to avoid any of the few guardsmen that patrolled the halls. When she reached the study, she pushed the door open and blinked against the light from the fire. A tall figure wearing a tunic that fell to his boots stood silhouetted before the fireplace, and the sudden fear possessed her that it might be her brother or father rather than Marcus.

“Adriana,” Marcus said, his tone warm and soothing.

Her heart leapt as she hurried inside, easing the door closed behind her before rushing to him. He stood straight and tall, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, and not a single bruise marked his smiling face. Relief coursed through her. She set the candle on the fireplace mantel and threw her arms around his waist.

A muffled cry escaped Marcus as he flinched. She quickly released him. His right hand reached toward his left ribs, and his fingertips brushed the fabric of his tunic before he dropped his hand back to his side. His pained expression smoothed into a tight smile. Her joy evaporated.

“Did Lucien hurt you?”

Marcus gulped and glanced away.

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