Page 7 of The Royal Curse

The prospect of staying home, of missing this chance to escape the curse of my tainted magic, and because of the fuckingweatherof all things…I might go mad. They’d scheduled the conclave for the winter and in its specific location to cater to one of the founders of it, who’d grown so old and frail he might not last to the spring and certainly couldn’t travel. When I’d received the letter informing me of this, I’d shrugged at the mild inconvenience, unable to even imagine that the time of year would matter to me.

Next time I wouldn’t underestimate my mother and sister’s abilities to make my life hell.

“If I looked less like him, do you think she’d be less strict? No don’t answer that,” I said bitterly. “You’re on her side. But it’s irrational. You know that, even if you won’t admit it. Phil, you have to help me change her mind. I need to go. My future depends on it.”

She sniffed and sipped her tea, eyeing me over the rim of her cup. “Father did die while he was away from home, I admit,” she said after a moment. “And perhaps that has some small influence on Mama’s—”

“Horseshit, Phil! Utter rot. It has all the influence on her decision, and she can’t keep us all locked up here like treasures in a cabinet forever! Don’t tell me you don’t still regret it that she didn’t allow you to go to the university hospital in Antua instead of studying here.”

A crimson stain spread along her cheekbones, and she set her teacup down with a clatter. “That’s not the same! I couldn’t go because of my responsibilities here. It would’ve been perfectly safe. But this wouldn’t be, and you know it. The last one of these meetings you went to was only a quick sea voyage away through friendly waters. You’ve never gone so far from home and you’re not an experienced traveler, and more than that—Niko, she doesn’t trust you.” Philippa lifted her chin and stared me down levelly, giving me her heir-to-the-crown look that meant business. “You’ve proven to her again and again that you won’t follow her rules for your safety unless you think you’ll get caught. As soon as you’re out of sight and in charge, who knows what you’ll do.”

That hit hard, a blow to the sternum that had me gasping like a landed fish.

Unfair. Completely, horribly unfair.

But no matter how unfair it might be, I’d brought it on myself. Those rides alone along the river…if I’d known the consequence would be missing this twice-in-a-decade opportunity to have some real help with my condition? I’d have taken a guard. A dozen guards. I’d have stayed home in my room. I’d have done anything, no matter how it chafed.

But it had never occurred to me that my mother would deny me this. Not when it might be the key to my future.

“Phil,” I choked out, sitting up, holding out a hand to her. “I give you my word I’d—”

“It’s too late for that,” she said, not unkindly, but with finality. And she stood, shaking out her petticoats and slipping out from behind the table. “Mama won’t listen to you on this subject. And I won’t get in the middle of it. Besides, I’m sorry to say I don’t trust you on this either. You’d give your word to be careful, but ‘careful’ is subjective. If the road became truly unsafe, I don’t believe you’d turn back rather than convince yourself you could make it through and that ‘care’ could be exercised along the way without breaking your promise. I need to join her with the ambassador now, Niko, excuse me.”

A moment later I was alone in the ringing silence left by her shutting the door behind her.

Just me and the remnants of the cakes on a silver tray, with the fire crackling softly in the background. A still-hot half pot of tea. Silk damask upholstery beneath my rigid, clawing fingertips and a soft carpet cushioning my feet.

Luxury.

And I thought I might scream, flip the tea tray and send it flying to splatter jam all over the sofa opposite and the richly embroidered velvet window curtains beyond, smash the table to smithereens and run shrieking down the corridor.

Comfort and safety mattered to me, and I appreciated them.

But some things were more important.

Stiffly, moving slowly to keep myself under control—and because my vision had gone gray and blotchy—I got up, opened the door, went down the hall and up the stairs. If I passed anyone, I didn’t see them or respond to any greetings they might have offered. There was no sign of Andreas. Perhaps he’d considered the queen’s own study to be safe enough for his charge. But he wouldn’t be far away, and he seemed to have some kind of magic of his own: he could always find me, and on the two occasions I’d tried to give him the slip he’d popped up out of nowhere, smiling and unruffled.

Damn him, damn him to hell, because if it hadn’t been for him I’d have mounted Fluffy and set out for the conclave now, disappearing into the hills and taking back roads, making a run for it. Maybe they’d have found me and dragged me home, but at least I’d have had a chance.

I shut and locked the door to my suite, opened a bottle of wine, and went out to the terrace, not even bothering with a goblet. A deep swig, and I collapsed onto the chaise lounge I kept out here so that I could watch the moon and the stars through the trellised arches over the parapet at night, or enjoy the breeze during the day. The weather had finally turned wintry this week, and even though the sun shone pale and bright, an icy wind nipped at my fingers and reddened my cheeks.

Who the hell cared.

I drank deeply, and the chill receded—but the cold unhappiness in my chest and belly didn’t melt in the slightest.

Brisk footsteps on the stairs up to my terrace from the garden attracted my attention, but I didn’t bother turning my head, simply lying there still and silent. I hadn’t been sleeping. That would’ve been too much of an escape. Instead I’d been motionless for hours, watching the shadows lengthen and the birds chirp and flutter their way to bed, mentally composing a letter to the organizers of the conclave informing them that I wouldn’t be attending.

Masochistic, yes, but at least it kept me from mentally shouting at my mother, my only other viable option for wallowing in despair.

I’d finished the bottle and a second one, but hadn’t bothered to fetch a third, so I wasn’t all that drunk anymore, I didn’t think. Merely…numb. Mama didn’t usually change her mind once she’d made it up, and if Philippa agreed with her, the case was completely hopeless.

The footsteps got louder and closer and then Andreas appeared, standing at the foot of my chaise and frowning, holding up a lantern that nearly blinded me. The last of the twilight had faded out of the sky a while ago.

“You missed supper and didn’t answer your door,” he said abruptly, and then belatedly added, “Your Highness. I’m glad to find you alive. And equally glad I’m not interrupting an assignation. That would’ve been awkward for everyone.”

I stared at him for a moment before I burst into laughter—and not because of his pathetic attempt at a joke. The spasms made me sick, bubbling up from a place that felt more like weeping. “An assignation,” I choked out. “Of course. I can’t even get it up, Andreas!”

Well, shit. Maybe I was still a bit drunk. More than a bit.

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