It had taken several days to get used to the beds at the academy, especially since she shared a room with Amelia but now that she had a guest room to herself, Ingrid felt somewhat out of place.
Despite the lavish décor, the plush settees and the king-sized bed, none of it felt at home to her. Ingrid was alone, an alien to the luxury, and although the room warmed her right down to her toes, she felt cold within her chest.
Sliding out of bed and tying the laces of her boots, Ingrid grabbed her coat off the end of her bed and wrapped it around her body.
The fire had started to die. The embers were glowing but not as brightly as before and she didn’t want to turn the pods on, afraid that they’d blind her with too much light in the midst of the darkness.
Will I even be allowed out at this hour? Ingrid wondered, her hand hovering above the brass doorknob, sculpted to resemble a five-petal flower. She lowered her hand.
This wasn’t the Manor. This wasn’t her home and she couldn’t treat it like it was. She couldn’t wander around or sneak into the kitchen for a glass of milk in the middle of the night when sleep evaded her.
But that was exactly what she wanted to do – and she couldn’t help herself as she slipped into the hallway and clicked the door shut behind her.
It was significantly colder outside than it was in the guest room. Goosebumps rose along every inch of her skin despite the thick nightgown and coat she wore. The windows must have been open for a while because the walls were freezing against her fingers. She shivered, pulling them back and crossed her arms tightly across her chest. At least her boots were cosy.
“Which way to the kitchen?” she pondered under her breath. “Kitchen . . .”
She’d come through the main entrance earlier on so the kitchen area was bound to be further back, like the Charles Manor. It was only logical to keep staff headquarters out of the way of tourists and nosey civilians.
After a moment of contemplating which way to go, she scurried to her left, rubbing her hands to keep them warm. She almost regretted leaving her room if it wasn’t for the tempting promise of warm milk in the kitchen awaiting her – if she managed to find it and receive permission to do so.
It took countless lefts and rights she couldn’t keep track of until she came across a staircase and descended it. It only seemed to grow colder as she made it to what she guessed was the ground floor. Her arms tightened to preserve warmth while she slowed her pace to a leisure walk. Ingrid hadn’t come across a single worker so far. Either she was struck with sheer dumb luck or the palace staff just didn’t have night shifts, aside from the guards.
Ingrid glanced out the windows every now and then to catch a glimpse of the moon shining over the courtyards. However, when Ingrid came across a door slightly ajar, a multitude of colours caught the corner of her eye before she could pass it entirely. Pausing, Ingrid backtracked until her head peeked out from behind the door.
“Elora’s Haven,” she whispered in awe, pulling her entire body out into the open. Also known as the Imperial Gardens, Ingrid stood in the doorway, milking in every part of the land before her. She took a brave step forward into the gardens, cautious of any prying eyes.
As far as she could recall from her books, it had been designed by the famed Aramis Flint, known for the beautiful floral images he painted. This garden had been designed specifically for the wife of the fourth Lorcanian King, Queen Elora, several centuries ago. Skilled gardeners had brought Flint’s artwork to life and over the years it had been groomed and well cared for. It was more beautiful than it was in pictures.
Spiralling trails of pink and white flowers encircled the vast plot of land, a cobblestone path winding in the centre, following the trail. They formed multiple intricate designs of flowers, some she could barely make out from being on the ground. Surrounding these main features were patterns of rings and geometrical shapes of all sorts of colours across the spectrum, from rich ruby red to a midnight violet that appeared near invisible beneath the sky.
Ingrid soon found herself following the twisting stone path, her breath stolen by the enchanting display of flora and the bright colours that glowed beneath the moonlight. Despite the cold air biting her nose and turning her cheeks red, Ingrid ploughed on, mesmerised.
“It’s so cold,” she muttered, rubbing her hands furiously. Why hadn’t she worn gloves? “So how are you still alive?” It was possible the gardeners were Imaginists. That would explain the impeccable preservation of these flowers.
If she didn’t know any better, Ingrid would have guessed that the garden was perfectly preserved right down to the last detail since its creation.
