Later that evening, when the festivities were done and all was dark and still, Dinah excused Harris and Emily, and buried herself under the warm covers. The violent sobbing that followed left her physically exhausted and numb, and she fell asleep quickly. And so it would follow for the next few weeks—Dinah floated in a blank fog of disturbing thoughts or mindless tasks. She was fitted for her queenly gowns, instructed in the procedures and traditions of the coronation and cooed over by various ladies and Cards. The Royal Jewels were sent over for her to choose from, and she let Emily do it. The sun rose and set, the days disappearing into the changing night sky, and yet Dinah couldn’t be roused from her daze.
The coronation loomed just beyond her reach, something she had dreamed of her entire life, but Dinah found herself growing more distant from everyone and everything. Dinah marveled at the fact that what should have been the most exciting time of her life caused her to feel nothing but a gnawing fear and unease. Even as she tried on her coronation dress—a white-and-red monstrosity, and Harris chattered with joy behind her, Dinah looked in the mirror and saw Faina staring back at her. Her books were packed up and sent to the royal library, her rooms made ready to house a queen.
Every minute of the day held rounds of eating and dancing and croquet games, but Dinah was never content until she sank deep into her covers at night, into a dreamless sleep in which she saw neither blood nor towers. Waking, sleeping, none of it mattered. In a week, she would be the Queen, but all Dinah could feel was the heavy stone of guilt, pressing hard against her chest, heavier with each passing day. She gratefully surrendered to sleep, night after night, as the stars whirled above.
Chapter Thirteen
Dinah felt a feather on her hair.
No. Not a feather. A touch, an insect? A hand?
Dinah lurched up in her bed with a start, breathing heavily. She looked around her dark room. There was nothing, nothing but her curtains blowing in a cool breeze. She closed her eyes, willing the fear away.
Go back to sleep, she told herself. It’s nothing.
Her spine tingled with dread. She opened them again. Again, nothing—nothing but a faceless figure in a black hooded cloak standing beside her bed.
Dinah let out a terrified scream as a hand clamped violently over her mouth, black gloves cool against her lips. Her heart hammered wildly inside her chest, and she could feel all her limbs surge with strength. Dinah struggled ferociously, her hands reaching back, her nails clawing for the stranger’s face, legs flailing beneath her. Finally, she threw her body forward, dragging the person onto her own back as she lay face down on the bed.
They struggled as the stranger used most of his strength to keep his hand over Dinah’s mouth. She screamed against the open palm, her inhale sucking the black leather halfway into her mouth. The stranger’s mouth made it to her temple and a low whisper filled her ear.
“Shush now. Stop. Do not scream. Do not make a sound. Trust that I am not here to hurt you, Princess. You must trust me, you must; there is no time to explain. I could have slit your throat open five times by now, and yet, I haven’t. Nor have I stabbed you in your sleep. I am not here to harm you. Now, will you be silent?”
Dinah nodded and stopped struggling until the stranger gently lifted his hand from her mouth. Dinah bit her lip and thrust her elbow back into his face, feeling hard bone meeting flesh. The man gave a muffled roar as Dinah flung herself over the edge of her raised platform bed. She hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from her lungs. Willing herself to breathe, she frantically flailed her hands under the bed for something she knew was there, something that had been put there long ago, until finally her hands fell on a rusty hilt.
With a hard yank, Dinah emerged from under the bed with one of Wardley’s old practice swords pointed at her aggressor. Her heart was contracting so fast that Dinah feared it might explode. Her mouth opened and shut as she attempted to speak. Words came out, quickly, interspersed with gulps of air. “Who, who are you? Do not come any closer or I will kill you. Tell me now, I demand it!”
The stranger in black shook his head. The voice was muffled under the black cloth—he was obviously taking pains to disguise his cadence as well. Dinah did not recognize the voice that spoke.
“I cannot tell you that, not tonight. There will come a time when you will have every answer you seek, I promise. But now I need you to listen to me, listen to me as you never have before. It was I who sent you to Faina Baker.”
Dinah held the sword unwavering, pointed at the stranger’s chest. Black stars had started to form in her vision. She needed to breathe. The figure moved in a menacing circle around the bed.
“Don’t come any closer,” Dinah snapped. “Do not touch me again.”
“I will not, Your Highness. I have no desire to hurt you. You do not have much time.”
The figure paused, giving enough time that Dinah felt her hand tremble around the hilt.
“Forgive me for my bluntness. I wish there was another way to tell you, but it must be done. Your brother is dead. The King is planning to tell the kingdom that you killed him, killed him because you feared that he would take the crown that you have so obviously desired.”