Page 7 of Fit for a Prince (Fit For A Crown #1)

Chapter seven

“ D on’t say anything, but there’s a biscuit under your teacup,” Mara whispered to me as she glanced nervously around the empty bedroom. “Eat it quickly. I’ll sweep up any crumbs.”

It pained me to see Mara so anxious, but my stomach growled with gratitude as I peeked under the flipped teacup.

A stale, dry biscuit had never looked so appetizing.

Mara stood in front of me as I devoured the pathetic excuse for a meal in three quick bites.

She gave me a moment to sweep up the crumbs left on the plate and pop them into my mouth, then went to work inspecting the floor and table for any remaining evidence.

“Thank you, Mara,” I mumbled after a cotton-mouthed swallow.

“Shh. I merely brought you tea, my lady.” Mara tweezed an invisible crumb off the rug with her fingers. “Nothing more. ”

“Right, thank you immensely for the tea,” I said as I felt the biscuit sink into my stomach like a rock in a river.

It had been four days since I’d last been delivered any food. Mara had been able to bring me tea trays in the morning and afternoon, but not even a spoonful of sugar or a drop of cream had been permitted to come along with it.

It wasn’t anything I wasn’t already used to. We’d gone almost a week without food in the dungeons at times, but at least then I didn’t have anyone watching me wither. As terrified as Mara was of the guards, she was even more worried about watching me starve.

During my forced fasting period, she’d snuck me two biscuits and once slipped a spoonful of honey into my tea. It wasn’t much to live off of, but the gestures meant more than I could say.

“I really hope the king ends your punishment soon,” Mara said as she swept the remaining crumbs she’d collected into the fire. “How does he expect you to impress the princes if you’re too weak to even stand?”

“He never said he wanted me to succeed,” I said as I filled my teacup with the plain black tea.

“Only that he wanted to strip the old king of everything he ever had. And of course, he still wants to be entertained. However, if that was what he truly wanted then he would have enjoyed me making a show of his sons’ dinner. ”

But the king didn’t just want a show; he wanted to win. It was my job to determine what game he was currently playing and figure out the rules for myself.

“Clearly, he didn’t appreciate your first impression.

” Mara dabbed a bead of sweat from her forehead with the corner of her apron, still looking flushed from her risky biscuit delivery.

“I do hope you realize now just how dangerous it can be to neglect the rules. King Septimus doesn’t mind watching us suffer. ”

Us. The Ivalonian slaves both in servants’ uniforms and ballgowns.

“I understand, but I don’t regret it,” I said, looking at Mara’s frown through the thick steam of my cup.

“The king may not have appreciated the impression that I left, but at least I left an impression. My survival is tied to the princes, so if I want to tie them back to me, I need to be on their minds as often as possible.”

Mara scrunched up her apron in her palms, her scarred face flickering in the firelight. I wondered what horrors those kind eyes had seen.

“I’m not sure that angering them is the best way to be remembered,” Mara said with a nibble of her lip. “You need to marry one of them, so wouldn’t it be better if they liked you?”

“Eventually,” I said, my stomach grumbling as it tore through the biscuit. “But I can’t get anyone to like me if I never get a chance to see them.”

“Which is exactly why you should focus on behaving,” Mara said. “The king will never let you out if he doesn’t trust you.”

“The king will never trust me,” I said.

“Then how can you ever expect his sons to?” Mara’s words struck a nerve that made my tea taste even more bitter.

She’s right.

I pressed a thumb to my forehead, wondering if it was the lack of food or Aemastia’s elevation that was making it so hard to think clearly. I rubbed my skull, secretly knowing the real reason I was already acting like such a fool.

Damon.

I missed him, despite everything I’d done to him. As awful as he could be, I missed the security and power he gave me. It was easier to be hard on the Aemastian princes when my heart still wanted to mourn the Ivalonian prince.

But Mara had a point. I couldn’t gain their trust if I never let my walls down. If I was going to survive long enough to free my people, then I needed to be smarter about how I rebelled. I couldn’t avenge anyone if I ended up dead.

A knock rattled the bedroom door, nearly scaring poor Mara out of her skin. She squealed and her face went ashen as she started frantically searching for any lingering crumbs.

“Th-they know, they must—”

“Quiet,” I shushed her, shooting her a stern glare that forced her to suck in a breath. “There’s nothing to know. Now go open the door.”

Mara nodded, her skin still blanched, but her hands were at least tucked under her apron so she could hide their shaking. She knocked back on the door, signaling for the guard to unlock it with a heavy chink of the key.

The door swung open, and the burly guard didn’t even pay her any notice as he made direct eye contact with me.

“The king has commanded you to dine with the princes for the midday meal,” the guard said shortly. “You have thirty minutes to get ready.” As quickly as he came, the guard slipped back into the hall and locked the door shut.

Mara waited for a long count of ten, then let out a held breath only to suck it back in and run to my side. “Only thirty minutes! We must hurry and get you ready. Your punishment must finally be over. Oh joy!”

Was it though? Or was this just the grand finale ?

I carefully rose from my seat while Mara flitted around the room, reaching for the approved gown that had been chosen by an Aemastian housekeeper.

I considered the invitation, running my tongue across the back of my teeth as I thought about the irony of it all.

After four days of starving me, the king insisted I eat my first meal in front of his sons.

This was no joyous moment; this was the king’s attempt to humble me before the princes I’d insulted. I was finally starting to understand the true rules of the palace. If I wanted to eat, the princes had to accept me. But how could I make them accept me when they refused to respect my strengths?

I could always flaunt my weaknesses instead.

A slow smile crawled up my lips as a dangerous idea spread through my mind.

I couldn’t afford many more rebellious choices, but I could afford at least one, especially if it was a prince’s idea.

.. If they couldn’t accept my strengths, then I’d meet them when I was at my weakest. We’d see which one had enough of a heart to harbor sympathy.

After all, that was what the king wanted. He wanted them to see me weak, and I’d best not disappoint his majesty.

“Quickly, we must get you dressed,” Mara said as she rushed over with a satin silver gown .

“Yes, but I won’t be wearing that,” I said, causing Mara to stop in her tracks. “I have a different dress in mind.”

“A-A different dress?” Mara blinked. “But, my lady. You can only wear clothes that the Aemastian servants or the princes approve of.”

“Oh, but a prince did approve,” I said with a devious smile.

“What? Which one?” Mara watched as I walked over to the wardrobe and started thumbing through the gowns until my fingers found the scratchy burlap from my prison frock.

“Don’t know, the messenger didn’t specify.” I shrugged as I strung together my crafty lie. I pulled out the dingy excuse for a dress and held it up to my shoulders. “But I would be foolish not to do what a prince requested.”