Текст книги "Bound to the shadow prince"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Chapter

Three

That rotting bastard.

Lionel would send my pregnant, miserable sister to the tower just so he can have his warships? So he can have the offensive in his silly war against silly Darkfell? Who here at court has even seen a Fellian? They keep to their mountains. Why should we war against them? I grit my teeth, hating the king with every fiber of my being. I fist my hands against my ridiculous pink skirts, furious. “You cannot send her. She’s pregnant with your heir!”

The king affects a grieving expression. “It is true. It would be extremely inconvenient, as my love would have to give birth alone.” He gives the weeping, incredulous Erynne a woebegone expression. “But once the child is born, she can hand it over to us. It is the Royal Offering that cannot step foot outside while the Golden Moon is in the skies. My child can yet be raised at my side here at court.”

Monster.

Absolute shite-weasel monster. I hate him.

As if sensing the anger bubbling inside me, King Lionel gives me a most pious look. “Understand that it is not my choice, Princess Candromeda. But to protect my people, one of the Vestalin line must go. Surely you understand.” He looks over at Erynne and takes her hand, kissing her knuckles. “I will sacrifice my queen if it means I keep my people from harm.”

“I will go,” Erynne says in a wobbling voice, wiping tears from her eyes with her free hand. “You know I cannot let our people suffer.”

Oh, this is such dragon shite. I roll my eyes. Does she really expect me to believe that she’s going to enter the tower and give birth—alone—and then hand her baby back out to a nurse? And that she will let Lionel reign, unchecked, for the next seven years?

I sigh heavily and dramatically, because I’m cornered and I hate it. I hate all of them right now. “It seems I have no choice, do I?”

“You do have a choice,” the king says in a silky tone, looking down his nose at me. “You can plunge the kingdom into ruin…or you can act bravely for once in your life.”

Everyone in the throne room stares at me.

I truly do hate that man.

“Are you watching, my lady? You must learn how to prepare your potion.” My nurse sniffles and moves next to the fire, to where the pork pancreas and herbs are boiling over the flame.

I’m not watching. In fact, I can barely pay attention. I pace in my rooms, frustrated and panicked at how trapped I am. I’m the silly sister. The useless one. How is it that I’m being suddenly sent to the tower? All I know how to do is sing love songs and flirt with courtiers from other lands.

What am I supposed to do in a lonely tower for seven long years? Just thinking about it makes me panic.

All day, my chambers have been full of people, hastily trying to prepare me for my time in the tower. A court scribe is even now creating a book for me to take with me that will have recipes and instructions on how to make food and build a fire. How to make tea. How to mend a hole in a dress.

These are all things I have never done. I’m a noble lady. People do these things for me.

Seamstresses rush into my room with different fabrics, holding them up to my body and then racing away again. They will work all night to make me a wardrobe sufficient for my time in the tower, and down below in the courtyard, foodstuffs and fuel are being gathered. Tomorrow, the priest from the Alabaster Citadel will depart with me in a carriage, so we might arrive to the Tower of Balance on time.

I must be over the threshold before the Golden Moon arises, and we haven’t much time.

“My lady⁠—”

“I know,” I growl. “Write it all down. I will do the best I can.”

“You have to do it right, else you will get sick and die,” my nurse replies tartly and then bursts into tears.

I fight the urge to cry myself and move to her side. I squeeze her hand and let her squeeze mine back. She’s just trying to help. “I’m sorry,” I say in a low voice. “I’m…worried.”

She nods. “I would go with you if I could.”

But she can’t. The supplies I will be sent are for me and me alone. Only one with the Vestalin blood and one from the Darkfell line of princes can enter the tower. It’s tradition.

Dragon shite tradition, if you ask me. But a lot of things are dragon shite lately.

So I watch as Nurse goes through the action of making the potion again. She has three vials of it already prepared for me, but I need to learn how to make this on my own. I need to figure out how long I must boil the dried pancreas of a pig, and how much fenugreek to add, and how much water. I must learn how long to let it cool and how to boil my needles in hot water so I do not get sick. It is all so overwhelming that the knot in my throat seems permanently lodged there.

I’ll manage, though. I always manage. Somehow.

As nurse shows me for the seventh time, there’s a knock at the door. Riza comes rushing towards me, her eyes wide. “Lord Balon from Greenmoor. He wishes to speak to you before you go.”

