Page 35 of Only Flames Remain

It was a stone-walled bedchamber barely large enough to fit a narrow cot and a small, warm fireplace. It was lit entirely by the firelight and a single candle tucked inside a lantern atop the trunk at the base of the bed. The mantle of the fireplace was bare, the cot tucked against the wall layered with thick and worn textured blankets. A single narrow window sat in an alcove recessed from the wall.

My bags were resting on the floor before the fireplace. I was surprised to find them here. I had been entirely convinced that I would never see them again with the manner in which they were torn from me in the dockyards.

It wasn’t entirely unlike the private accommodations on the ship, and that thought had trepidation filling my gut anew. I hated the accommodations on the ship. Much like the room before me now, the ship had made me claustrophobic.

I didn’t want to appear ungrateful; I was lucky to have any accommodations at all with how many weren’t as fortunate on the streets of Majur. And a room to myself, no less. I had imagined I would have to share.

I climbed onto the bed to peer out the narrow, arched window. Below was a training field, several soldiers practicing battle moves atop the perfectly groomed lawn. The field was lined with boxwoods and vibrant, pink foxglove. I fell back onto the bed with a laugh.

There was no shortage of poison at the castle, then. The thought reminded me that I needed to take more of my tincture. Three drops under the tongue.

I required at least three doses weekly to maintain my immunity.

I was used to the acrid taste of this particular elixir, and it went down easily. They hadn’t thought to search my gown when I entered the castle, though I was sure the reason for them taking our bags ahead of time was to root around in them. I knew better than to leave it lying in plain sight. My mother had always taught me to keep it hidden.

Quinnick jumped up onto the bed with me and curled against me. Together, we nestled against the single brown pillow before the crackling flames of the fire. It might be summer, but the stone of the castle leeched cold into the air. That cold permeated everything. I was thankful for the warmth.

I tried my hardest not to ponder if that was the pillow’s natural color or simply the color it had taken on after years of not having been washed. It did have an ivory undertone to it…

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I didn’t have as much as a book in my quarters to keep me busy while I waited for my meal or the ‘explanation’ of my contract. We hadn’t even negotiated—I had simply been whisked from the great hall following a mere nod from the prince.

I could check out the shared washroom that had been made to sound more like a watering hole, but my legs had grown tired from the extensive travel. The constantly swaying deck of the ship was a never-ending battle, and I savored even a modicum of stability as I lay against the pillow with Quinnick.

A knock on the door had me stirring from my rest.

What time was it? Had I dozed off?

I peeled my eyes open, but only darkness remained. The fire in the grate had extinguished, and a quick glance out the window confirmed it was, indeed, nighttime. I would never be able to find the matches in the darkness. I rose from the bed intending to simply open the door.

I swiftly stubbed my toe on the foot of the narrow cot as I felt my way along the walls to the doorway. I cursed, praying whoever it was at the door had a godsforsaken lantern with them.

The knocking came again, more insistent this time.

When I finally grasped the brass handle in the darkness and turned, the door creaked open.

The corridor beyond was blessedly well lit.

But the person before me—it was the absolute last person I expected to be standing at my door.

CHAPTER 11

Sorin

The moment I laid eyes on her I knew…I was fucked.

An unfamiliar feeling stirred deep in my chest as she watched me approach, her eyes locked onto me as I pretended to browse the market. I had sensed her presence the moment I entered the great hall.

She was beautiful in a way that no other woman in Gothryn was. No other woman that I had ever seen in my one hundred and thirty-seven years in this realm could compare. Ren had called her beauty unique, but that was an understatement. One brown eye, one blue. The same eyes from the dream I had the night before.

How could that be?

She had gazed back at me from beneath fluttering lashes, ebony hair half bound in an elegant clip atop her head. Her hair was streaked with deep mahogany winding throughout from time spent in the Myrosian sun. Her unblemished skin was pale as milk. I ached to reach out and touch it, to see if it were as soft as it appeared.

An unfamiliar desire flooded my blood, and heat bloomed in my chest.

Was it simply a coincidence that I had dreamed of this woman the night before meeting her? Or was it something…more?

She was dressed as if she already were a princess of Myros, finery on full display. An elegant, beaded gown adorning her lithe, delicate figure. She was shorter than I had expected; the top of her head didn’t even reach my chin.