A Royal Ruse

Chapter 30

The Eve of the Wedding Day

The tray in Zita's hand trembled. "I can leave if you want me to."

She stood at the entrance of Prince Adair's bedchamber cloaked in awkwardness.

The prince stared at her, blurry-eyed. "Your Highness?"

"I c-can...I mean I didn't mean to wake you," she said, annoyed that her nerves were so transparent in her voice.

The prince didn't reply. He just looked at her with heavy-lidded confusion as he propped himself up in his bed.

Thick-tongued and embarrassed, she struggled to find the appropriate words. "Right," she said, staring at the tray in her hands. "I've clearly come at a bad time. I know I'm the last person you want to see."

"What's that?" He jutted his chin towards the tray.

"It's for you." she lifted the tray with clenched fists. "But I can have a servant come and deliver it to you if you prefer?"

"Why would I prefer that?"

Zita shrugged but there were a myriad of reasons he wouldn't want to see her. The first being that the last time they spoke at the tavern, they fought about Gadrian. The second being that Gadrian, her husband-to-be was the reason he was lying in bed with a swollen face.

"Perhaps I interrupted your sleep?" was all Zita said.

It was clear from his groggy face and croaky voice she definitely had. But he shook his head.

She finally unfixed herself from the limbo of his doorframe.

Upon entering, she risked glances around Adair's room. It wasn't at all what Zita expected.

Whenever she imagined him retiring to his chambers she pictured a bat withdrawing to its cave; a dark world suffocating in masculine edges and brooding velvets. But instead, she saw shades of turquoise and silver, patterns running over his bedsheets and candlesticks illuminating a desk with a mess of papers on it. His desk was in a state of disarray she would never keep her important files if she was ever given any to read.

She placed the tray gingerly at his bedside. His bedside only held two items, a lamp and a once-golden compass that now looked more bruised purple. His eyes stalked her as she moved. Even laying injured in bed, puffy-eyed and gauzed-faced, he looked more like the predator than the prey.

"It's a gooseberry tart. I remember, on one of our outings you mentioned gooseberry pie was your favorite but when I asked the cooks to make it they said that only one baker can make pies the way you like. Apparently, you hate the pies that the palace bakes?"

"Chalky crusts," he croakily confirmed.

"So they said a tart was a safer bet but..." She trailed off looking at the state of his face: one swollen cheek and his stitched upper lip. It hadn't occurred to her that maybe he couldn't eat.

"I also brought elder root tea." She added quickly, "It was the only thing that could get me to sleep when I was..."

Her eyes slid down t his arm: which was bent in a sling.

He followed her gaze. He huffed a dry laugh. "Don't get too happy. It's mainly a precaution. I only have to keep it on for a few days."

Zita shook her head, her eyes moistening. She wasn't sure where the intense sadness came from. Maybe Adair's battered body sinking in pillows? Or, more likely, it was the fact that the man she was set to marry in a few hours was the one who did the battering.

"I look far worse than I actually am," Adair said, looking slightly annoyed by her display of sympathy.

"I'm sorry..." the princess tried desperately to hold back her tears. "I'm sorry about today."