Hmm. Lord Balon has been at court for the last several weeks flirting with me. He’s made it very clear that he’s interested in a Vestalin bride, even if I cannot have children. While I’m not in love with him, it’s flattering to be courted. Flattering, and slightly annoying that he’s showing up now. Does he expect me to ease his fears while my life is being destroyed? Or is he here to tell me he’s going to wait the seven years while I’m in the tower?

Highly, highly unlikely.

“Let Lord Balon in,” I tell Riza. “But he must be quick, there is much for me to do tonight.” I watch as another maid packs away one of my favorite dresses and try not to wince at how wrinkled it will be when it’s pulled from the trunks. Then again, I suppose it doesn’t matter. No one’s going to be there to see my dresses, wrinkled or otherwise.

I fight back the urge to cry yet again. I can’t cry. Someone will tell King Lionel, and I’ll be damned if I give that man the satisfaction of knowing that I’m utterly miserable. I put on my best smile and rise from my chair, holding my hands out to greet Lord Balon.

The young lordling rushes in, looking as dashing as ever. He loves bright, loud clothing in the latest fashions, something we’ve discussed for long stretches by the fire. He’s a pretty thing, too, with bright eyes and golden locks of hair that brush against his embroidered collar. “My dear, sweet lady,” he says, taking my hands in his gloved ones. There’s an expression of distress on his face. “I’ve just heard the news. Tell me it’s not true!”

“I’m afraid it is,” I say gently. “My sister Meryliese has gone to the gods, and no one can take her place but me.” I bite back all my bitter, angry words. They’re useless now. If I don’t go into that tower, they’ll force Erynne in my stead. It’s clear Lionel has no love for her, and if there’s one thing I’ve loved in my vain, selfish life, it’s my sister. I won’t send her in my stead, not with her pregnant and wearing the queen’s crown. She can do more good here than in there, and I hope she can stop Lionel’s stupid war before it starts.

Balon’s lower lip trembles, and for a moment, he looks incredibly young. I’d forgotten in our flirting that he’s five years younger than me. Nineteen is perfectly fine for a flirtation and the occasional bed romp—fun, even—but I’m twenty-four.

I’ll be thirty-one when I’m allowed to leave the tower. It’s a sobering thought and it makes me feel old.

“I will speak to the king,” Balon insists. “I will tell him he cannot send you. That we are to be betrothed.”

“It will do no good.” I shake my head and give his hands a tender squeeze. “I appreciate the sentiment, but a betrothal will not save me from my fate. The king means to have his war, and for his ships to sail, I must enter the tower.”

“Then we shall wed tonight,” he says fiercely, a determined look upon his young, pretty face. “And I will wait for your return.”

I manage not to grimace at his words. So it’s not about me, then. It’s about marrying my name and my fortune. Of course it is. “You will find another lady to love, my lord,” I say, keeping my tone as sweet and gracious as I can as I slip my hands from his grip. “But I will make no impulsive actions before entering the tower. You are young. Surely you will find yourself another lady to love.”

“Yes, but she will not be a Vestalin.”

Well at least he’s not hiding his ambitions. I turn back to my nurse and do my best to look busy. “I do this for the good of the kingdom, Balon. If you are yet unwed when I emerge from the tower, seek me out. I will still be a Vestalin then.”

He brightens. “Why, you’re right.” Snagging my hand, he presses a smacking kiss upon it and beams at me. “In seven years then, my sweet lady.”

When he leaves, Riza gives me a disgruntled look. “Why do you always flirt with the stupid ones, my lady?”

I sigh. “Because they’re usually the prettiest ones. I don’t like a man that’s too smart. You can’t trust them.”

“Do you think he’ll truly wait for you?” Riza asks.

I shrug. I’m not going to think about that right now. The thought of all those long, boring days trapped in the tower ahead of me is far too much for me to dwell upon. “I’m going to take it one day at a time.”

And pray to all three gods tonight that they free me from my impending doom.

Chapter

Four

Igo to bed late, after more sessions with Nurse and a few more fittings with the dressmakers. All of my gowns have to be modified to be laced in the front, since no one will be there to help me with my sleeves or my corsets. I collapse in bed, only to be woken up by a face hovering over mine, a candle illuminating my sister’s beautiful face.

“Wake up,” Erynne tells me.

I sit up, all alertness. “Are we escaping?” I ask, a flutter of excitement in my belly. Are we fleeing King Lionel then? It’s an utterly selfish move because it will doom Lionel’s fleet of ships…but it will also destroy the crops for the next several years and make food difficult for all. Yet if Erynne wants to run, I’ll gladly go with her.

