Her Cinder Throne (Completed)

Chapter 8

Cole took a deep breath and then opened her eyes and stepped out from the hobby room and back into the sitting room.The other girls stood against the wall, and Cole joined them. They all looked toward the table, where the prince now sat, sipping at the spiced wine and picking absently at a roll.

He looked much the same as he had when she'd caught a glimpse of him on the road the other day. His face was puffy with sleep, making his lips even fuller than normal. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was messily tied up, but even so he still looked every inch the kind of person who ruled an entire country.

Cole studied the face she would sometime still forever. His skin was perfectly smooth, like glass, and she wondered if he'd ever felt an angry slap across it. Had he ever heard harsh words in his ears, or known what it was to feel so exhausted he was ready to collapse, but pushed through it because it was the only thing keeping the people he cared about alive? 

Of course he hadn't. He slept in silk on a bed big enough for twenty people, and had servant girls wake him up to eat a feast that he wouldn't even touch. His father probably plied him with gifts all day long, and she knew he never even walked to any destination within the city. He was carried there in his golden palanquin, so that his embroidered boots never had to touch the dust of the city he ruled.

Perhaps sensing Cole's increasingly intense staring, the prince glanced up and their eyes met. His were the color of the earth in the harvest season, after a long rain. Deep and rich, and the kind of brown that hinted at life buried away until the sun came again. His lashes were wispy and lighter in color than his hair, and she found herself thinking of a horse's mournful eyes as he gazed at her. Not the lazy and empty kind, but those of a warhorse that had been through many battles.

Cole shivered and averted her own eyes, hoping that he hadn't seen her studying him so deeply. She was already a new maid, one with a shaved head and Sparkstone dust creased into her skin, and she didn't need him noticing her any further than that.

But it was already too late.

"What's this?" he asked, jerking his chin in Cole's direction. His voice was lighter than she expected, but it had a rasp to it that she could easily imagine turning to fury if someone dared to upset him.

He didn't wait for anyone to actually answer his question before he moved on. "Who sent this thing to my rooms?" He laughed, and it made Cole's muscles stiffen. His eyes shifted to the girl with golden hair next to her. "Come here, Dia."

The girl smiled, ducking her chin and looking up through her eyelashes as she walked to his side. She looked comfortable around him, or as comfortable as a lowly person could around royalty. But it was obvious that she was used to his arm sliding around her waist and pulling her tight to his side. She rested her hands on his shoulders, and he leaned his head into her ribs, looking out at Cole.

"I have a nest of soft doves," he said, his fingers sliding down Dia's milky arm to her hand. He threaded his fingers through hers, all the while staring at Cole as if daring her to move. "And yet they send me a splintery board as a new plaything?"

Cole inhaled sharply. True, she wasn't as soft and gentle as the girls around her, but she also had no desire to be his plaything. She clenched her teeth, wanting to spit back a retort, but knowing that as soon as she did, she'd lose her already tenuous position. He was watching her every move, waiting for her to react. 

So she didn't react at all. She unfocused her eyes, staring into nothing, waiting for him to tire of teasing her. And tire he did.

He let go of Dia, sighing heavily and pulling over his spiced wine to down in two gulps. He slammed the goblet onto the table and stood, stretching his neck and walk to his bedroom.

"I'm going to change and then I want to visit Mother," he shouted over his shoulder, slamming the door behind him.

Meegan glanced at Cole as the girls all visibly relaxed at his temporary departure. "You're lucky," she whispered. "He only likes pretty girls to attend to him."

"I didn't ask to be his 'plaything'," Cole muttered.

Meegan's head tilted to one side, her eyebrows drawing together. Cole realized too late that that was not something a girl who supposedly applied for the job would say, and that anyone with a brain would wonder what was going on. She shouldn't be risking anyone suspecting that she had gained the job through the influence of outside forces. But already Meegan's lips were parting, a question on the tip of her tongue.

Thankfully, Prince Bastian took that moment to reappear in a cloud of lavender scent. He wore a plain white shirt and black trousers, but somehow he looked more regal than he could even in court clothes. His hair had been slicked back and tied with a black ribbon at the back of his head, and the skin on his face and neck still glistened with water from washing them. Cole found her eyes tracing down to sliver of his collarbone, tanned and practically glowing in the dawn sunrise, peeking through the neckline of his shirt. Immediately, she ripped her eyes away, unwilling to let any part of the prince entice her. He was barely better than a dog in her eyes, she told herself.

Without speaking to the girls, he breezed past them and out into the hallway. They followed him without reaction, clustered a few feet behind him as he made his way down a familiar path. Cole took up the rear in order to watch both the prince and his flock of attendants. If she was supposed to kill him, she'd need to know what he was like and what those around him were like. She needed to know their weakness and strengths, and when she would be able to strike with any chance of escaping.

For the most part, the attendants looked interested in what the prince was doing, and chatted quietly to themselves as they walked behind him. He ignored them and didn't even glance behind him to see if they were still there. If she had to guess, they were there for when he thought they could please him, and didn't have much sway over him. They would jump to do whatever order he gave them.

After climbing a pair of winding steps at the end of a hallway, they came to another floor that was taken up by one entire suite of rooms. The vast majority of the floor was taken up by a massive sitting room, filled with soft rugs and tapestries and seats. Baskets of yarn and thread lay scattered around the room, and desks with drawing materials on them sat by the windows looking out over the city. A small cluster of older women, none in the uniform of the servants, sat in random intervals around the room, absorbed in various tasks. Some read, some knit, and others embroidered shirts and handkerchiefs. They looked up as Bastian entered, and a wave of smiles washed over the room. It was as if a kitten had entered, and everyone was eager to hold it.

"Oh, our little princling! You've grown so much!" one of the women with a steel gray braid said, setting aside her sewing and holding out her hands.

Bastian gave a charming lopsided grin, loping to the lady and taking her hands in his. "Duchess Visser, you look radiant," he said, stooping down to brush her a kiss. She laughed and patted his cheeks.

"Are you here to see your mother?" she asked.

Bastian nodded, casting his eyes about the room in search of something. He passed over most of the older ladies, until his eyes landed on someone far in the background. She sat half covered by a blanket and near a large curtain, the shadows adding to her camouflage. 

Bastian's smile wavered for just a second, but then it was back in force as he rushed over to this woman in the background.