Page 67 of Crown of the Courtesan

My gaze lifts to the adjoining door between our bedchambers.

Should I?

I select a different book.

Because no, I should not.

* * *

Valora’s chambers are a clear, lived-in reflection of what matters most to her. Breastplates of every metal type—iron, bronze, silver, and gold—hang on wire mannequins, and stacks of training pamphlets and expensive weapon collections take up every inch of dresser and wall space around her generously furnished room. “When’s the next training session?” I ask, eating dinner at Valora’s small table. “Wait—isn’t this the same cod we ate yesterday in the village?”

Valora slurps down her bowl of fish soup, leaving the spoon forgotten on the table. “We don’t waste food around here.”

Eyeing the meal warily, I dunk my only biscuit into the broth. I take a bite, and flavorful herbs bloom across my tongue. Now I understand why Valora wolfed hers down.

She sets her empty bowl onto the table with a clatter. “Training is every other morning at dawn, in either the courtyard or on the shore. The male units also practice at that time, but they prefer the fields. I alternate to make Stormwatch more flexible in combat.” She nudges my elbow. “I expect you to be there.”

“Should I, though?” An unbearable heat creeps up around my ears. “Won’t that provoke him?”

“Probably,” she admits, “but it doesn’t matter because he’ll be away for the next few days.”

“Away?”

“He left before dinner to help a fishing vessel that ran aground up the coast.”

After we finish our meal, she walks with me back to my bedchamber. While she’s chatting about her feud with the weapons master, my mind races with one possibility.

My circlet is unguarded in his chambers...

Valora stops at my door, her brow creasing. “Listen, I’m sorry I sprang that information about your mother on you yesterday.”

“It’s fine,” I say, biting my lip until it stings. The small pain helps me focus. “As I said before, it’s interesting to hear any sort of praise.”

“I must confess, it’s the fate I fear most”—Valora’s face pales—“that I’ll marry someone, and the scribes will ignore my victories in favor of listing a man as my greatest accomplishment.” Her eyes grow wide as she kisses the air above my cheek goodnight. Wandering off, she mutters down the length of the corridor back to her chambers.

My mind wavers between caution and recklessness as I pace the floor once I’m in my room.

Despite my best efforts, I can’t shake the temptation that gnaws at me. If I could just see where the circlet is being kept, then maybe I could devise a plan to steal it before finding a way to escape.

My heart thunders against my chest as I approach the adjoining door.

This is madness...

But the whispers in my mind call, encouraging me, and before I realize it, I’m turning the handle and slipping inside.

There is no light.

Not even a sliver from under the door or between the curtains. My vision goes utterly black, like a blindfold, and an overwhelming, woodsy scent—like pine or cypress—invades my lungs with each shaky breath.

But I can feel it.

Its presence.

Its power.

I creep into his chambers, one hand trailing along the wall to guide me. My pulse beats wildly with unshattered fear.

What am I doing?