My sister shakes her head and hands her candle off to Isabella, who hovers close nearby. “No, I’m afraid not. I cannot leave.” She gestures at her belly. “Not when I carry the heir to the kingdom.”

I collapse back on the bed again and pull a pillow over my face, disappointed. “Then go away. We’ll say our goodbyes in the morning.” My sister’s guilt is likely eating at her, but I don’t want to spend my last night in my own bed comforting her.

“We need to talk,” Erynne tells me, sitting on the edge of the bed. “And it must be now, when Lionel is in with his war councilors.”

Groaning, I sit up and give my sister a petulant glance. It’s hard not to be a tiny bit resentful of Erynne sometimes. She’s incredibly beautiful, with a slender, perfect figure. I’m the plump, less pretty one, with a wide smile and one tooth that’s slightly twisted and makes me look as if I’m smirking at all times. Erynne is clever and talented and she has the good blood. And the throne. And a baby.

True, she had to marry Lionel for some of those things, but I can still be petty in the middle of the night.

“You have to think about the future, Candra. Promise me that if they take you to the tower, you’re not going to run away. That if you cross the threshold, you’re going to stay there. If you forsake your duty at the last moment, all of us will suffer.”

Did she come here to chide me? I’m not going to let our people starve just because of me, no matter how much I like the thought of getting on the back of a horse and just riding away from all my problems. Of how panicked it’d make King Lionel, whose fastest ships are waiting at the harbor for a fair wind, and that if the Golden Moon isn’t given its sacrifice, that the ships will be destroyed, driven against the rocks by the wild winds, and there will be no war with Darkfell.

I like that idea quite a bit…except I can’t ride a horse.

But other than that, I’ve thought about it a great many times, all right. All day today, in fact. But of course I can’t do it. “I’m not going to run away,” I say, bitter. “Where would I go? To Darkfell?” I snort at the absurd idea. “They will impale me on a stake in front of their great stone doors as a warning to all Liosians who venture near. I am trapped, Erynne. If I go to the tower, my life is over.” I spread my hands helplessly. “And if I don’t go to the tower, my life is still over. Lionel will make sure of that.”

Her eyes glitter with tears. “I know, sister. I know. Which is why you must promise me that you’ll go.”

“I’ll go.” I sound as defeated as I feel. “Don’t worry. I will take Meryliese’s place.”

“A shipwreck,” Erynne says, fussing with my covers as tears fall down her cheeks. “I cannot believe a shipwreck is taking you away from me, and just when I need you the most. Do you know how difficult it is to be queen? To be his queen? And with the baby…”

Her words choke off.

I reach out and rub her arm. “I know. But you’ll have Isabella with you. And Riza. She’s trustworthy. Please find a place for her with your staff. And Nurse, too.” I touch her belly briefly. “Nurse will love to take care of this little one for you.”

Erynne gives me a faint smile through her tears. “Here I thought to comfort you, and you’re comforting me.”

“Well, I’ll have seven years to weep into my pillow,” I say brightly. “So I’m saving it up. It’ll give me something to do in the tower.”

She makes another choked sound, and then my sister flings her arms around my neck. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

Even though I’m trying to be strong, it’s hard not to cry as my sister sobs against my shoulder, I hug her tightly, breathing in her scent. It’s going to be the last time I get to hug her for seven long years, and we’ll both be different people when I come out. Seven years of my life is being stolen away from me for Lionel’s war, and I’m so bitter about it I want to spit…except a princess doesn’t spit. So I just hug Erynne and try not to think about the future. One day at a time, I remind myself. Or you’ll collapse before you ever make it to the tower. “I’m going to miss you, too. So much. But you’ll have your baby soon. Every time you think of me, just hug her.”

“But I’m going to be the last Vestalin,” she chokes, hugging me tighter.

My belly clenches. “I’m not dying, Erynne. I’m just getting shut away for seven years.”

“Right. Of course. I’m sorry.” My sister pulls back, and the expression on her face is grave as she studies me. “I brought you something, but you must tell no one that you have it.”

Well this sounds properly ominous. “What is it?”

I’m not sure what to expect from my sister. Erynne has always been the dutiful one, the one who is good and sweet and follows the rules. I’m the one that got caught losing her virginity in the chapel with one of the court knights. I’m the one who falls asleep during Lionel’s speeches, or gets in trouble for embroidering mustaches onto all the important historical tapestries. What could Erynne possibly give me? A dirty book? A key so I can let myself out?

