Page 21 of Immortal Origins
A vast courtyard opened on the other side, circular and full of lush, colorful life in every corner. Flowers native to every corner of the kingdom brightly displayed their radiance: roses from the mountains, lilies from the southeast—and even a rare flower and one of her favorites: moonbeam. A beautiful lily that glowed under moonlight. There were even ghost orchids—rare and only found in a small swampy area of the continent. A secret garden. And one that had been maintained with an immense amount of love and care. Each bush trimmed to precision and expertly arranged to flow through the garden in a whirlwind of color.
“Where are we?” Ambrose breathed as she let the scents and sights wash over her, flowers mixing together in a blend of aroma. It was truly incredible. Flowers that weren’t even in season bloomed in full burst.
“I’m taking you to my bed chambers,” he replied without looking back.
Ambrose was so invested in the garden, it took a moment for his words to register. “I’m sorry, what?” She stopped dead in her tracks.
“I won’t repeat myself, servant.”
“Don’t call me servant.” She wasn’t a servant. Not anymore.
He turned to her, brow raised at her command. “What should I call you then?”
“You can call me by my name.” She pushed past him, eager to get out of his garden. She wasn’t staying with aroyal. She’d rather sleep outside.
He laughed. “That would require you to tell me what it is.”
Blood rushed to Ambrose’s ears and the warmth spread across her face. He knew her name. She’d served him for over two decades, day after day. And regardless of that, hejustheard her make the pledge. Red seeped into the corners of her vision as she evaluated how much he was toying with her. She took a deep breath and put on a sickly sweet smile that she knew he’d see for what it was.
“Ambrose,” she replied curtly, “My name is Ambrose.”
“Ambrose…Little Rose,” he mused.
“Ambrose. That’s it. Just Ambrose.” How arrogantlythe royals treated them, as if they were nothing. Playing with them for their own pleasure.
“Whatever you say, Little Rose,” he smirked from behind her.
She wouldn’t give him the pleasure. Wouldn’t let it get to her how small he wanted to make her feel. Insignificant. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of getting under her skin. Not today. Today, she had survived.
She decided to change the subject, “Why are you taking me to your chambers and not the fighter dormitories?”
“How else am I going to keep my eye on you? We can’t have you staying in the fighters’ wing, something like you wouldn’t last a night among those brutes.” Ambrose scoffed at his assumption. “And, I can’t have you sneaking off in the middle of the night, can I? Not when you’re as resourceful as you are.”
“Resourceful?” she repeated.
Akadian stepped closer to her, the heat from his magick pulsing from his skin as it grazed hers. “You know where they found you?” Ambrose turned away, hoping he wouldn’t see her expression. He placed a hand on the small of her back and his magick sent a tingling current up her spine and down her body to her toes. She bit back a gasp as he guided her to the center of the garden. Every direction encased them in flora so thick, the air hung around them with a heavy silence. Ambrose was sure that standing right there, no one in the world could hear them. A crafty magick. Akadian waved a hand and a thick, red wooden door with iron bars crossing every way appeared. He placed his open palm on the door and the bars pulled back until they revealed a brass handle in the center, which he turned and pushed the door open. He continued as they walked through it, “They found you in a part of the palace that’s been dormant since The Inferno. Part of the structure that never got finished, it’s a place few know of. Magickally protected, there’s no way you stumbled into that area accidentally, so what in the name of the gods were you doing down there?”
They stepped through the doorway into a vast chamber and a room spread out with vaulted ceilings and bookshelves that reached all the way to the top of them. Windows that almost took up an entire wall filled theroom with what Ambrose could only assume now was early afternoon light. Extravagant furniture that said the decorator understood style as well as beauty, sat in the center. A desk sat in the corner with papers scattered all across it. They laid next to ink and a quill as though they’d been recently used. On opposite sides of the room stood two identical doors.
“This is your room?” she asked, ignoring his question and hoping he would forget it entirely. “How do you conceal a chamber so large? And the garden? Are they concealed from everyone?”
“I don’t like others knowing where I sleep.” Akadian told her as he slumped into a velvet armchair with brass finishing. He rested his head against the backing, midnight waves falling in front his eyes—which he didn’t seem to mind as he closed them, and covered them with his hand. He didn’t move or make a sound and for a moment his expression softened and he almost looked… human. Ambrose quickly reminded herself he was something far from it.
“What if someone finds the wall and steps through it?” she prompted.
He didn’t move his hand away as he said, “Whoever it was would simply get one sniff of my garden and suddenly have the urge to go to another room, and remembering where this one was would beverydifficult.”
“What about the servants who tend your garden?” She wondered how much he would share with her.
He sighed. “I don’t have servants who tend my garden.”
But that would mean…
“You’rethe one who keeps your garden like that?” The last thing she took the king’s brother for was a gardener. A vase of roses the colors of sunset rested on a table between the seating arrangements. Deep, brilliantly colored roses: purple, red, orange, and yellow melting all together.
“What’s that tone, servant?” he hissed from his chair, lifting his head to meet her gaze.
“Ambrose,” she threw back defiantly.
