Imogen was gone when he woke. A small piece of purple silk, most likely torn from the hem of her gown, was on the floor next to the bed, but nothing else spoke of the passion and contentment they’d found in each other’s arms. There would be outrage if anyone learned what they had done. For him it would fade. He was, after all, a prince of the realm—the only prince now. And his interest in women was well known. He was able to take liberties with the virtues that others might not be allowed.
But Imogen . . . as a woman she was expected to hold her own virtue dear. She was also the seer and held to a higher standard still. While any who heard of his indiscretion would whisper about it for a day and go about their business, talk of Imogen’s visit to his rooms would follow her forever.
People would think she was determined to be Queen at all costs. Others would say she had shamed her promise to use her gifts to better the kingdom. None would be without opinion and most would not be good.
And still, despite that and her fear that the Council of Elders was looking to do her harm, she had bared her soul and her body to him. He should probably feel guilty. After all, no matter what they both felt, she had been his brother’s promised wife.
But he didn’t feel guilty. Maybe during the funeral tomorrow, he would see his brother’s body and have second thoughts, but for now his only regret was that he hadn’t been awake when Imogen had left so he could assure her again that he would do whatever he had to in order to keep her safe. Imogen needed his protection and his love and he would give her both.
The second regret he had was not seeing Carys last night. She knew how to take care of herself and her maid Juliette was more than capable of helping ease any pain from the lashing she would have received.
Received . . . because of him.
Gratitude and guilt pushed thoughts of Imogen aside. Quickly, he dressed in black trousers, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a rust-colored tunic with his family’s crest sewn on the shoulders. Fastening his sword at his side, Andreus considered going down to the kitchens to get some of the honey rolls his sister was fond of. Then he spotted the guard outside her rooms, ditched the idea of a bribe, and hurried down to the other end of the hallway.
The guard looked like he was barely old enough to have started training let alone be assigned to a post outside the Princess of Eden’s chamber. When the boy didn’t try to stop him, Andreus pushed open the door and hurried inside.
“Your Highness.” Carys’s maid dropped into a deep curtsy, then looked over his shoulder at the open door, which the young guard quickly closed.
“Where’s my sister?”
“Resting, Your Highness. She refused to let me stay with her and had a difficult night.”
Carys had been alone.
Guilt swirled as he walked to his sister’s bedroom and pushed open the ornate double doors.
The room was dim. Candles glowed in the sconces next to the entrance and one near the bed where his sister slept face first on top of the bedcovers, still in the dress she’d been wearing when last he saw her. Then he saw the familiar glass bottle next to her and the shards on the floor.
She’d taken two of them.
A quarter of a bottle of their mother’s Tears of Midnight should have eased the pain. Two years ago, Carys had needed a full bottle to get through the night after the last ball their father had allowed here in the castle. Andreus had known his sister was in trouble before that day. Her eyes had looked glassy. She’d lost weight so her normally thin figure appeared brittle. And even when perfectly brushed her hair had appeared dull and limp. He’d been terrified at how still she was for hours after taking so much of the drink.
After that moment, day by day she’d taken less and less until her eyes were bright again and her brain once more as quick as a flash.
He’d believed her when she said she was done needing the red bottles.
She’d lied.
Carys shifted on the bed, her hand stretched out as if trying to reach something—probably whatever was in one of the vivid dreams filled with cyclones of wind that she’d had since he could remember. She reached out again, then let out a low moan and winced with pain. He waited for his sister to wake, but her eyes didn’t open. Despite the light, the Tears of Midnight had her firmly entrenched in the dark.
Slowly, he sat on the bed next to her and loosened the fastenings on her dress so he could see the punishment she’d taken for him. He shifted the fabric as gently as he could. Still his sister flinched as he examined the angry lines of raised red and purple that ran from her shoulder blades down to the small of her back. Blood was caked over a small section in the center where the strap had struck hard enough to break through the skin.
And under those painful-looking wounds were other scars. No longer red and painful, but reminders nonetheless of the curse he’d been fighting all his life. He’d tended to those wounds when she’d gotten them. He hadn’t been here last night. But surely Juliette should have been.
Damn Carys and her pride.
She would not let her maid clean the cut and apply Madame Jillian’s ointments to the rest. If she’d allowed that, she wouldn’t have needed to be drugged into unconsciousness now. Carys should know better. She should have thought about what would happen today. Their mother would need them to help plan the funeral. She’d want to know why Carys was absent, as would the Council and the rest of the court.
Well, he’d just have to come up with a reason and hope Carys would emerge from this ready to bury their father and Micah tomorrow.
Carefully, he replaced the fabric over his sister’s back and left the chamber. “Take care of Princess Carys’s wounds and see no one comes in here until she’s feeling up to visitors.”
“But, Your Highness, the Princess said—”
“The Princess is . . . deeply asleep. She won’t be aware of your ministrations.” Then he turned and went to find his mother and to do his duty.
The day passed quickly. His mother was distracted as people asked her questions about which rooms to prepare for foreign dignitaries and guests who arrived from the kingdom’s districts for the funeral and the coronation that would follow.
Andreus was thankful Oben was quick with a reply to the questions that everyone else found so important and Andreus had no clue how to deal with. Meanwhile, his mother seemed not to care about anything at all—not even about her daughter’s absence—as she paced the dais of the Hall of Virtues, glancing every few minutes at the gold-and-sapphire throne. The only thing that seemed to catch her attention was when Chief Elder Cestrum appeared flanked by Elder Ulrich and Captain Monteros.
“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” Elder Cestrum said with a bow. “I’m sorry to interrupt the plans for the funeral and your coronation, but Captain Monteros and I were just at the North Tower. All five remaining members of the King’s Guard are dead.”
“No. They can’t be dead.”
Andreus looked behind the Elder and captain and saw Carys standing with her hand on a gold pillar at the main entrance of the Hall of Virtues.