I’m more than a little perturbed when she produces a knife and holds it out to me.

“You want me to kill myself the moment I get into the tower?” I ask, blank with surprise.

“No,” she hisses, grabbing my hand and forcing me to take the sheathed weapon from her hand. “This is to protect you, Candra. Use your head.”

“I would, but right now it’s filled with all the recipes Riza has been trying to get me to learn in the past day,” I joke half-heartedly. “What am I supposed to do with a knife? Is it for cooking?”

Erynne gives me an exasperated look. “Don’t be dense, Candra.”

“I’m not being dense. You’re the one giving me a knife!”

“Look.” She closes my fingers around it and pushes it towards me. “You’re going to be trapped in that tower with someone from the Darkfell bloodline. You must defend yourself if they try anything.”

My mouth goes dry and I stare down at the little knife in horror. There’s been so much going on that I haven’t given much thought to the fact that I’m going to be trapped in a tower for the next seven years with someone whose kingdom has sworn to destroy ours. Someone who Lionel will be declaring war against the moment I step foot inside the tower.

Suddenly a knife no longer seems like a silly gift. I clutch it tightly to my chest. The hilt can’t be more than the length of my finger, and the blade small and slightly curved. “It’s rather small for a murder weapon.”

“You’ll be locked in the tower,” Erynne says. “Figure out some poisons if you like, and rub them on the blade.” The look on her face is intense. “This is the dagger mother gave me when she was on her deathbed. It’s infused with magic.”

My jaw drops. “Magic?”

Also, I’m hurt that our mother gave Erynne a secret gift as she lay dying. All I got was a pat on the hand and instructions to “be good.” I wonder what else has gone on behind my back.

Erynne nods. “The magic of the gods is bound to this blade. It can answer true or false questions. When the answer is true, the knife will shiver in your hand. False, and it will have no response.”

That sounds strange. I flip the sheathed weapon over in my hand, eyeing it. It seems rather plain for a magical weapon. “And are you magical, blade?”

The thing positively shivers.

I yelp and drop it on the bed. For a moment, it felt alive.

Erynne picks it up again and holds it out to me. “I can’t be with you in the tower, but you can ask it questions about us back here. And you can ask it to give you advice about the other person in the tower with you. You might have to take drastic action, Candra. I know you joke that you’re a weak thing, but you’re strong, and you’re determined.” The look in her eyes is fervent as she leans in. “Both you and the Fellian must step across the threshold of the tower, and no one can enter or leave for seven years. Nothing says that both of you must be alive the entire time. Remember the stories of Old Eliza?”

Wordlessly, I take the knife from her again. I do remember. Old Eliza was of the Vestalin bloodline and served the tower two hundred years ago. She went in at the age of ninety and after seven years, she did not come out. They went in to find her and found a skeleton lying in bed, hands politely folded over her breast, and she had died of old age. Yet the kingdom had seen prosperity, because Eliza had never stepped foot outside the tower. “So you’re saying that I should go to the tower, murder the Darkfell sacrifice, and sit with the body for the next seven years?”

“If it’ll keep you alive.” Erynne’s gaze is hard. “Then yes, that is exactly what you should do.”

I shake my head, horrified at her suggestion. “I’m not a murderer.”

“Then you have two days to learn to become one,” my sister the queen says. “Because after you go into the tower, Lionel’s ships are going to sail for Darkfell. And if their Royal Offering has a way to get information from outside, they might come seeking revenge on you. Seven years is a very long time to be locked away with the enemy.”

Staring down at the knife in my hands, I clasp it to my breast and nod. I hate this. I hate all of it, and the situation seems to be getting worse by the moment. At least my sister wants me to go in prepared for anything.

If it’s as bad as she says it is, I might have to strike first, and the thought sends fear racing through me.

Chapter

Five

I’m awoken before dawn the next morning and dressed in a traveling gown. The court is not there to see me off, because my journey to the tower must be done in secret, lest we run into Darkfell assassins or even brigands from our own country. My sister and the king are there to wish me safe journey, but the goodbye is a tepid one. We hugged and wept (or at least Erynne did) last night. Today, she only touches my hands briefly and gives me words of encouragement for the sacrifice I am making for the kingdom.