She closed her eyes and basked in the moonlight whilst inhaling the mixed aroma of flowers thick in the air.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Ingrid’s eyes snapped open, the voice striking a cold stab of fear through her heart. Though she’d only ever encountered one voice like this before, there was no mistaking the allure of darkness in his tone.
“But I daresay, even the Imperial Gardens pale in comparison to you.”
Her breath sped up, heart jolting in fear. There was no temptation this time, not when she knew what it would lead her to. She fought off the chilling touch of his influence tickle the border of her imagination. Her mind started reeling, panicking. How had a Tainted crawled into the Imperial Palace undetected?
“A shy one, aren’t you?” Ingrid refused to turn around, feeling nauseous at hearing his voice’s soft and tender tone. She wasn’t enough of a fool to fall into the same trap twice. So Ingrid did the most logical and rational command her thoughts and instincts were screaming at her to do: run.
She could hear his dark chuckle, the façade of kindness melting and fading with each breath. “Where are you going, my lovely? We have just started the fun.”
Ingrid yanked her skirts up and sped her pace, willing her legs to go faster. The path she ran was fortunately straight, giving her clear access to the beginning of the maze straight ahead. Queen Elora had had a fascination with mazes and she thanked the deceased monarch for that; it gave her an opportunity to escape her pursuer. Ingrid plunged through the gap between the tall thick hedges, twisting left and right every time the opportunity arose.
The palace guards are useless! Ingrid fumed, feeling her adrenaline kick in. How could they so blatantly let a Tainted into the palace grounds? Didn’t normal people have better sense than that? Apparently not.
She turned a corner and inhaled sharply: a dead end. Twisting around, she made a move to turn back when the rhythm of ushered footsteps caught her keen ears. Sealing her lips, Ingrid breathed heavily through her nose as she let her panicked thoughts take over. She ran for the wall of leaves and knotted branches that blocked her path. A single image flashed through her mind and for that single moment, she felt calm and at ease. Her skull began to tingle.
The hedge tore itself apart in time as she threw herself between the narrow gap. Twigs tangled themselves into her sleeves and her hair but she kept running, feeling the sharp tugs across her body. Ruining Princess Isla’s nightgown and coat was the last thing on her mind. A second image flashed through her mind’s eye but she didn’t have time to check if the hedge had closed up as planned or not. She prayed it did.
“A shield,” she panted, swerving around the corner. Her scalp tingled again as she conjured herself a silvery shell that wrapped around every inch of her body, like a protective outer skin. But it wouldn’t be enough; the Tainted she’d tried using a wall against hadn’t worked last time. Even with the training she had been going through, there was no predicting the full extent of a Tainted imagination in comparison to her own. Amelia had never mentioned –
Her breath was cut short by a hand. It clamped down forcefully on her mouth, followed by an arm that snaked around her waist. Ingrid was yanked back into the shadows of the nearest hedge. She thrashed and screamed, tears forming at the corners of her eyes but was muffled by the hand stifling her.
“Hush!” hissed the owner of the hand, pulling her deeper into the network of foliage.
Ingrid stopped her struggles, hands ceasing to scrabble at her saviour. Her heart continued to hammer in her chest as she willingly pressed herself backwards, pushing them both as far into the hedge as possible until they were almost flat with it. She still didn’t feel quite safe, being in front.
Footfalls came rushing across their path, a deadly figure shadowed by the moon’s dim light. Ingrid trembled at the sight of his scouring black eyes: Tainted, just like the man she’d encountered in Montgomery.
The hand around her mouth slowly fell away, extending towards the muttering evil man. His long fingers abruptly curled inwards, clenching into a tight fist while Ingrid watched silently.
The Tainted man suddenly fell to his knees, throwing his head back with his mouth wide open as if to scream but he did not make a single sound. It was as if he were suffering in silence.
And then he fell, face flat into the soft grassy floor. The arm around Ingrid’s waist dropped and the relaxed posture of her saviour was her cue to relax herself.
Her knees buckled. If it were not for the arms that had caught her, she would have fallen in a trembling heap.
“Getting into more trouble now aren’t we, Miss Ingrid?”
“Just Ingrid,” she managed to mumble, clutching his arm for support. She was still shaking despite that her pursuer lay unconscious and if she wasn’t mistaken, unbreathing. She tried not to squirm at the prospect of a dead body so near her. “How did you find me?”
