The Summer Palace [Fantasy romance/enemies to lovers/new adult]

Chapter Five

I'm sitting on a couch at the back of a canvas tent. My hands are bound in front of me, and one of the two guards who escorted me here watches me from the tent flaps, some steps away.

I've not been in a royal party's tent before, and it's intriguing. For some reason they've bothered to haul furniture with them from across the sea, and random trinkets as well. There's a coffee table in front of my legs with a stick of incense burning atop it, filling the room with a rich, smoky musk. There's a chest of drawers at one side of the tent, where someone's placed a stuffed ferret.

The Terian insignia crops up everywhere. The raven repeats itself, embroidered into a rug on the floor, and it's carved into the tent's central post. No one is yet to say it, but it's clear who I've been captured by.

The guard at the entrance to the tent clears his throat as if he's about to say something. Then he's silent.

"I haven't stolen anything," I say to him. As soon as I say it it strikes me as something a thief would say. I'm usually better with words, but it seems that when I'm bound in a cruel kingdom's capture they elude me. I've been bound long enough that I've managed to calm my panic to a point where I can string a sentence, but I still feel nauseous to the point where a few moments ago somebody brought me a bucket.

The guard looks at me then says, "His grace will see to that."

My stomach flips. His grace. This can't be good.

I rack my brains, trying to remember what I can about Terian's Second Prince, second in line to the throne, and the prince visiting Evallen this year. There are three Terian princes, each ridiculously named for their father, King Oberon. There's the eldest of course, the King's heir Obens, who is supposed to be as ruthless as he is handsome. According to rumour, that's very. And if rumour is to be believed around the King's sickness, Obens may soon be sitting the throne. Then there's the youngest prince Obran, who I can't remember a thing about: when magic and power are passed down, both dwindling with each child, no one seems to care much for the youngest. And then there's him; the King's second-born, Obryas, who is said to greet debauchery like a close friend. I've only heard ridiculous stories of indulgence and revelry, of parties that have cost the throne thousands in coin, of a string lovers that he's strung along like he's crafting a daisy chain. He's unpredictable, which is far from ideal for me and my situation. At least I can thank God and his Daughters that I'm not meeting his elder brother or the King - both of whom are known to be needlessly cruel. Then again, I can't wrap my head around why they're planning to take me to the prince at all.

"Are common thieves normally taken to his grace?" I ask the guard ahead of me.

"So you're admitting you're a thief?" He counters, thinking he's ensnared me in my lie.

"I'm merely asking about protocol," I say. "I'm not sure this is entirely necessary. For starters I didn't even steal anything."

The guard shrugs. "His majesty likes company."

I'm not sure how to respond to that. I'm not even sure what it means.

"Is there any chance of a bath?" I ask, just to be facetious. The conversation is also quietening the eddying nerves in my head. But he doesn't respond.

I'm about to ask if there are any snacks to hand when the other guard returns.

"Right," he says, "this way."

And when I don't move he sighs, walks over to me, and picks up his end of the rope again.

"Don't make me drag you," he says gruffly, and with a tug of the rope I'm on my feet, shuffling behind him as he leads me from the tent.