Page 22 of The Shattered King

I dropped the piece I was weighing. “ Milk bees? For how educated you are, Your Highness, that was rather obtuse phrasing.”

I felt distantly, through my actual hands, the soft vibration of him chuckling. “Yes, I know how honey works. I just wanted to see if I could get your face to change.”

I picked up the piece and set it in the heavier pile. “Pardon?”

“You look ... entranced, when you dowse,” he explained. “Like you’re asleep, but with your eyes open. Hooded. Like you’re staring into something none of us can see, but it’s absolutely hypnotized you.”

I had never considered before that during these sessions, the prince might simply be looking at me.

Staring at my face, or whatever else might garner his attention, without my knowing it.

It made me feel a little ... warm. And yet I recognized for all the time I spent in his space, touching him, he had never once needlessly touched me, and for that I felt a sudden surge of gratitude.

Before I could form a retort, I felt a tap on my physical hand. Ever since my stint in the infirmary, Prince Renn was always sure to warn me if he needed to move and break our connection. I pushed the two piles apart to ensure they stayed sorted and lifted from the prince’s lumis.

Our eyes met, his that ever-deep blue. His irises shifted toward the door.

Withdrawing from him on the sofa, I noted a footman with a silver tray; the prince had been getting more notes as of late, more invitations, as his health allowed him more opportunity to socialize.

Today’s silver tray bore quite a few; Renn leaned forward to collect three, and then the footman turned the tray and offered it to me.

“Two for Miss Tallowax.”

Only one was sealed. I took it from the tray as though it were a holy relic, absently picking up the other note as well. I instantly recognized Lissel’s handwriting. I dropped the second message and used my mother’s knife to shakily open the envelope, terrified of ruining the missive within.

“What is it?” Prince Renn asked as the footman excused himself.

“From Lissel, my sister.” A single page of paper, front and back, the lines cramped to use up as much space as possible.

I consumed the words, reading the letter through once quickly, then again at a more measured pace.

She started by saying how grateful she was to hear from me, that they had feared the worst, that I’d been lost at sea or thrown in prison (though I suppose the latter was true).

She updated me on the house—the roof was leaking, but Art Millstone had offered to fix it for them, which immediately made me uneasy, for that boy had been moon-eyeing my sister for two years now, and neither Brien nor I were in the house to scare him off.

He was not quite old enough to be taken by the draft.

The hives were doing well (thank goodness), but she’d missed one of the market days and she was very sorry.

Heath had been acting up and wouldn’t listen to her, but he finally annoyed Colt to the point where they fought and Heath got a black eye.

Lissel promised she’d sorted it out, and confided that even Colt softened when she cried, so she’d been crying a lot more lately.

I worried her tears were far more genuine than that, for I knew the difficulty of caring for so many, and my heart broke on her behalf.

She updated me on what they’d been doing, and that Dan was struggling with his apprenticeship but didn’t know what to do—Lissel had talked him out of quitting (good, because we could not afford to have grief with the tanner, and Dan had only six months remaining).

She ended saying everything was fine, but to please come home as soon as possible, which meant everything was not fine, and the whole of my innards sank toward the floor at the thought.

I blinked, a tear catching on my eyelashes.

“Nym?”

I met the prince’s eyes. “Might I use your desk?” I felt comfortable asking. The prince and I had been together, every day, for two months now. “Please, I would like to write home.”

“Of course.” He hesitated as I folded up the letter and rose from the sofa. “I ... didn’t know you could read.”

“All my family can. You get ahead in life, reading.” My father shared that saying whenever one of us complained of the task of learning. I sat at Renn’s desk and pulled out a parchment. Paused. “Thank you. So much. It means a lot to me.”

He nodded.

The room fell away as I wrote back to Lissel, telling her how to sweet-talk the tanner, reminding her to inspect the hives’ brood, and to take Art’s help but to make sure Dan was in the house, and if he didn’t understand why or refused to do it, to show him this letter and let him know I Will Make Your Life Hell If You’re Not There, Dan Tallowax .

