A King's Weakness (Book 1)

Chapter 27

I DON'T WANT TO FALL ASLEEP, BUT I DO. No one comes to let me out of my room for hours, and after a while the relatively untouched bed—the only piece of furniture spared from my temper tantrum—starts to look divine.

I don't dream, which is the blessing of all blessings because I really don't think I could handle another nightmare on top of my horrifying reality.

When I wake, my body protests, but a warm scent tickles my nose, letting me know that I am not alone. I keep my eyes closed, pretending to remain unconscious while I listen to whoever is in the room move around. They smell like cinnamon, and I can hear them shifting things around quietly, trying not to wake me.

I open my eyes, startling a small older woman in a dark green dress with a white apron.

"Oh! Excuse me, miss. I didn't mean to wake you," she yelps, freezing in the middle of...cleaning up my mess? Her shock quickly turns to a soft smile and she lowers her eyes, staring at her feet. She has soft grey hair that is pulled back into a long braid, and warm walnut-colored skin.

I sit up in bed, studying her. She doesn't seem threatening; quite the contrary—she reminds me of an old friend's grandmother. When I was younger, I made a friend in elementary school. One day she invited me over to her house after school. It was my first playdate, and I remember being so excited. When I arrived, her house smelled of fresh cookies; her grandmother had just taken a tray full of them out of the oven. It's one of my fondest memories—a tiny taste of what a normal family is supposed to be like.

"Who are you?" I ask, sleep making my voice softer than its usual angry rasp.

"Oh, my—apologies, miss. I am Jenna," she responds happily, turning to resume what she had been fussing over while I slept. "I brought you some breakfast; you have a busy schedule today."

Sure enough, there is a silver breakfast tray with eggs and toast sitting at the foot of my bed, and I eye it hungrily. "Schedule?" I ask, reaching for a piece of toast with as much dignity as I can muster.

She smiles, the expression brightening her entire face. "Yes, miss. You have many lessons today. His Majesty has arranged for several tutors to train you so that you can catch up. You are quite behind, you see." The last part makes her blush, and she dips her head as though she is embarrassed by her own words.

Her deference to me rubs me the wrong way—not because it upsets me, but because it feels all wrong. "Please stop calling me that—my name is Calla. And what do you mean by lessons?" I mumble around a mouthful of food. I'm much too hungry to eat like anything other than the starving animal I am.

Jenna enters the bathroom, heading for the closet. She busies herself with searching through the clothes in there. She speaks to me from the depths of the wardrobe, but I can still hear her. "Mi—Calla," she corrects herself. "Your mother was an exemplary wardeness, and many hoped that she was the sorceress that was foretold. Now it would seem that the King line has come down to you, and you must be trained. The King family has always been powerful, and your domain must be determined so we can train you properly."

This is giving me the mother of all headaches.

A slew of curses are on the tip of my tongue, but for some unfathomable reason, I don't want to subject this sweet lady to them, so I choke my temper into submission.

"I think you'll all be sorely disappointed," I snort. In this, at least, I have a one-up on the castle full of assholes. People keep talking about how powerful my mom was, making it clear that the expectation is that I'll be somewhere as strong as her. Jokes on them, though, because I can't even control what form my magic takes, let alone tell what domain it's supposed to be. My magic seems to be just as volatile as me, and I am so looking forward to Bastian and his asshole son realizing that.