She tried to breathe steadily, feeling embarrassed and used, reminding herself this was all for the best. She was one life among tens of thousands. Still, no matter how she reasoned with herself, her gut still churned.
She wasn’t accustomed to speaking to males outside of their family and the Gillfins. Her nerves bunched into tight bundles, making Aerity light-headed, but she managed a nod. “Of course, Father.” She knew this was not easy for him. He sounded just as afraid as she was about what kind of man she’d end up with—what kind of man they’d be welcoming into the royal family. But regardless of who he was or where he hailed from, if he killed the beast, they would owe him respect and gratitude.
“I’ve got servants setting up tents and tables and shooting ranges in the west commons area now. If you could make an appearance during the dinner hour I’d be appreciative.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good.” The king’s adviser bustled to the desk, turning the king’s attention back to work. Aerity swallowed her emotions, and the girls slipped from the room. Wyneth shot one questioning look at Aerity, as if to gauge her thoughts.
“I’m okay,” Aerity said, letting out a long breath. “Not every girl is lucky enough to have hundreds of suitors, aye?”
Wyneth huffed a mild laugh through her nose. Then she got quiet and looked at the princess. “You don’t have to act brave on my account, you know.”
Aerity swallowed. “I know.” She had to stay brave for her own self. They stopped when they reached her bedroom door.
“You’ll come with me tonight to the west commons, won’t you, Cousin?”
Wyneth ran her fingers down a strand of Aerity’s long hair, smoothing it. “I won’t leave you. I promise.”
Aerity smiled. She could do this. With Wyneth at her side, she could resist the urge to escape her fate, to flee somewhere far away where her life and choices were her own. She’d agreed to this, and the wheels were set in motion. Running from her responsibility wasn’t an option. She would have to make the best of it.
Chapter
9
Mrs. Rathbrook was glad to feel the sunlight on her skin for the first time in months. She needed to restock a few herbs in her cabinets. It was a fine day to be in the markets. Busy. Hunters of all nationalities filled the royal plaza, taking some of the attention off her. But not all. She could still sense the stares, though she no longer let it bother her. Years of stares had toughened her. Officer Vest remained close behind, a constant comfort.
Mrs. Rathbrook couldn’t help but glance around at the nearby men in their strange furs and head wraps, wondering which one of them might kill the beast and marry the princess. A shock of heartache filled her on princess Aerity’s behalf. The king’s decision seemed hypocritical to her, seeing as how he refused his late parents’ wish for him to marry a princess of Toresta. Though she would never voice her opinion aloud.
As she browsed the selection of fresh, dried, and powdered herbs, someone sidled close to her side. Much closer than usual. Mrs. Rathbrook caught a flash of orange fabric from the corner of her eye.
“Good day, royal Lashed One.” The smooth, husky female voice was not Lochlan.
Mrs. Rathbrook turned her head up to the stranger, and sucked in a breath at the sight of her. Shining black hair against light brown skin. Eyes of crystal blue. A brown cloak over a silken, orange dress. The woman gave her a smile, but something about it felt . . . off. Disingenuous.
“Hello,” Mrs. Rathbrook said.
The woman glanced down at Mrs. Rathbrook’s hands, which held a satchel of coins.
“Your hands are very beautiful.”
Mrs. Rathbrook’s heart sped up. Nobody spoke openly of her lashes or her ability, in general. She withdrew her hands, hiding them within her pockets. The woman gave her that ominous smile again.
Officer Vest stepped closer, but the woman ignored him. She only had eyes for the royal Lashed One, and she obviously had something to say. Mrs. Rathbrook could not help her curiosity.
She kept her eyes on the woman as she gave a nod and said, “It’s all right, Officer Vest.”
He stepped back, giving them space.
“Your own guard,” the woman drawled. “How charming.”
Mrs. Rathbrook narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
“My name is Rozaria. I hail from the hotlands of Kalor.”
The name meant nothing to Mrs. Rathbrook. This woman must have accompanied the Kalorian hunters. The pleasant look never left the woman’s face, even as she spoke abrasive words.
“How does it feel to be a slave to the Lochsons?”
Mrs. Rathbrook went still. She’d never been to Kalor. Perhaps open rudeness was acceptable there, but she did not appreciate it. She lowered her voice and responded curtly.
“King Charles and his family treat me very well, thank you.” She turned back to the herbs, hoping the woman would take the hint and leave her be. No such luck.
“A comfortable room in a lavish castle, while others of your kind suffer throughout the land.”