Page 35 of Within the Hollow Heart

The prince waited until his attention returned then said, “I suggest you take dinner in your rooms. You may not find the entire court as welcoming as its prince.” He inclined his head before turning to go then disappeared through a massive arched doorway into another room.

It had not been disagreeable advice. Noal led Nickolas—free of bonds and free of mask—through the palace to a suite of rooms. The man was as precise as any of Westrende’s top staff and had deftly introduced Nickolas to the suite as his bath and wardrobe were prepared by a few bustling fae.

Nickolas and Noal stood alone in the windowless sitting room. Nickolas ran a hand over his face. A window or balcony would do him no good in any case, not when he could not traverse the wilds on his own. “What happens now?”

“That is for the prince to decide,” Noal said.

Nickolas considered the words for a long moment, uncertain of the etiquette for any part of his situation, then asked, “How much did she get for me?”

Noal frowned. “In the end, it is often as much as they deserve.”

Sick at the thought, Nickolas only nodded. It did not matter how much his mother received in her bargain, only what dealing with the fae would cost her. And that, he was afraid, was more than she would be willing to pay. “And what’s he to do with me, this prince?”

“Feed, clothe, and provide shelter, as per the laws of hospitality.”

Nickolas narrowed his gaze. “Any chance I could get a copy of those laws?”

“It would be unnecessary, given that you are bound only by the laws of your kingdom. We, however, are bound by the laws of hospitality, as we are with all laws of Rivenwilde, and by the curse.”

“The curse?”

“I cannot answer that. As I suspect you already know that those bound by a curse may not lay out the details of its terms, it should not come as a surprise.” Noal’s thumb slid over a knuckle, where his gloved hands were held precisely before his waist. “It is not so unlike the terms of the laws of hospitality.”

“How so?”

One of Noal’s gloved fingers twitched. “Your protection under the laws of hospitality protects the prince as well. You’ll not be able to speak a word of what you’ve seen here.”

Nickolas’s breath caught in his chest.

The fae inclined his head. “Lord Brigham, if that is all.”

“You have my gratitude,” Nickolas managed. He bowed slightly, though he wasn’t certain how much of a lord he even was in the current situation.

Once Noal and the others had gone, inconceivably leaving the door to his suite unlocked, Nickolas cleaned off the mud and the muck gathered during his journey through the forest and before, when he had rolled around the courtyard building with Ian. It seemed impossible that, having had no chance to change or sleep, he was still wearing his clothes from the ball—the lovely and perfect and entirely ill-conceived ball. Nickolas sat on the edge of a chaise, staring at the finely woven rug beneath his feet. He had not allowed himself to recall the night before, had not dwelt on his last moments with Jules. Her grief and fear when she’d been discovered by the Norcliffe lord, her resignation when she’d left him standing in the chancery.

William and his mother would meet a much worse fate than Nickolas for what they’d done, but he could not fathom the distress his disappearance would cause Etta and the others. He could not guess what they would be asked to sacrifice to see his return. The price would be exorbitant.

He could not expect them to pay it.

The thoughts swirled through his head and tore at his heart, and it was there, on the fae chaise with his head in his hands, that Nickolas succumbed to sleep.

When he woke, it was with the sensation of having lost direction. The remaining candles burned low, and the unfamiliar room took on the eerie glow of half-light. He was still in shirtsleeves, the fae wardrobe laid over an adjacent chair. On a nearby table waited a plate of food along with a decanter. The pitcher and basin had been refreshed, and freshly polished boots rested near the clothes.

Nickolas stood, stumbled over the ragged jacket he’d dropped to the floor, and made his way to the door of the suite. It remained unlocked. He opened it and glanced down the empty corridor before stepping out of his room. At the far end was a set of wide double doors carved with ancient script. As if drawn to it, Nickolas moved through the corridor, careful of every doorway he passed, even though each was closed.

When he stood before the doorway, he could not quite bring his lifted hand to touch the carvings. While much of the palace and its furnishings felt clean and modern, the doors seemed as ancient as the script. Finely shaped vines trailed over the words, a phrase he thought translated to something likebalance must be kept, though one of the words might instead have beenjustice. Brow furrowed, he studied the design in grain that appeared to be hawthorn, darkened with age. A bit of moss covered one of the symbols, and he reached up to brush it away.

The doors fell open beneath his touch.

Nickolas glanced behind him, but the corridor remained empty. Before him was a room that seemed untouched by time. It was a massive open space, lit dimly by narrow gaps in a style of drapery that had not been fashionable for centuries. On high walls, the paintings and frames were of a similar sort, and centering the room was a hawthorn pedestal carved in a manner that appeared to be rooted to the floor, live vines and flowers reaching up to wrap around the base.

Upon the pedestal sat an hourglass, its sands nearly drained. That same sensation of being drawn forward had Nickolas moving, but one foot forward gave him the sense that the threshold was a boundary—similar to the wall over the Rive, which he had not liked at all.

He stepped backward, leaving the room to its peace. When the doors fell closed once more, Nickolas took two steps farther away. He turned, wiping his damp palm on his trouser leg, and surveyed the space.

At the other end of the corridor was a large open archway, soft with evening light. He traversed the distance just as carefully, passing the still-open door to his own room. He heard no sounds or indications of other occupants, even from the rooms below.

The air was cool through the open archway, its marble smooth where he placed his palm to the frame. He leaned forward, staring into a courtyard three stories below. There were no platforms or trellises, not even a statue or pool. Only the stone and the earth and a fall certain to break a good deal of bone.

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