Page 6 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood (Tales So Wicked #2)

Lenore

H ay flies as I hack at the overstuffed mannequin.

My arms are shaky from exertion. Still, I raise my sword high and cut it down again and again.

Despite the frigid weather, a thick layer of sweat has my hair slick and clothes dampened.

I slash out at the wooden figure again, aiming for the throat.

A very unladylike slew of curses bursts out of me when I fail to decapitate my emotionless victim.

“Your form is sloppy, even for a princess.” Gestin, the captain of the guards, frowns from across the courtyard. The shimmering grey of his hair blends seamlessly with the snowflakes landing atop his head. He wears that gruff, disapproving look he always seems to carry.

“I’m tired.” It comes out more pitiful than intended.

“Too tired to beat a stick man?” He arches an eyebrow. “Adjust your grip, widen your stance.”

I do as he says, dropping into the familiar stance and positioning we usually practice in my not-so-secret lessons.

Mother never approved of my desire to train with weapons before the incident.

After my return, her feelings changed. The skin of my throat burns, a reminder of the past. I’ll never be defenseless again .

“Adjust your grip. It’s a sword, not a lump of fish.” The amusement in his tone fuels my frustration.

“My fingers are frozen,” I grit out.

“Attacks happen in all sorts of weather. No excuses.” His tone turns serious. He knows, of course. About what happened. I suspect most in the kingdom know. The kidnapping and ransom of a princess is bound to be whispered about far and wide.

“Why bother with a sword? We’ve discussed this. The dagger is better suited?—”

“The sword”—I slash—“feels better”—I swing again, huffing in frustration when I once again fail to decapitate the statue—“when I’m angry.” Dropping the sword to my side, I stand there, panting.

Gestin indulges me with the sword, but our true training is meant to be with something much smaller. He nods to me. “Do you have it?”

I drop my hand to where the dagger is strapped to my outer thigh. The only people who know of it are Gestin, my mother, and Melly. Mother gifted it to me with tears in her eyes, barely able to speak.

“The best warrior knows their strengths but never divulges their tactics. Are you going to be sword fighting in the near future?”

I sigh. I’m used to this argument from him.

“Probably not.”

“Even if you are, you’re not likely to decapitate anyone.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe my opponent will have underdeveloped neck muscles and hollow bones like a bird.”

Gestin gives me that same look that most people give me when I’ve said something odd but they still want to be polite. “I fear that’s unlikely, Princess.”

“Unlikely. Not impossible,” I mutter to the ground.

Gestin sighs deeply. “You’re not strong, not large or brutish. Your strength does not lie in your limbs, but in your mind. Cunning, that’s what you must be. Outwit your opponent, because overpowering them is a dead man’s dream.”

“Thanks for the daily reminder that I’m frail and weak.”

He chuckles softly. “Those attributes will be to your advantage. Now, what will you do if you’ve no way to escape?”

Rolling my eyes, I repeat the information that’s been drilled into me a thousand times. “I’ll run. A few steps in, I’ll feign an injury. Once I’ve fallen, I’ll remove my hidden dagger and stab. Then flee to safety. Even if I feel incredibly stupid.” I add the last part under my breath.

“Whether you feel stupid or not, the element of surprise is your best bet. I can train you day and night but you’ll never outfight a grown man.”

Everyone looks at me differently now. Even Gestin, though he tries to mask it.

They know I’m hiding the horrors of the past, keeping them locked away on the inside.

But they wouldn’t prefer it on the outside.

It would make them too uncomfortable. As if those few days weren’t more uncomfortable for me than all of their experiences combined. Again, the skin of my neck burns.

“Are you still with us, Princess?” Gestin presses, but a hint of concern peeks through his stern voice. “Give the sword one more try and then call it a day.”

My fingers are numb and aching and I’m pretty sure there’s a blister in my right palm.

Pushing through the pain, I heed his earlier advice and adjust my stance and grip.

The next time my sword swings down, it sweeps clean through the statue’s wooden neck.

The head drops to the ground, its hastily painted face staring up at me.

Some manner of relief washes over me at the sight.

“Congratulations, you’ve slayed the beast.” Gestin gives me a mocking clap. “I sure hope you weren’t picturing King Hoff when you dealt that killing blow.”

I groan, sending a cloud of white breath swirling up in front of me. “You heard?”

“It’s a castle. The moment the words of your betrothal left the queen’s lips, they traveled straight into the ears of the servants.

You know that lot can’t keep a bit of gossip as ripe as your nuptials to themselves.

” His posture and tone never change but I swear I glimpse a flash of sadness in his wise brown eyes.

“Of course. I’m surprised I had the luxury of finding out from my mother instead of my handmaiden.” I lower my sword to the ground, scraping the sharpened tip across the grey stone, carving lines in the thin layer of ice that’s accumulated.

“Come inside, Princess. Warm up. If you still need to blow off steam this evening, we can run some training drills in the warmth of the Great Hall after everyone’s finished supper.

I’ll even let you beat up some of the younger guards if it makes you happy.

Lazy sacks. They deserve it.” He gives a pointed look at the pair of guards overlooking the courtyard.

“Inside we go. This weather will be the death of you.”

A small laugh bubbles up. Death. If he only knew.

