Chapter Sixteen
Tara wandered through the palace, a sense of urgency driving her steps. She had been searching for Prince Eryx to tell him she would be returning home, as he was expected to meet her parents the following day to officially seek their approval for his courtship. She knew it was important to inform them beforehand. After checking his chamber and finding it empty, she decided to try the garden, where the prince often sought solitude, preferring the peace of nature to the bustling crowds of the palace. She made her way to the garden, hoping he might be there, in one of his favorite quiet spots.
As she passed a secluded corner of the garden, her ears caught a conversation—a man's voice, speaking in a low, confidential tone.
"My lady, how was the merchandise bought by you, doing?" the man asked, his voice carrying a sense of business that struck Tara as both out of place and unsettling.
"Ah, you mean the captive?" a woman's voice replied, somewhat dismissive. "I wasn't impressed with the one I bought. She's a little girl, barely five years old—of little use to me. Though I have no choice but to buy her. I arrived late at the bidding block when I went there, and the mature ones were already taken."
Tara froze, her heart skipping a beat. Captives? The kingdom was holding Marinia's youth as prisoners after the war? Prince Eryx had never mentioned this—he had no idea, had he?
The man's voice returned, attempting to soothe the lady. "I'm sorry, my lady. I promise next time, we'll reserve a better, more mature one for you."
And why were they talking so casually about human lives as if they were nothing more than property? She strained to listen as the conversation continued, each word falling like ice on her skin. "Speaking of reservations," the woman went on, her voice becoming a little more playful, "I saw one I wanted that day, but I was told she was reserved for the Lord. May I know which Lor—"
Suddenly, the sharp skitter of a rat's claws across the stone floor broke the tension, and Tara, startled, gasped, her heart racing. In a panic, she turned and fled, her footsteps echoing as she ran blindly through the garden.
Her pulse was pounding in her ears, and her breath came in shallow bursts as she dashed toward a distant gathering of guests, trying to calm herself. Behind her, she could hear voices rising, the realization that someone had overheard them settling into their conversation. They were coming.
As she reached the garden's edge, she hurried toward a nearby bench, where she sank into the seat, her breath coming faster now from both the fright and the exertion. Her hands were trembling as she glanced back, but no one was in pursuit—at least, not yet.
Tara closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself. The weight of what she had just overheard sank deep into her chest. The kingdom had been involved in something far darker than she had imagined. And those voices—the familiarity of the man's tone, the insidious way the woman spoke—it all made her stomach churn. But what did it mean? And who in the palace was part of it?
Her mind raced, but before she could process her thoughts, she heard approaching footsteps. A figure emerged from the guests, and Tara glanced up to see Lorne, the prince's personal servant, holding a tray with a goblet. He smiled faintly, a look of relief washing over his features.
"Oh, Lorne, you are a godsend," Tara murmured, gratefully accepting the drink. She took it without hesitation, the cool liquid soothing her parched throat as it slid down her throat. "You just know when one needs something. No wonder you're the Prince's personal servant."
Lorne smiled softly, but there was something odd about his demeanor. He seemed nervous, his hands trembling slightly as he collected the empty glass.
"Thank you, Lorne. Have you seen the Prince? I've been looking for him."
Lorne hesitated, his gaze dropping to the glass in his hands. "No, my lady," he replied, his voice a little too quick, a little too polished. "I haven't seen him."
Tara studied him for a moment, sensing an unease in him. She raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? You're the one who's always by his side."
Lorne hesitated again before answering. "No, my lady, I haven't seen him. Perhaps I should go and inform him you're looking for him?"
Tara shook her head, her thoughts already elsewhere. She couldn't waste time searching for him now. Not with all that she had just overheard. "Don't bother," she said softly. "Just tell my coachman to get the carriage ready. We're leaving now. And tell the Prince... we'll meet tomorrow. I'll be waiting for him."
Lorne gave a slight nod, his face still a mask of nervousness as he turned and walked away.
Tara sat for a few moments longer, her mind clouded by everything she had overheard and the strange interaction with Lorne. Her thoughts churned with questions—about the captives, about the people she had just heard, and about who could be behind it all. The pieces of a dark puzzle were beginning to fall into place, but it was still unclear who was pulling the strings.
As Lorne turned to leave after he informed Tara's coachman, a man emerged from the guests and approached him. "Has the job been done?" he asked, his voice low and expectant.
Lorne nodded stiffly. "Yes," he muttered, his stomach churning.
The man's lips curled into a small, satisfied smile. "Good. Your sister is free. From now on, you've kept your end of the deal."
Lorne's heart lurched, but he could barely process the relief that washed over him. His mind was consumed by guilt. The cost of freeing his sister—had it been worth it?
The man turned and walked away, leaving Lorne standing there, frozen. The weight of his actions pressed heavily on him. "What have I done?" he whispered to himself, his fists clenching in anguish. He prayed silently for the Prince's forgiveness, though he knew there was no going back.