The Lost Queen (Book 1 of The Lost Queen Series)

Chapter Twenty-One

When Sterling came to again, she found herself propped up against something cold. It took her a moment to figure out the cold was coming from a stone wall. It was almost pitch black wherever they had left her.

As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she saw she was in a small room. A heavy wooden door with a small barred window was directly across from her. The window was too high for her to see out—only a giant could reach it.

She spied a pile of straw in one corner that was probably meant to be a bed. A bucket stood in the other corner. She could already guess what that was for.

Sterling shifted uncomfortably on the hard floor, and the clink of metal brought her attention to her wrists. They were now bound in front of her; the rope replaced with heavy metal manacles attached by a length of chain. Similar ones were around her ankles.

Her nose throbbed painfully when she moved her head, and the taste of blood still filled her mouth. More than anything, she wished for some water to rinse the taste away. Sterling could feel the dried blood crusted on her skin—on her lips. She tried to brush at her face with the sleeve of her dress.

That was a mistake.

The slightest touch on her nose sent pain shooting through her head. The dried blood would have to stay there. Tentatively, she felt around her nose. It was crooked and seemed twice as big as normal.

A hot tear rolled down her face before she could stop it—another quickly followed the first. She brushed them away, careful not to bump her nose.

Now is not the time to be crying and feeling sorry for yourself.

Her brain didn't listen as more tears slipped down her cheeks.

It was the scraping of the door against the stone floor that snapped her out of her self-pity.

She was determined not to let her captors see her cry. Quickly, before the door swung all the way open, she wiped the tears from her face. She pretended like she was still unconscious, observing from beneath her lashes.

A tall figure entered the room first, followed by a shorter, wider one. The short one approached her and nudged her leg with the toe of his boot. "Looks like she is still out," he reported to the other, who had stayed near the doorway.

She recognized his voice. This must be the one who had pulled her off the horse and broken her nose.

The taller one sighed. "Leave the cup for her when she wakes up."

The short one set something down next to her ankle—the cup she presumed—and turned back to the door.

"They should be here to get her soon, and then she won't be our problem anymore."

"Are you sure this is the girl they want?"

Sterling couldn't see his face, but she could feel the short one looking at her.

"She doesn't look very powerful. They made her sound like she would be putting up a fight. Seems like a regular girl to me."

What in the world was he talking about?

"I'm positive it's her. No one else possesses hair like that, and soon she will be making us very rich," the taller one answered.

She cursed her silver hair. Never in her life had it felt more like an affliction than at this moment.

The short one cackled. "Thank yooou, Princess. Do you think we could get her to do a magic trick before they take her?" he asked eagerly.

Now she was sure he was just plain crazy. This man must have been eating the mushrooms in the woods if he thought she could perform magic. Was this all because she had looked at the amulets in the market? Her interest didn't make her a magic user.