Lionel only says “Go with the gods.”

I wish utter disaster upon him. Not Erynne, just Lionel. But I smile sweetly and curtsy because my sister is married to him, and she’s trapped as much as I am.

And then I’m loaded into a carriage at the head of our caravan, the escort from the Alabaster Citadel riding atop a white steed beside my coach. We move slowly along the coast, trunks of dresses and foodstuffs packed into the wagons behind my carriage, all of it guarded by the king’s military retinue and finest knights. The journey is faster over sea, but of course we won’t be going that route until it’s no longer avoidable. I think of Meryliese and the terrible shipwreck, and I can’t imagine what must have happened. Did she drown? Or was she crushed when the ship was destroyed? Or did the monsters of the sea finish her off? Her body was never found, so I assume any number of horrible fates.

I gaze out the window at the blue waters, trying to absorb every bit of the outdoors and fresh air. I’m told the tower has no windows, and that I must be careful with the candles packed for me, because they must last an entire year. Every summer the Gray Moon disappears for a day, and then we mortals are without any gods to watch over us. On that day, new supplies will be brought to me so I can continue to live on in comfort at the tower. They will give me no reason to leave.

Not that I can leave, of course. The door will be bricked up behind me and I will be sealed in.

Just thinking about it makes a panicky knot form in my throat. I stare at the coast, willing something to happen. For the gods to step in. For a monster to rise from the shadowy depths of the waters and knock the tower into the sea. I give myself a vial of prepared medicine, feeling faint at the sight of the needle entering my arm. I want to throw up, but I force it back, shoving down the plunger on the syringe as quickly as I can. My head swims as the carriage rocks back and forth, dragging me onward to my doom. We travel through the night, and I do my best to sleep despite the continual jostling motion.

“Will I be saved from my fate?” I ask the dagger, trying it out.

Nothing happens. There’s no resultant shiver, and I frown and shove it into my bodice, tucking the sheath into my cleavage. Stupid knife. It doesn’t know anything. Erynne probably just gave it to me to make me feel better.

The thing shivers between my breasts, and I clutch the front of my bodice.

Okay, so the knife can pick up my thoughts. Good to know. Certainly not unnerving at all.

The hated tower comes into sight the next morning, just shortly after dawn. Now, when I look out to the crystalline blue waters of the sea, I see something large and menacing rising up from the waters themselves, like a hand reaching towards the heavens. That’s the tower, situated on a tiny island where nothing dwells. The reality of my fate sinks in and I take frantic, shallow breaths as I stare out at the detested spire that blots the horizon. Soon, we’ll board a ferry and make our way to the island, where we’ll meet the contingent from Darkfell and the ceremony will begin.

Is it too late to escape?

The knife between my breasts shivers and I choke back a sob. I won’t cry now. I’ll cry when I’m locked in the tower.

Years of court intrigue have enabled me to keep a cool demeanor as we make it to the edge of Lios’s lands. For as long as I can see, the waters along the shore are empty and calm, gently brushing against the tall cliffs. I know just to the north, though, the beaches are covered with ships being loaded with supplies. Armored men practice drills, and sailors ready the sails for the upcoming departure. All waits upon me, and the moment I cross the threshold of the Tower of Balance, the war will begin.

But for now, all is peaceful, and I enjoy the sight of the beaches, as this is the last day I will spend outside for the next seven years.

I watch in silence as a nearby ferry is loaded with my trunks and cask after cask of dried foodstuffs. I have a list that Riza made for me of all the things they have brought for me, along with meal suggestions to make my supplies last. She’s truly tried to make this easy on me, and I should be grateful. I know she’s as anxious as I am because she loves me, but right now she’s with my sister back at Castle Lios and I’m staring down the Tower of Balance, which is a spindly, menacing finger on the horizon.

It’s hard to feel grateful for anything right now.

When the ferry is finally loaded, one of the knights helps me onto it. I’m immediately surrounded by guards—I suppose so I can’t fling myself into the waters—and kept carefully in the middle of the raft as several men take their places at the sides of the flat boat and pole it across the shallow, wide waters of the channel.

The Tower of Balance rises before us, menacing and dark.

I thought it would look more like the Alabaster Citadel, which is made entirely of pale brick and marble. It has gilt edges on all the windows and stained glass everywhere, and it’s a square, solid building of beauty that priests from other countries flock to in order to pay their respects. Or I thought perhaps it’d be like Lios Castle, old and stately, with large, rounded turrets, a heavy wall surrounding the keep, and an austere interior covered in banners and made important by the presence of the royal family and their retinue.

