The Rebel Prince (The Season Series #3)

Chapter 53

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The next morning, I woke to blinding light and my mother's most frustrated sigh. Blinking and fisting the sleep from my eyes, I shoved myself upright. Mother was standing beside the curtains she'd shoved open, admitting the very first of dawn's sunlight, and her brows had flattened to match the thin line of her lips. She was already dressed in a severe navy gown that buttoned all the way up, past the scarring on her neck.

"What?" I managed, voice hoarse from sleep.

"What in Fate's name are you thinking?" she demanded, nodding towards where Nisha was grumbling awake and shoving off her blankets on the chaise longue in the corner. Mother went on, "Since when are you the type to take lovers, Thomas? I raised you with more—"

With a grunt, I swung my legs out of bed and fought a yawn. "She's not my lover. Mother, this is Nisha. She's a Bazeran warrior and ally of Frederico's, come to help protect me and ferret out Dulciana's spy."

Mother started to speak, stopped, considered Nisha with a lifted eyebrow. Both Nisha's shoulders popped as she stretched, then sprang to her feet, lithe as a cat, and sank into a curtsey.

"Good morning, your Majesty," she said in accented Pretanian, fighting a yawn.

"What kind of Bazeran warrior lets an old woman sneak past her while she sleeps?" Mother asked in accented Ardal.

"Since when do you speak Ardal?" I demanded, as Nisha's head jerked back as if struck. But a smile bloomed on her face as she reassessed my mother.

Mother fixed me with a withering look. "I had to do something productive during all the hours I spend surrounded by gossiping ladies. Surely you didn't think all I read is love poetry?" She didn't wait for an answer and instead turned to Nisha, crossing her arms. "Well?"

"I recognized the scent of your perfume, your Majesty," Nisha said, folding her hands behind her back. "Anyone else would have met my blade before they crossed the room."

I massaged the bridge of my nose, trying not to imagine the chaos that would've ensued if Nisha had greeted my mother with a blade to her throat. "Why are you here, Mother?" I asked.

She was still assessing Nisha, who stood perfectly, professionally still as if she wasn't the least bit intimidated to be standing before a queen in the loose, plain shift she'd worn as a nightgown.

Mother didn't temper the bite from her words, or her glare, when she turned to me. "You did a rash thing last night. Especially when your father is supposed to be handling this."

My jaw clenched. I forced out a sigh. "Yes, well, it would be nice if he'd include me on planning exactly what handling all this actually means."

"Thomas." Mother's tone held a warning. "You'd do well to soften your tone when you meet with him. He's going to summon you before breakfast, and I strongly suggest you mind your manners and explain yourself as quickly as possible. There's been a new development."

I looked up at her. "What? What's happened?"

Mother opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Good morning, Your Majesty, Your Higness." Father's valet bowed. "His Majesty requests Prince Thomas' presence."

I didn't miss the way the valet's eyes darted to Nisha in the corner, still standing in her shift.