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“Yes, Your Highness,” Commander Druller said before turning his attention back to my cousin. “How was your hunting trip, Marco?”

A leading statement. Commander Druller couldn’t give two shits about Marco’s hunting experience. If I could predict where this was headed, which I felt inclined that I did, it was about to be a dig on Marco’s pampered nature as a prince, laced with the insult of not addressing his title.

“No hunting done, my friend.” Marco flashed a feral smile, stance still casual. “I figured Nick has enough boars on his hands.”

I swallowed, knowing his inference wasn’t lost on any of us. With a dip of his head and a bouncing step, Marco removed himself from our group and strode out of the room. Wise, considering I could feel the heat radiating from the Commander.

“Wasn’t hunting the whole point of his trip? Seems strange he’s changed his story,” Sebastian mused quietly, mostly to himself it seemed, as he stared after the strutting white-haired royal.

My brow furrowed. I could have sworn Marco had specifically told me in conversation a week ago that he was going to practice hunting. But upon his return, he’d phrased it as ‘camping’. “Surely he has his reasons,” I said, but questioned if it was for Sebastian’s benefit, or mine.

I trusted my cousin explicitly, but Seb’s statement snagged on a thread of doubt. My father ingrained in me never to trust anyone, even those within my inner circle, but I worked hard to not become like that man.

Still, the nagging thought tugged on the question, why would Marco have lied?

9

Nora

Sleep clearly wished to evade me. Hours before I should have been awake, I laid in bed, pain radiating through my back and shoulders from scrubbing that damn floor. It might have ebbed if Caine hadn’t continuously made me clean every spill in the same fashion throughout the duration of the night. How any of the patrons in that bar actually managed to get enough booze down their gullets to get drunk must have been magic because I swore majority ended up on the floor.

When I finally called it quits on trying to rest, I prepared myself a scalding hot bath. The water tinged my beige skin pink wherever it touched, instantly melting away my aches. Whirls of steam danced in my vision, sending warm, relaxing air through my nose into my lungs. The face cloth fell over my eyes with a wet slap. I let the heat liquify my muscles, dissolving every strain that plagued me. Once the steam dissipated, I dunked myself under and thoroughly cleansed my entire body.

The tavern closed for two days out of the week, and I’d be damned if I’d leave any hint of lingering scent from that place. Once I was certain I’d rid myself of The Tankard’s filth, my hands gripped the cold porcelain, but before I hauled myself out, my vision caught on the tiny purple glass jar that sat with the oils and soaps. Lavender and blackberry oil.

My mother had been a talented glassblower who created much more intricate designs than this simple bottle. When she attended sessions at the studio, I’d sit in the corner and work on my academics. Most adults wouldn’t consider bringing a child into that delicate, fragile environment, but the bond we had was special. She was special. I saw it in the way others interacted with her, the way she always had a smile and kind word to say.

She’d talk me through the process of her creations, teaching me lessons I didn’t realize I’d carry in my heart so many years later. Like how something as solid as glass, when put under the right pressure, the right heat, can bend and mold and adapt. Or how once something shatters, those cracks will always be a vulnerable place once put back together.

If it can be put back together.

In those weeks following my father’s death, hiding away in my isolated room, I’d decided to fortify all my broken pieces. I never wanted those weak spots to break me again. The glass heart my mother made that sat on my desk served as a reminder that there was good in the world. I tried to remember that every time I looked at it, when I studied its lovingly molded curves and smooth, shiny sides. That’d been a hard lesson to remember, given my circumstances.

Once I toweled off, the sound of a horse and carriage pulling up to the house drew my attention. Peering out the attic window to the street below, Mr. Pepins emerged, an enormous bouquet of yellows and reds in hand. Melody wasted no time threading her perfectly poised arm through his as he escorted her to the carriage. Kenzie trotted behind.

Being alone would be improper, and though Kenzie brought as much delight as rotten meat, I was glad for her presence with them. Mr. Pepins would find it difficult to cross any inappropriate boundaries with Kenzie’s vulture-like stare.

I went to take a step back when I faltered. A recognizable blue overcoat and black top hat strode into view.

Hamish Caine.

My empty stomach churned its hot acid. I thought it would take hours to cool down after that bath, but an eerie chill ate through my bones. Perhaps he would walk on by, simply on his way to the markets. My teeth threatened to break the skin of my bottom lip. Any hope I held died the moment he breached the first step.

My blood turned into icy fire as my thoughts whirred and sweat broke across my freshly cleansed skin. I'd followed his orders exactly last night. There hadn’t been a time he’d caught me slacking or taking any breaks. I knew that for a fact, since I’d made sure to bust my ass the entire shift. Except for when I’d tried eavesdropping.

“Shit,” I hissed and then frantically tossed open my armoire doors, yanking the closest of my limited outfits off the hanger to throw on.

Dull repetition from his knock at the front door made my heart canter.

No, no, no. What the hell does he want?!

Last he’d sullied this house a couple years ago, Eucinda had become his victim. He hadn’t even raised his voice, and I hadn’t known anything had been wrong until I’d heard the crack of his slap against her cheek. She’d fallen to the floor by the time I rushed in, and he leisurely crouched beside her, whispering gods knew what.

He’d addressed me with a smile, as if a woman didn’t lay injured by his hand. Then he tipped that pompous black hat and walked out as if a pleasant evening of tea had concluded.

Helping her had been instinct, and a mistake. She’d tossed insults my way and transferred the hit she’d taken to me. It was after that incident that half the furniture in the house disappeared, and my shifts became full-time.

With the memory came the tang of terror I felt as viscerally as if it were yesterday. I highly doubted he’d come to bless us with anything good. I hopped on one leg, trying to put on my pants in record time. As much as I didn’t want to see him, making him wait wouldn’t bode well either. Despite Eucinda being a wretched woman, I didn’t want her to take the brunt of something I’d caused.