I wrote a similar threat to Heath for his behavior and then turned the page over, telling them all the interesting things about Rove and the castle to entertain them, leaving out the negative, though I did describe the dungeon, and maybe they would sort out how it was I knew it with such familiarity.

I blew on the ink to ensure it dried, then carefully folded up the letter. Turning in the chair, I asked, “How can I best seal and post—”

The prince had leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, one of the footman’s notes in his hand, his brow creased.

I noted his three missives at his hip—the one he held in his hand was mine.

I could not bring myself to be bothered by it—I couldn’t think of who else might have need to contact me.

Lonnie knew where to find me. It must have been a request for healing.

I tucked the letter to my family into my pocket and crossed over to him. “What?”

He folded the note and palmed it. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Good sir, that is my correspondence,” I pressed, but it didn’t crack his sober expression. Worry niggled at my gut. “Is someone hurt?”

He sighed. Handed me the missive.

Healer,

Report to my rooms at eight. East wing. Come alone.

Adrinn

I stared at that name a long time, confused. “Is your brother hurt?”

“Don’t go,” he answered instead.

Were it any normal man, I certainly wouldn’t.

But I’d had enough reprimands and trips to the dungeon at the behest of nobility that I hesitated to ignore the missive.

I crunched the note in my palm and stuck it in my other pocket.

“Does he have a particular distaste for Whitestone?” Perhaps we shared that in common.

But Prince Renn shook his head. Met my eyes. The sheer blueness of them often startled me, as it did now. So painfully bright against the red of his clothing, like they were one spark away from glowing. “Do not go.”

“Will you fetch me from the dungeon again if I refuse?”

“I order you not to go,” he said instead, all seriousness. “You can stay here until the time is past.”

I sat on the sofa. Searched his face. “Why? What does he want?”

The prince shifted uneasily. “I do not ... trust Adrinn. I love him—he is my brother. I help him when he asks. But I do not trust him, and you shouldn’t, either.” He looked at my face like it was a book, eyes moving left to right. I wondered what he read there.

I considered this. “Perhaps he has an embarrassing wound he does not wish to make public.”

“Then I will come with you.”

Sten interjected, “You are dining with the king tonight, Your Highness.”

Prince Renn growled deep in his throat. His father rarely reached out to him. “Good. Nym will attend me. I’m not feeling well today.”

Liar . But I did not call him out on it. His concern concerned me. Then again, I wondered what an angry heir might do if I avoided him. I was not afraid of Prince Adrinn, not yet, but neither did I want to meet with him, nor any man, alone.

Then I looked at Sten, and realized Prince Adrinn always had a parade of guards trailing him wherever he went, too.

There was no way they’d let a common crafter with a macabre lumis be alone with him.

Not when her sole patient also had claim to the throne.

Still, the request made me uneasy, as did Prince Renn’s reaction to it.

“Lissel?”

Her name broke me from my thoughts. “She’s ... surviving.”

He nodded. I’d told him a little about my family during breaks between dowsings, when he wasn’t occupied with court or training or all the other things princes did.

A trumpet blew outside.

“Where are they going?” I asked, focused on the window.

“Turrn.” He named a city on the northern coast. “Sestan ships were spotted in the waters there.”

I frowned. “What do they want? Why this hostility?”

Prince Renn shook his head. “I honestly don’t know, which is infuriating.

How do you strategize when you don’t understand your enemy’s motivations?

Negotiations are in order, but my parents are being oddly stubborn about them.

They do not want King Nicosia on Canseren soil.

But the king will not send emissaries in his place. ”

I frowned. “Sounds like a matter of pride on both sides.”

He tilted his head, thoughtful.

I cracked my knuckles, dropped onto my knees, and readied to dowse again. But the prince pushed my hands away and instead reached for the danerin board.

“Let’s take a break,” he offered, setting up the pieces. “This time, I’m going to win.”

He did not.

I did attend the dinner with Prince Renn, taking my position as shadow beside Ard, who, at least outwardly, seemed a little less put out by me than before.

I didn’t bring it up, and neither did he.

Shockingly, Sten was the chattiest of the prince’s guard, and we only exchanged a few pleasantries a day at best.