Page 25 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
The two guards stood high above me at the edge of the courtyard, barely moving. Always watching.
I cursed under my breath and wiped a smear of dirt across my face as I tied my hair back again with the same scrap of fabric. My palms were blistered. My knees raw. Twice I cut my hands on the broad trellis resting inside two planters, and I bled profusely until I tied a bandage tight around my hand. Several drops dripped into the soil, and I cut myself a few other times. The worst was on a broad planter down by the fountain.
Six Stitches brought me a jar of grey salve, similar to the kind the doctor had used on me last night. Using it burned and itched, but at least it healed the cuts.
A low, rasping croak broke the silence, followed by the thunder of wings. I looked up just as a deathbeak dove, its massive, hooked bill aimed straight for me, skeletal wings outstretched. Another dropped behind it, feathers like oil-slick metal, eyes burning red.
Before I could run, two guards swept out from the wall, wings stretched wide. One slammed into the first deathbeak mid-air, driving a spear clean through its chest. The other guard twisted mid-flight, blade flashing, and sliced the second open from shoulder to gut. With great shrieks, the creatures thrashed, black blood raining down like tar before both bodies crashed to the stone. The guards didn’t land. They circled once, eyes scanning the sky, then climbed back to their post high above.
I shuddered, then turned back to my work, heart still pounding from the attack. My hands trembled as I dug them back into the soil, but I forced myself to continue. The garden wouldn't fix itself, and I wasn't about to give the Hollow King the satisfaction of seeing me cower.
But I didn’t stop trying.
Another screech tore through the air not twenty minutes later. I didn't even look up this time, just dropped to my knees and pressed myself against the nearest planter. The guards' wings beat the air with heavy thuds as they launched into action. Metal clashed against bone, and wet squelches punctuated the snarls and cries of the deathbeaks.
Still, I kept working. Fingers in the dirt, knees bruised and grit-stained, breath shaking as I moved to the next planter. The garden didn’t care if monsters attacked or blood was spilled. One of the deathbeaks dropped on a large planter, its blood pouring out over the planter and on the stone. A guard came to drag the corpse away as someone called over the wall to make sure to hang it upside down so it could be dressed properly for the night’s meal.
I worked until the sun bled out behind the haze and the light dimmed to a bruised grey. Still nothing. Not a single bloom. Not a twitch of magic. Not even a worm twitching about.
Every part of me ached. My stomach turned with emptiness, but I ignored it. I wouldn’t eat. I couldn’t. Not while I was here. Not when I didn’t know what was real or what was cursed. The Witheringlands had already taken too much. I wouldn’t let it claim me or my soul.
The guards descended when the light dipped fully away, and I stood slowly, joints stiff, dress soaked with sweat and stained with dust.
I’d failed.
I didn’t know what a princess would have done differently or how royal magic would have differed. But I knew I’d failed. There should have been some sign by now if this was possible.
I didn’t say a word as they escorted me back through the stone halls. My breath rasped in my throat, and I kept my eyes down. My footsteps left faint smudges on the polished floor.
The Hollow King waited for me at the landing of the second staircase, immaculate with his hair perfectly straight and his crown perfectly aligned. The only thing that might have induced me to touch would have been if he was wearing white or light grey and I could have wiped my filthy hands all over him and mussed him up.
“You didn’t try to come in earlier. I’m surprised. Pleasantly so,” he said mildly. He then gestured toward the door within the hall rather than up the staircase. “Dinner’s getting cold. As you have not caused any further difficulties, I wanted to extend an invitation so you could join me.”
I stared at him silently, unblinking. My stomach knotted. What I wouldn’t give for any food right now, but I couldn’t. Not if I wanted to preserve every chance for getting out of here, and the lore was clear: no eating the food in the Witheringlands, or I’d be bound to its king. My stomach cramped, then gurgled. I swallowed hard.
His eyebrow lifted. “You should eat something.” He spoke a little more sternly now.
“I’m not hungry.” As if on cue, my stomach gurgled loudly. I wrinkled my nose as I wrapped my arms around myself. Stupid body.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he tilted his head, his long dark hair sliding over his shoulder. “You’re exhausted. And starving. Iheardyour stomach. Stop being stubborn and come eat.”
I put my hands on my hips as I lifted my chin. “I’m not risking getting trapped here because I ate the food.”
He shook his head, and his breath hissed through his teeth. “If that is how you feel, then so be it. I would never presume to do something against your will.”
I laughed bitterly, too tired to care how brittle I sounded. “You mean aside from you dragging me here against my will?”
His jaw flexed. The shadows around his shoulders stirred. “Other than that.”
“And the forcing me to marry you part?” I demanded.
“Obviously that is not included.”
“Well, those are the parts I’m most concerned about. That and losing my eternal soul because I’m not a Maker-forsaken princess!”
His nostrils flared, and the muscles tightened in his neck and jaw. “If you can’t be civil, then return to your room and sleep in the cold.”
I hesitated a breath before starting up the staircase. As I passed him on the right side, he cut his eyes at me.