“I follow the danger you always seem to attract. You see, it’s a hobby of mine to help poor young maidens from turning Tainted.”
“Hmm. And how many times have you done this?” Ingrid asked, not in the mood for his sarcasm.
“Including tonight? Two.” Amusement coloured his tone.
Ingrid clutched his arm and pulled herself up to her feet until they were steady and stable. He had to be lying about that number. “Thank you – again. I should be going back to my room now.”
“You don’t want to know the real reason why that Tainted is here?”
She looked away to avoid the body but found herself peering up reluctantly into a pair of burning hazel eyes, flecked with green. All amusement was wiped from his face.
Pausing, Ingrid clenched her fists, feeling irritation replace the gratitude in her heart. “And what would that reason be?”
“I was followed by a spy,” he said simply. “And he followed me here. He must have seen you – but why were you outside?” His eyes narrowed. “And why are you here in the first place?”
“That matter does not concern you,” she scoffed.
“You are my sister’s tutee.” He arched an eyebrow. “I should be looking out for the people she teaches, shouldn’t I?”
“Why did you let a spy follow you here?” Ingrid countered, pursing her lips. “If you are such an excellent spy yourself, how were you followed?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, dear Ingrid, I am currently not in the best shape.” Grayson stepped back and gestured down at his entire form. It was then that Ingrid noticed the wince and the rest of the damage.
The left of his torso adorned a ragged tear from his underarm down to his belt and it was oozing blood from the gash within. His lightly tanned skin exposed beneath the moonlight held Goosebumps across the surface while yellow pus started blooming at the edges of his cut. His face wasn’t so unscathed either, with scratches by his eyes and blood dried by the corner of his mouth.
Ingrid’s eyes widened in surprise as she glanced down at a wet patch on her back. She ran a hand along it to find fresh blood and gasped. It wasn’t hers. “Y-You’re hurt.”
Grayson rolled his eyes but as he moved to shift his weight, he fell to his knees, coughing violently. “Curse that poison.”
“Poison?” she squeaked in terror, bending to have a look at his injury. “Is there poison in this?”
“I was poisoned a couple days ago,” he told her weakly, wiping his mouth. She caught the smear of crimson across his hand and her jaw dropped. “It’s nothing, really. Just made me a bit weaker.”
“You shouldn’t be going on missions if you have been poisoned,” she snapped, resisting the urge to smack him silly. She wouldn’t worsen his condition. When he was healthier, she would get him then. A sudden reminder of the Tainted tickled her conscience and she found herself staring down at the unresponsive body, shuddering. She inched away. “Can we just leave him like that?”
“He’s dead,” he told her gruffly, venom dripping from his voice. “Just like he should be. I send for someone to clear him.”
Ingrid left it at that, not wanting to discuss the body any further. A dead body lay so close to her. She inhaled deeply, trying to rid the thought from her mind and turned back to the injured man, eyeing him warily. “Can you get back to the palace in one piece?”
“I will be fine. So how do you know about my missions?” Grayson questioned, a smile tugging at his lips despite the pain that contorted his face.
“Stop talking,” she ordered, ducking beneath his good arm and helped him stagger to his feet. She was about to wrap an arm around his waist when she thought otherwise.
Grayson must have sensed her hesitance because he grabbed her fingers with his other arm and hooked it at the back of his pants.
Her cheeks flared in embarrassment as the young man stumbled slightly, threatening to pull them both down into a heap. “Don’t put pressure on your bad side.”
He chuckled as she started making her way through the maze’s pathway, Grayson limping beside her. “Since when do you care about my discomfort?”
“You are my tutor’s brother, aren’t you?” she retorted with a grunt. She pulled her fingers higher until they were grasping the waist of his trousers, just enough to offer him support. Any further down and her cheeks could have cooked an egg. “Besides, I’m not heartless to the crippled.”
“Cripple?”
“Hush.” Even talking seemed to cause him pain but it was probably due to the fact that he felt as though he needed to make gestures every time he opened his mouth. How silly.