My sword clatters to the ground in defeat. He’s right. I’m cold, tired. This day has lasted ages and it’s not even lunchtime. My movements are brisk as I head for the glow of the roaring fireplaces that dominate nearly every room in the castle.

A sharp squawk has me peering over my shoulder. A raven hops around on the far side of the courtyard. Funny… I hadn’t noticed it there before. The midnight bird takes flight. My eyes track it, admiring the way its wings cut through the icy air.

Movement behind the bird has me squinting against the snow. A shadowy mist shifts in the empty space just beyond the courtyard. There’s a flash of pale skin and silver eyes, and my heart picks up speed. It’s him .

A touch at my elbow makes me jump.

“Is everything alright, Princess?” Gestin peers down at me. Worry creases his face.

I shift my gaze back to the man with the silver eyes but find only snow-dusted air in his stead. Who is he ? A ghost? He could be. I’ve known my fair share of ghosts. Castle walls have a way of trapping things inside. Even the dead cannot escape their royal prison.

Gestin follows my gaze, seeking the source of my attention. “Did you see something?”

“No. Everything is fine.” I allow him to lead me inside, glancing over my shoulder once more. I find only the quiet sweep of snow and the whispers of winter on the wind.

Melly is waiting for me when I return to my room that evening. She pulls me into a fierce hug. “I’ll stay by yer side no matter where ye go.”

I sigh into her hold. “I know it. Thank you.” As my handmaiden, Melly will be expected to accompany me to my new home.

“Even help to bathe ye after you’ve taken those wrinkly old balls to bed.”

“Melly!” I draw back in shock.

Melly’s grin is too devious for her own good. “Just trying to defuse yer somber mood with a little ’umor. Ye won’t actually ’ave to touch ’is balls if ye don’t want to. It’s not a necessary part of?—”

I press a hand over her mouth. “Enough.” A smile finds its way onto my face. “Help me undress and draw me a bath. I am eager for sleep this evening.”

Gestin was true to his word. He allowed me to beat up the newer guards until the animosity had drained from my limbs. I only agreed to call it quits after the blister on my hand tore open. The damn thing burned like mad.

The warmth of the tub as I sink inside is something dangerously pleasurable.

I’m silent as Melly helps me bathe. She doesn’t mind carrying the air when I don’t feel like talking.

There appears to be an endless amount of gossip amongst the castle’s servants and staff.

I remain in the tub until it’s gone tepid, declining Melly’s offer to fetch a new round of hot water. Sleep has added weight to my eyelids.

The soft fabric of my nightgown slides across my clean skin.

After a long day in my too-tight, too-many-layers wardrobe, it’s nice to wear something so simple.

Not to mention I can finally breathe without a stuffy collar shackling my neck.

I shrug my robe on, dismissing Melly for the evening.

Once alone, I slump into the armchair by the fire.

My fingers absentmindedly stroke the silky, raised skin that runs along the column of my throat. Memories of my time outside the castle walls always arise when my world gets too quiet.

I died .

It’s still so hard to believe. The three men who snatched me from the garden and dragged me to some broken-down shack on the edge of town were brazen—at first. As their plan began to unravel and their dreams of striking it rich with a ransom turned to fears of imprisonment and beheadings, they panicked.

I’ve never screamed as loudly as I did the moment they raised that blade to my throat. All the royalty in my blood wasn’t worth much when it went spilling onto the dirty floor.

When the castle guards found me, I was breathing again. Eyes paler than before and sporting a snowy streak amongst my dark locks. Changed, but alive. How was such a feat managed? That is a curious question indeed. One that puzzled the doctors who were sworn into silence after that day.

Because in death, I was granted a gift.

The flickering flames of my personal fireplace lull me into a trance. My mouth parts wide on a yawn. Enough dwelling on the past. It is time for rest.

Toasty and half asleep, I rise from my chair and stumble toward my bed.

The sapphire-blue comforter is velvety beneath my fingers as I grip the edge, using it to haul myself into the oversized bed.

The dull thud that sounds through my room as I plop onto the mattress and snuggle into the sheets drops me further into my cozy bliss.

Rolling onto my side, I tuck my arm beneath the pillow, allowing my eyelids to finally fall shut.

Wait . They snap back open. Something caught my eye in those last few seconds. Something sitting on the pillow beside me.

Shaky fingers slide from beneath the covers to gently clasp the item.

A black feather . I sit up, fully roused now.

The feather in question belongs to what must be the largest bird to exist in these lands.

Measuring two lengths of my hands or more.

It’s soft against my blistered palm. Pinching the hollow quill between my thumb and forefinger, I raise the feather up, allowing the fire’s glow to illuminate its details.

A shimmery iridescence passes along the feather each time I move it.

What kind of bird is this? A raven, like the one from today?

I’ve certainly never seen a feather shine with a pearly hidden rainbow like this one possesses.

My thoughts switch from what kind of bird it’s from to how it got onto my pillow in the first place. Someone was in my room .

A full-body shudder courses through me. Was it him ?

I wrap myself in a blanket and pad to the window. Frost obscures my view of the outside world. I squint, my forehead pressed to the glass. There, I find the subtle outline of a man standing in the center of the garden.

A man with wings.