Prologue
Gently, I slipped into bed, my five-year-old son already fast asleep beside me. He was snoring, his nose sounding slightly congested. Likely from all the dust he’d breathed in earlier that day while playing outside the bakery. The cobbler across the street had been renovating his shop, causing unsightly dirt clouds to cake my storefront.
It was kind that his wife had offered to look after Taryn while I served the king and his guests. She’d fed him supper and put him to sleep, which were difficult enough tasks on their own. Although I wished she’d made him take a bath before he climbed into my clean bed to sleep. Fresh bedclothes clothed him, but his little nose and ears were tinged with dirt. I was sure his feet were just as filthy, as the feral boy often opted to go shoeless.
Something smelled sweet, and as I sniffed the sheets, searching for what I was certain was a stolen cookie, I noticed a smear of red on his freckled cheek. Dried raspberry jam.
How innocent he looked. Much unlike the rambunctious child he was during the day. The rise and fall of his small chest, the moonlight spilling in through the window to bathe his tiny form. He was only a boy, and yet the most precious gift a man had ever given me.
One day he would be one, too. Would he be entitled and crass, like the men I’d encountered at the castle?
I frowned as I pulled the threadbare sheets up to my chin. I’d had enough of those types of men. Taryn wouldn’t be like them; I wouldn’t allow it.
If his father were alive, Taryn would have no option but to pick up the blade, like the men at the castle. But I had better plans for him; plans and dreams of a life without bloodshed. A life of peace and education made possible through the academy.
Still, I missed Leopold terribly; it had been three long years of obstacles and loneliness without him. Three years of scraping by, working until my arms ached from kneading and stirring all day long. I had to do whatever it took to be successful, even if it meant working myself to the bone. My boy would not go without, nor would he ever know my struggle.
King Odsby had paid me generously that evening at the castle, but I wondered if it was worth it. It wasn’t like I had much of a say in the matter. The mage king always got what he wanted.
I served pastries and bread prepared by myself at a masquerade ball held in honor of some men who’d fought alongside Leopold years ago. It made me sick to see them, drinking and laughing and dancing. He should have been there, too.
I had to smile and be pretty while waiting on them, letting the foul-mouthed men flirt and chat. It was nauseating, but I suffered through it. I’d finally had my fill when Duke Dawkins grabbed my behind without my permission. Without thought, I bared my teeth and pulled my dagger on him; King Odsby had luckily been engaged in conversation with another guest at the time. Duke Dawkins had only thought it beguiling of me, even when I lowered my blade and kneed him in the groin. As if I were some cute little rabid animal.
If anyone had seen, it would have been over for me. Taken to the dungeon. A flogging session or a few days in the stocks, or possibly even death. I was a commoner, a toy to be used by nobility when desired. No matter how much I despised them.
It was foolish of me to act so rashly. Taryn could have been made an orphan, and what would become of him then? The streets were no place for a child; my upbringing was a testament to that.
I shut my eyes, my body sinking into the mattress. It was dreadfully late, as the party had lasted for far too long. Only three hours were left until sunrise. Gods, I hoped Taryn would sleep in late.
The night hadn’t been all bad. I’d danced with some of the more civil men, as I knew it would be too dangerous to say no, but secretly, I enjoyed it. I’d forgotten the hard, jagged edges of soldiers. The broad shoulders and lean torsos. The masculine voices and deep chuckles. It was a bittersweet and pleasant distraction from the smothering loneliness I’d endured for so long.
I’d even danced with one particularly mysterious gentleman. He was tall, his hair light under his mask. The surface of his black mask was covered in raised swirls and spirals of the same color, and beneath the eyeholes, intense orange eyes flamed.
He didn’t speak once, but he bowed to me and held out his hand. He seemed solemn and respectful, so I agreed, and we danced in a slow, feverish embrace. Just to one song, but it was enchanting. I’d forgotten what it was like to be held by a man so fascinating, to be cherished if only for a moment.
After the dance ended, he bowed again, and then he disappeared into the hall. His uncanny presence lingered even after he left, like dense trails of smoke.
I wondered who he was the rest of the night. Even as I lay in bed with heavy eyelids and a weary body. My interest had been piqued, but it was meaningless; I’d never pursue him. I shook away any thought of the stranger.
Men were dangerous, and loving them always meant certain pain in one way or another. Whether it betrayal or death, heartbreak was imminent. I’d rather live the rest of my days as Leopold’s lonesome widow than to love another. That delicate, fleeting notion had done too much damage, and the good of it wasn’t worth the bad.
Settling in against Taryn, I closed my eyes and stilled at last, promising myself love would never make me soft again.