Nope. This tower is positively menacing. It rises up with no windows or visible brick, thick and twisting. Four spaced out, tall battlements protrude from the squared-off top of the tower, and it makes it look as if the tower itself is trying to claw the Golden Moon from the skies.

I hate it. Of course I do. But I keep myself composed. I’ll have seven years inside to crumble and fall apart at my leisure. For now, I have to be a Vestalin and bring honor to myself and my sister.

Honor is really annoying me at the moment, though. I’d much rather be a craven coward, because then at least I’d be a coward in the sunlight.

I squint up at the tower, trying to figure out how many rooms the tower must be. Funny how all the legends say nothing about the living quarters inside the tower itself. Most don’t care, I suppose, as they’ll never live here. Lucky me. I put a hand to my eyes, shielding them from the sunlight that I’m going to dearly miss, and try to assess the tower as we slowly pole our way across the waters. The base of the tower looks much wider the closer we get, and I suspect that this tower could have several rooms to each floor. It’s surprisingly huge, with only a tiny bit of beach skirting it and nothing else on the island, not even a tree.

Not that trees matter since we aren’t supposed to go outside, but it’s just an odd structure. Legend says that the gods themselves pulled it from the ground, and I always thought that was rubbish. Now, looking up at the massive column of it rising up to the skies, I’m not so sure.

The moment our raft touches shore, I suck in a breath. The men file off immediately, the raft bobbing, and then one of the knights offers me his hand. I take it, letting him guide me out to shore, and my shoes sink into the sand. For a moment, everyone seems to forget about me. The men are busy loading a sled with my trunks, so it can be pulled to the entrance. The priests accompanying me to say the ritual over my “sacrifice” are busy praying, and I’m left to my own devices. The wind rips at my skirts as I walk up and down our small strip of shore. I get bored watching the men load my things so I turn and head down the beach.

There’s a door in the distance, large and square, made of heavy wood and covered with swirling iron reinforcements. Nearby is a pile of bricks and one of the men is mixing what looks like cement. My tongue glues itself to the roof of my mouth once I realize that he’s going to brick the door up after I’m inside so I can’t get out.

Nausea surges in my throat. Breathe, I remind myself. Breathe. Be dignified. You can have a breakdown once you’re inside and no one can see. I straighten my spine and keep walking, and as I do, I see them.

Strange figures stand on the far shore. They’ve come from the opposite direction we have, and while I stand out in the sunlight with my hair loose and my gown swirling around my legs, they’re heavily cloaked in dark colors, hoods pulled over their faces. They look like ominous specters, looming in the lone shadow of the tower.

Darkfell.

For a moment I panic, and then I realize why they’re here.

Of course. Their sacrifice must be given to the tower, as well. I scan the large, broad-shouldered figures, trying to see if I can make out which one is the person that will be their sacrifice, but it’s impossible to tell. One of the figures pauses and turns towards me, and catlike green eyes gleam under the darkened hood.

With a terrified squeak, I turn and head back towards my people. I remember Erynne’s words. After you go into the tower, Lionel’s ships are going to sail for Darkfell. And if their person has a way to get information from outside, they might come seeking revenge on you.

Do they know Lionel and his army are waiting to sail even now? Biting my lip, I head back to my group, where the knights stand on shore, watching everything with bored expressions. Part of me wants to tell them that I just saw Darkfell’s people, but it seems a foolish thing to report on. Of course I saw them. They’re here to deliver their Royal Offering to the tower, just as we are.

The massive sled is finally loaded, and several men take it by rope pulls and drag it towards the main door. I follow behind them, frowning at the mountain of crates and barrels loaded atop it. “You do know I won’t be able to pull that into the tower on my own?”

The knight next to me considers, rubbing his bearded chin. “We’ll get it up to the door and push it through. Once it’s inside, you can unload it slowly at your leisure. Unless you’d like to leave some of this behind?”

“No, I want it all,” I reply, trying not to scowl. I guess I won’t have much to do except unload things. The trunks will be heavy, though. Maybe my room isn’t at the top of the tower. Has no one ever thought about the logistics of this? It’s simply ridiculous. My maids packed me dozens of dresses, as that’s what’s required in court, but standing here on the beach, I’m tired just looking at the sheer mass of trunks that I’ll have to put away.