Page 14 of To Sway a Bard
Somehow he felt hot, palms sweaty, so he shoved them into his pockets as he made his way through the palace. He’d had her moved off the first floor into private chambers where he could keep an eye on her and stay comfortable himself, but far enough away from the royal wing where his family wouldn’t feel threatened. Zula would likely loathe her prison, for despite it being comfortable, it was a closet with no windows. He doubted she cared much for luxury, but he could be wrong.
The guard at the door gave Neo a nod. “She hasn’t tried anything yet.”
Dismissing the guard, Neo moved into the room, which had a bamboo bed, a large green plant growing beside it, a series of woven mats on the floor, two low chairs sitting beside a round table, and sheer curtains, which displayed the balcony when pulled aside. There was also a door in addition to the curtains, for security and privacy, but Neo noticed they were wide open. Tempting. The balcony offered a view of the hanging gardens, and even from inside Neo could make out the vibrant oranges and pinks of the bright flowers.
Slowly, he turned his attention to the inner room. It was nothing more than a closet, a place where he and his siblings used to play hide and seek. It was overlarge, meant for storing treasure—not clothes—since his mother thought the very idea of a treasury was nonsensical. Why keep all the treasures of the palace in one place? She’d spread them out among the floors, hidden in nooks and crannies and closets. Once, Neo had found an ornate jewelry box hidden in a hole under a potted plant. His mother had made him put it back, but he was certain there were many lost treasures hidingin the palace.
Zula sat on the floor in the closet, back against the narrow bed—just large enough for one. Her arms were curled around her legs, chin resting on her knees as she faced the door. She’d been tied up, but just by her good ankle. Neo followed the rope, which ended around the bed. He disliked the way Zula sat there, like a bird with clipped wings.
She looked up at him, and her face went tight.
Neo meant to untie the rope, to assure her there was no need for it, granted that she promised not to run away, but when their eyes met, there was something in them he’d never seen before. Shame? Awareness? He wasn’t sure, but she saved him the trouble by speaking first, voice flat. “You’re the prince.”
It was an accusation, and suddenly he recalled her asking about the royal family in the carriage, and what he knew of them. He’d thought it odd then. Why would she ask a prince about his own family? “I thought you knew,” he protested. “I’m the sheriff. I assumed?—”
“You could have said so.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Neo shrugged. “I’m not the crownprince; I won’t inherit the kingdom. The crown belongs to my older brother.”
Zula narrowed her eyes. “Of course it matters. You. . . you’re of royal blood, and . . . ” She trailed off and wiped at her nose.
It struck Neo that she was upset with him for withholding the knowledge of his title. First she’d been furious he was the sheriff, now this. He couldn’t fix it, nor should he try. He was a prince. She was a thief. “My mother . . . ” He cleared his throat and tried again. “The queen wanted a word with you in private. I came to ask what she offered you.”
Zula’s brown eyes bored into his. “You don’t know?”
“I’m sure she had her reasons for excluding me.”
There—he saw a gleam in her eye again, the thrill of excitement. She enjoyed having the upper hand. “I haven’t decided whether to accept, decline, or counter the proposal. Before I share with you, though, I have a question.”
He crossed his arms. “Ask.”
“Do you intend to keep me chained up here? Or is a bath, a hot meal, and fresh clothes an option? I wasalso invited to the masquerade, and I have nothing to wear.”
Neo suddenly felt hot all over at the idea of Zula in a bath. He managed to stay calm. “It is an option.”
“Good.” Zula stood, as though she were the one in charge. “Let’s negotiate over a meal.”
14
ZULA
Zula scrubbed the dirt from her skin as the steam from the hot water made her black hair curl into ringlets. The shame and embarrassment she’d initially felt upon entering the palace was washed away just like the dirt. But her thoughts turned to the queen’s proposal, Neo’s reaction, and most of all, escape.
Servants hovered around her as she washed. At least, Zula was under the assumption they were servants. Her life had never involved paying much attention to royalty and the habits of those who dwelled in the palace. Although she’d heard somewhere that it was possible to work for the kingdom and earn good money, they also conducted rigorous interviews anddug deep into an individual’s past and family. All of it was none of her concern.
The plush ivory towel she dried off with was made of the softest cotton she’d ever touched and large enough to wrap herself in twice. The water had been perfumed, and she was aware of a pleasant scent emanating from her body. Had she stunk that badly before? The tension in her shoulders faded, but her jaw worked when she saw the dress laid out for her.
Dresses were the clothing of well-behaved women who never had a need for a sudden escape. This one wrapped around her body, hugging her curves, and she tied the strings that held it up tight, lest it fall off. After a few experimental steps, she discovered the material moved with her, the dress flowing around her legs, soft as silk.
If she was about to sell her soul—or die—she might as well be comfortable and feel attractive while doing so.
The servants tittered behind their hands, speaking in hushed voices accented by soft laughter. Zula ignored them, although her ears burned at the idea that they might be talking about her. More often than not, she found herself the source of everyconversation. Usually people admiring her skill as a thief or retelling her latest heist.
In the eyes of the common people, she was a legend.
In the palace, she was a prisoner, a common thief. Ironic.
A young woman waved at her, beckoning her to follow, and Zula did, trying not to openly stare at the beauty of the palace. Wide windows sent a floral-scented breeze to her nose, and palm trees pushed their leaves through every opening, letting in a stream of golden-green light. The palace opened up into a patio, a courtyard balcony overlooking a set of hanging gardens. Vines twirled around the railing, grapes budding, some already nearly ripe. Pots of banana trees—some no taller than her waist—dotted the patio. There were benches, tables—and then, she spotted Neo.
