**DAPHNE**
Petra finishes her rhyme and I catch myself holding my breath. My heart is thundering so madly, that my chest is near to quaking, sending ripples across the water which has suddenly gone cold. She stopped washing me after the first few lines were spoken, leaning in good and close to my ears so that I didn't miss a word.
There was something cruel in the way that she told that tale. It almost felt as if she were taunting me.
Like it was...personal.
She said the rhyme was famous where she is from. What manner of village or town would cherish lyrics like those? Lines that would *scare* children? Frighten them away from the river? No place around here, that was for certain.
“Where exactly, are your origins?” I ask, meekly.
Glancing back, I see Petra wears a smooth, almost sinister smile, and within that second, I am afraid of her. I gasp before I can stop myself and she adjusts by closing her eyes momentarily, then schooling her face into a mask of boredom. Leaping from the basin, she busies herself inside the armoire, searching for today’s gown.
It is then that I realize, the book that was left on my bed yesterday, is gone.
Standing up, I reach for the plush linen towels along the stone mantle and dry myself as I watch Petra carefully. “Petra?”
“Hmm?” She lays a long gown of gold velvet over the strongbox along the foot of the bed, then proceeds to fish out a pair of matching slippers.
Helping me dress, it is obvious in the steel of her hands that something has changed between us. “What happened to the book I had yesterday? The one that I found in this room?”
I turn around and she freezes, her shoulders alive with tension. “I don’t have any idea.” Turning her back, she says, “I’m not the one who took it. I’ll be back soon with your breakfast tray.”
“Wait!” I protest as she shuts the tower room door without so much as a backwards glance.
I want to know where Ash is. I need to know where he has gone. He was the one in here with me when last I saw the book. He probably knows what became of it.
It was my plan to ask Petra, but she’s obviously not in an informative mood. I walk about the room for a few steps, testing my constitution. Noting the queasiness that plagued me when I first woke is gone, I decide to ignore my ‘orders’ and exit the room.
There is one person I’m certain might know of Ash’s whereabouts, and that person should be quite easy to find. He’s always lurking about somewhere. So, making my way down the stone steps and into the long corridor, I set off in search of Prince Hayden.
Spying one guard at the end of the long hallway, I place my most beguiling smile on my face in an attempt to waltz by unnoticed.
I don’t succeed.
“Stop,” the guard says, snatching my elbow.
His grip is gentle, his voice deep. A magical timbre to echo against the sandstone walls. Glancing up at him, I gasp. He is remarkably handsome and definitely new. Larger than the lot that normally flank me, I have to wonder where he came from and why he is the only one about. Usually there are four burly, leering, soldiers that make my skin crawl, posted here. This man has a gentle touch and gleaming yellow-brown eyes. They swirl as I stare into them, and I lose my breath.
My gaze falls to his hand at my elbow, and I clear my throat before speaking next, “I must speak with the prince.”
A soft half smile lights up his face and he laughs in amusement. “I don’t see how that would be a good idea.”
“’Where are the rest of you?” I inquire, with another glance about the room. “There are always more of you. What has changed?”
“A crime was committed last night.” The guard removes his helmet with a sigh. Soft blond locks fall about his rugged, yet boyish face, and I get the distinct impression the helmet bothers him. “My lady, most of the king’s men were assigned to join him in the village for protection early this morning. His majesty is investigating the extraordinary occurrence as we speak.”
I scoff, “Crimes happen all the time in the village. Not once in my eighteen years of living, has the king given a damn about any of them. What makes this one so special?”
“Mass murder tends to be an act of war.” The guard’s turbulent eyes lock onto mine as I gulp. “Hadimere is under the impression that last night was exactly that.” Then, he laughs, “He believes there may have been Fae involved.”
*Fae?*
*Mass murder?*
*Mass as in multiple?*
“I-I had no idea! M-mass murder?! Oh my,” I stammer, swallowing my fear whole.
*Who was killed?*
*How many?*
*Why didn’t Ash tell me when he returned last night?*
*Then again, we were a tad bit busy.*
For the first I am grateful to be locked away in my stone cage and before I can lose my resolve, I push away any worry for my sisters. It is not likely that the farm was involved as it sits a mile south of the main drag of town. I study the guard at my side. He is at least as big as the rest of the royally appointed thugs that roam this palace, if not bigger. But somehow, he is still different. There is a kindness in his gaze that is absent from the others.
“My lady,” the guard soothes. “Please return to your chamber. Ash explicitly ordered me to keep you from leaving until he returns.”
My eyes slant as I study him. He appears bashful, blushing each time he looks at me. The glimmer of his eyes is ethereal in quality, almost as if the pair are always wet.
“How odd,” I hiss, stepping closer to him. “I was under the impression that Ash was as common born as I am. Is he not?”
“Ah, no Miss Daphne, he’s not.” My eyebrows raise. “But what does it mean, ‘to be common born’? To be fair, my lady, I do not believe either of you to be common at all.” Then, his eyes fall over my person in slow appraisal. “The air about you is impressively royal. You are every bit as elegant as a princess and as beautiful, or more so. Breathtaking, just as Ash described.”
My face heats to a boil and I’m sure it is red as a berry.
*Ash described me?*
*To him? One of the palace guards?*
Strange, that he would be giving orders to the palace guard. Even stranger, that they might be followed. I tilt my head at this gentle beast of a man and bat my lashes. “What is your name?”
He coughs, looking nervous and replacing his helmet in an attempt to hide his eyes. “Dionie,” he whispers. “But I would prefer it if you would not refer to me as such.”
“And whyever not?” I ask, playing coy. “You are obviously good friends with Ash. Strange as that might be.” I giggle and I see the flush of red erupt upon his cheekbones.
“Daphne!”
I jolt as the boyishly spoiled voice of the prince interrupts our banter. Instantly, Dionie is standing at attention, his gaze frozen and pointing straight ahead.
I spin around and my eyes flit across the archway.
*Speak of the very devil himself...*
*Hayden.*