Page 11 of Vicious Princess
I was never good at the arts, but Quint was. Her bedroom at our parents’ house was full of her work growing up. She used to love painting nature, and she was so good at it.
Something deep within my chest stings so hard, I struggle to breathe for a moment.
“Evening. What brings you here?” A voice startles me. I turn. An elderly fae with long silver hair stands a few feet away from me. The top of her head almost touches the ceiling, too. “I’m afraid I have no more rooms left for tonight.”
“A friend sent me here. He told me I’d find shelter here when I needed it.”
The fae grunts, her icy-blue eyes stark in the darkness. “And who’s this magical friend of yours, huh?”
“Vasquez. Captain Vasquez.”
She’s silent. The longer the quiet stretches between us, the more my palms sweat. V wouldn’t send me here to trick me—I know that. Yet doubt creeps up on me.
Finally, the old lady clicks her tongue. “That motherfucker.” She shakes her head. “He’s still alive?”
“Ah, yes. Very much so,” I say hesitantly.
She murmurs something under her breath and nods. “I thought his ship drowned in that storm twelve months ago. Fucker couldn’t have sent me a letter or something?”
I’m not sure what to say. But the fae looks at me, as if she’s expecting an answer.
“The ship sank without him on it. It probably slipped his mind to let you know he’s alive. He’s been preoccupied recently.”
Her eyes slide down my body, then up again. “Mm-hmm. I can see that. Very well, any friend of Vasquez is more thanwelcome at my inn. Let’s get you settled in a room. Have you eaten dinner yet? You look haunted. And starving. Skin and bones.”
Her observation makes me smile. It’s not something I do often anymore. It feels foreign on my lips. “I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast. The food rations on the ship were modest.”
She grunts again. “Let’s get you something to eat. Then I’ll show you the room.”
I follow the old lady through the door, to the back of the building. We walk a tight, long corridor until we reach what appears to be a kitchen and a modest dining area. The ceiling here is much higher.
Three large fae sit at a round table, drinking and playing cards. All their eyes snap to me, the game forgotten.
“Mind your own business, fuckers,” the old lady says and waves her hand at them.
One by one, they turn their attention back to the cards. She gestures for me to sit on the kitchen counter. The old wood is scratchy against my leather gloves.
Without saying a word to me, she gathers some dark bread, hard cheese, and butter. My mouth waters when she hands me the plate, and my stomach growls loudly.
“That’s all I can give you right now. Warm breakfast is ready at eight in the morning sharp. Don’t be late if you want to eat. These morons have appetites bigger than a pregnant dragon.”
“Thank you.” I butter the bread and stuff it into my mouth.
She crosses her arms over her chest and leans a hip against the counter opposite me. I take small bites and chew properly before swallowing down the food only because she watches me. With no foreign eyes on me, I would devour the food in a few bites.
“What’s your name?”
“Phoenix. What’s yours?”
“Kazh, you brainless child. Haven’t you seen the sign outside the building?”
I bristle at the insult, but bite my tongue.
“You have a very strong accent. Emera or Wetra?”
“Wetra.”
The fae around the table grumble and turn to look at me again. But one sharp-as-a-blade glance from Kazh is enough to make them look away.
