The Princess of Secrets & Shadows by Olivia M Geib

Author:Olivia M Geib [Olivia M. Geib]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Olivia M. Geib
Published: 2024-09-25T00:00:00+00:00

I am left alone for the evening in the spelled hideout. May triple-checks the wards, more unnerved by the guards’ increasingly frequent searches than she cares to admit. Then she dresses and leaves, an unusual sadness hanging from her shoulders as she goes to attend one of her non-optional dinners with Prince Viktoryn.

I rise from the mattress on the floor, the one I am now sharing with May, who has a habit of blessedly ignoring the nightmares that shake me from sleep more often than I like to reflect on. I snatch a curved dagger from The Weapons Table, along with some strong liquor May snatched from the cellars earlier. The new ronan berry and iron-charmed bracelet Alice provided me with is a steady weight in my palm.

I take a swig from the clear liquor as I saunter into the small attached bathing chamber. The liquor burns my throat, causing me to sputter and cough.

“What is this stuff?” I mutter to myself, studying the bottle like it is a venomous snake as I catch my breath.

I begin to strip off my pants until I stand in only a loose white tunic. I close my eyes and prepare myself. Opening them, I pour liquor across the top of my thigh and over a small dagger. Sinking my rear onto the side of the tub, I hiss as the cool porcelain meets bare skin, bracing my legs in front of me. I line the dagger up with the meaty flesh of my thigh, gritting my teeth.

Then, I dig my dagger into my own flesh.

A pained grunt escapes my throat as I swallow my scream. My hands tremble. I push harder, deeper. The short slash floods with blood, immediately spilling over the wells of my thigh to pool on the stone floor.

My head spins and I pull a ragged breath in through my nose. The air is metallic—I did not expect this much blood. I drop the dagger to the ground with a clang as stars bloom in my vision. I snap the twine that links the bracelet, and dried berries scatter to the ground. I gather three, along with the iron charm, in my palm, disinfecting them quickly with the alcohol. Silently praying it will be enough.

My head swims, my thighs trembling against my weight as the pool of blood grows. An expanding carpet of crimson. I force myself to take deep, even breaths as I push the berries, one by one, into my parted flesh, groaning through my clenched teeth. My fingers sink into the wet warmth of my flesh, meeting raw muscle with a squelch until the berries sit close to the bone. I repeat the steps with the iron charm.

I pull my hand free, heaving as the edges of my vision blacken. My head grows heavy, dipping. I grip the sides of the tub with both my blood-slicked hands so tightly that one of my fingernails cracks.

Once my vision clears—which takes longer than I am comfortable with—I take another swig of alcohol.

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