For a while, they walked in silence, every now and then Grayson pointing the way since Ingrid hadn’t a clue. When they finally reached the exit that opened back up to the gardens, Ingrid’s previous excitement of seeing the haven had diminished, leaving behind concern for the injured man she supported.
“You never told me how you knew about my missions,” he mused quietly, his breath tickling her ear.
Ingrid kept her gaze straight and strictly forward, tugging him sharply. He hissed. “Princess Isla told me. You know, she’s infatuated with you.”
“Please, the princess is hardly what you call subtle,” Grayson snorted, clutching Ingrid’s waist tightly. It was either from another jolt of pain or he was trying to be too friendly. She wasn’t sure. “Are you perchance jealous, Ingrid?”
She snorted, making it as though it were the most ridiculous idea in the world – and it was. “Of Isla? Of course; she is beautiful. She’s a princess. But because of you? Please, do not flatter yourself.”
He chuckled. “You are so kind.”
“Why would I be jealous?” She tugged him harder, giving him a taste of his pain and earned a grunt of response. “I came here with Harry.”
Grayson let out a long laugh. “Harrison Kennedy? The King’s nephew? He has absolutely nothing against me.”
“On the contrary,” Ingrid snapped, tugging him even harder until he stumbled over his own footsteps, almost falling into a bed of baby blue flowers. She shook her head and racked her brains for an argument. “Harry is unbelievably kind and charming and has been nothing but chivalrous to me. You on the other hand –”
“Grayson! You’re hurt!”
A young man came dashing out from the door to the palace, the one Ingrid vaguely remembered sneaking out from. She came to a standstill, deciding to give Grayson a break as the man came up towards them. “Are you alright? Father was absolutely ballistic! He thought you’d been caught or killed or –” He paused, eyes darting to Ingrid clutching Grayson’s side. He seemed to completely forget the injured man she held, a charming smile lighting up his features.
Ingrid noticed the man had a dimple too, like Harry. Her brow creased as she noted his green eyes. Why was he so –
“Eugene, you needn’t worry,” Grayson grunted, turning so his body half covered Ingrid from the man’s view. “Come on, help me.”
“The Prince!” Ingrid gasped, almost dropping Grayson completely. She tucked a foot behind her other one and bobbed into a rushed curtsey. “Your Highness –”
“Please, call me Eugene,” he interrupted with a wave of his hand.
His dazzling smile caught her breath for a moment before she internally shook herself to her senses. Hadn’t she heard somewhere that the Crown Prince was a philanderer?
“Eugene,” she repeated, composing her racing heart. “Grayson is hurt. He needs to see a medic right away.”
In a daze, Eugene’s green eyes trailed over to the man she clutched, widening in realisation. “Oh!”
“Yes, oh,” Grayson snapped, his arm clenching Ingrid until they were almost bonded at the hip. She squirmed beneath his grip. “Let’s go, Genie.”
“For goodness sake, don’t call me that!” he exclaimed, making a move to help support his other side when his gaze caught the man’s injury. “Oh. I see.”
“Please, sir,” Ingrid urged. “He’s quite heavy.”
Eugene turned on the charm, flashing a grin. “Of course he is. Half the time my kitchen staff are feeding him and they do not make light meals. Allow me, Miss . . .”
“Her name is Ingrid. Now stop trifling with my fiancée and get this darn cut sewn up!”
“Fiancée?” Ingrid hissed. She fumed, having every right to drop him right then and there. He could bleed over all the flowers for all she cared!
“Arranged marriage?” Eugene asked, amusement toying at his lips. He sounded unconvinced, much to Ingrid’s relief.
“Yes.” Grayson grunted, waving to the Prince frantically. “Come on, I am dying here, Genie.”
“I hate you,” Eugene sighed, grabbing his friend’s good arm and turned to Ingrid, eyes glinting. “May I?”
“Of course,” she stammered, releasing the injured man and felt relief wash through her limbs as they no longer supported extra weight. She stepped back and let the Prince take her place.
“Come along, Ingrid and I’ll get you cleaned up. I can help if you’d like.” Eugene beckoned to Ingrid whose cheeks burned in embarrassment.
It was hard to believe the heir to the throne of her beloved country was such a flirt.