Page 22 of The Crown’s Temptation

"She must be cleaned and her hair braided, Sire."

"Who makes these rules?"

"I cared for several of the royal daughters before coming here." She did not say how she had come to be here. She did not need to. "A royal woman must be washed and tended regularly. Asleep or otherwise."

He looked at Asharin. He thought about King Orsin's daughters. The stories said that in his search for the key, some of his daughters were killed, others lost their minds, and still others fell into deep sleeps and never awakened. This woman was Yorali. She likely knew how to tend to an unconscious royal woman. She had likely done it before.

"Fine," he said. "Wash her."

The woman turned to him. "Would you mind stepping out?"

"Why would I?"

She gave a small smile. "Because even here in Morrath they know she belongs to the Prince of Veynar. Who would dare upset him?"

Before he could answer another knock came at the door.

A woman stepped in. Silver hair against olive skin, younger than she first appeared, with a quietness to her that did not belong to someone who had reason to be calm. She curtsied.

"You are not Yorali," Teorin said.

Everyone up until now either seemed to be a creature or a Yorali human from Orsin’s pit.

"No, Majesty. I am from Veynar. My husband sold me to the Yorali court."

The dark-haired woman's expression cooled. "She was recently placed in King Sevrin's household. The head matron assigned her to laundry. She should be flogged for being in here."

"I only thought⁠—"

"Only thought what?" Teorin said.

The silver-haired woman met his eyes. "I am from Veynar, where the Princess was raised. If she awakens to a foreign accent and a stranger she may be frightened. A familiar voice might help." A pause. "Discretion is my strength. And the other servants dislike me already, which means I have no one to gossip with.”

"What is your name?"

"Fiersa."

He looked at the dark-haired woman. "You can go. She will finish preparing the Princess for bed."

"But—"

"That was a command."

The dark-haired woman left. Something at the corner of Fiersa's mouth moved but he was too tired to read it.

"Perhaps His Majesty would turn his back while I undress her Highness," she said.

He nodded and turned.

He stood at the window and listened to the quiet sounds of water and cloth and Fiersa's hands moving as though she had done this many times. Asharin's breathing did not change.

She would wake. He would make sure of it.

He leaned against the frame and closed his eyes and did not admit, even to himself, how much the blood he had given had cost him.

The Announcement

COLSAR