Page 44 of Crown of the Courtesan

Except I don’t want to.

Sometimes I daydream of stealing away to a different life, but the thought of leaving behind my library is the only thing stopping me. It’s still a work in progress, and I refuse to leave it unfinished.

Grandfather is letting me expand the main gallery when I get back. For a while, I thought guilt was the reason he’d been so generous, until I overheard Grandfather talking to my older brother in the throne room. The king said, “Look to your sister as an example of sacrifice. Your wastrel-princeling father has emptied our coffers yet again. Cliodna knows what she must do to ensure the survival of our Metalla reign. It’s about time the men around here did the same.”

My brother laughed good-naturedly at first. “We don’t need Cliodna to fix Alexandria.” Then his voice grew low and serious. “But we should deal with Father before he does any more damage. Once that’s taken care of, we can draw up an economic plan.”

My heart swelled. I knew I could count on Tam.

But reality crashed down when the monarch made the decision of a king rather than a loving grandfather. “We’ll do both and revel in the gold this union will bring. Perhaps we should convince them to agree to a Bonding Betrothal—for assurance.”

That’s why I simply have no remorse about the money I pour into my library. The carpenters have already started the expansion while I’m away. Perhaps I should even start hinting to my betrothed that I would like to construct a new library at Ashland Castle as a wedding present.

But I grow weary of writing in this bumpy carriage.

—Cliodna

I close the diary and feel the worn cover under my fingertips. With a deep breath, I inhale the scent of leather.

What did I just read?

Did Wella mean for me to have this?

I thumb through the pages belonging to Princess Cliodna. I don’t know who she is, but I want to learn more. Her private thoughts and secrets fill every inch of the journal—even the margins contain scribbles and doodles.

Night truly sets in, the darkness pressing around me. I leave the diary on the desk and fetch another candle. Before I can reach the box of tapers, a burst of wind smashes the window, sending the pages flapping.

Help help help: comes the whisper’s plea.

My shawl drops to the floor as I sprint across the chamber and look out the window.

Floating from the empty garden, the whispers persist: help help help.

Worried the wind will rip the pages from their bindings, I snatch the diary and slide it snugly beneath my stays, cursing my lack of pockets. My pulse pounds in my throat; I grab the sharpened letter opener Phyrne gave me from the desk.

I run from my chamber to find my sentry sitting in his chair, snoring loudly, his double chin wobbling with each grunting breath. Shaking his shoulder does nothing to wake him. Even slapping his face does little to rouse him. My foot hits an empty goblet, which rolls beneath his seat with a loud clang. I curse at him and the cup⁠—

And then it comes again: help help help.

I’m wasting time.

Down the hallway, I sprint, looking for assistance. Have I made a mistake about how late the hour is? My footsteps echo through the vacant corridors. The castle is deserted.

Where is everyone?

It must be later than I realize because my vision blurs when I reach the entrance hall. Running becomes laborious. I brace myself against the wall as I gasp for air.

The letter opener clatters onto the floor. I clumsily pick it up, clenching it tighter in my fist.

Help help help.

I have to move. I have to find someone.

Anyone.

Fear lurches in the pit of my stomach, and my head pounds with great wallops.

I don’t know where I am until my toes sink into the bare blades of grass. Had I not put shoes on? I turn around and look up at the castle. Not a single light is on in any of the windows.