CHAPTER 13 Eyes That Remember
1631 Words
Kiara
One week into my new life as Ryden’s taster, my morning began with a pillow to the face.
“Wake up, disaster,” Julise hissed, looming over me like a smug shadow.
My eyes cracked open to find her already dressed—black leggings, fitted boots, and a sleeveless tunic that looked way too tailored to be hers. The palace insignia stitched into the collar gave it away. Definitely stolen from a guard.
I groaned, dragging the blanket back over my head. “Why are you like this?”
“Because someone has to make sure you don’t get yourself killed in a corset.”
I peeked out. “I’m not wearing a corset.”
“Yet.” Her smirk widened. “Now get up. It’s still dark. Perfect time for training.”
I threw the pillow at her. She caught it. Effortlessly. Of course.
“It’s not even dawn,” I mumbled into the blanket.
“Exactly. Nobody’s around. No one to eavesdrop. No one to interrupt.”
I grumbled, but I got up.
The wine cellar under the east wing was just as creepy as I remembered. The walls sweated with damp, and the air was thick with dust and mildew. I sneezed twice before Julise lit a candle and set it on an upturned crate.
“Welcome to your new training ground,” she said with a grand gesture.
“You really know how to pick a mood,” I muttered.
Julise had dragged in a few essentials: faded scrolls, a cracked mirror, a bowl of water, and the rusted old blade that looked like it had once belonged to a demon slayer. Possibly still cursed.
She tied her curls back with a strip of leather and tossed me a piece of cloth to do the same.
“Okay,” she said, stepping into the faint circle of candlelight. “Let’s see what you can do when you’re not panicking or drunk on rage.”
“Fantastic. Love the faith.” “Start with breathing.”
I dropped onto the cold stone floor, crossing my legs. The air was clammy, sharp. I closed my eyes. Inhale. Exhale.
It should’ve been simple. But the more I tried to control it, the worse it got. The air clawed at my lungs. My chest squeezed. My fingers curled into fists.
“I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can. You just suck at it right now.”
“Very motivational, thanks.”
Julise rolled her eyes and handed me a wooden bowl of water. “Touch it. Focus on the temperature. Anchor yourself.”
I dipped my fingertips in. The cold helped. Just a little.
“How do you even know how to do this?” I asked.
“I read.”
I blinked at her. “You hate reading.”
“I hate dying more.”
Fair.
“Besides,” she added, “while you were off playing Ryden’s little kitchen pet—”
“I’m not his pet!”
“—someone had to be productive. I started reading the books from Kier.”
I glared at her. She smirked.
“Now concentrate, Pet.”
Thirty minutes later, she placed a candle on my head.
“I hate you.”
“If your control slips,” she said, “that flame’s going to fry your scalp. So don’t screw it up.”
“Why does this feel like a punishment?”
“It’s not. Punishment would involve rats and poetry.”
I groaned and tried to balance the candle while reading from a scroll of ancient Fae verses. The language was jagged and lyrical, half-forgotten magic stitched into the syllables.
Halfway through, my irritation bubbled over. The candle went out with a snap of heat.
Julise relit it calmly. “You’re getting better. You only singed the tips this time.” “Joy.”
By the time we finished, the horizon had only just started to blush pink. I stumbled back to bed like a corpse.
I didn’t wake up again until the sun was fully up.
Julise tried to wake me twice.
The first time, I swore she was a hallucination sent to torment me.
The second time, I threw another pillow at her and called her a cursed gremlin.
She gave up.
When I finally dragged myself to the breakfast hall, everything was already in full swing. Nobles filled the long table. Servants bustled. Platters clinked. Laughter echoed.
No one looked at me.
They never did.
Until now.
Today, everyone stared.
Because Ryden Fall, High Alpha of Narcolantis, was seated at the head of the table.
And beside him was an empty chair.
A chair meant for me.
Hayden saw me first. His grin split wide. “Well, well. Sleeping Beauty lives.”
I blinked. “Why is everyone staring at me like I just committed a crime?” “Because you did,” he said cheerfully. “Tardiness is treason, didn’t you hear?”
I ignored him and walked stiffly toward Ryden.
He didn’t speak right away. Just looked up. Bored. Annoyed.
His gaze hit me like a slap of ice and heat.
“You’re late.”
“I overslept. And no one told me breakfast moved to the hall. I spent thirty minutes wandering like a cursed ghost.”
“I told everyone.”
He looked pointedly at Hayden, who suddenly found his cup fascinating.
“Traitor,” I muttered.
“Taste then sit.”
“I prefer to stand,” I said as I began tasting the meals in front of him
“You prefer to argue. Sit.”
So after my jobe was completely I sat. Grudgingly.
Then immediately sprang up again when a sharp-nosed woman with a measuring tape appeared beside me like a well-dressed specter.
“Stand,” she said. “I just sat down.”
“And now you’re standing up.”
Ryden didn’t look up from his food. “Tailor. She’s here to fit you.”
“For what, a coffin?”
“For gowns,” he said, bored. “You dress like a ghost haunting the laundry room. It’s offensive.”
“I work in a kitchen.”
“You work for me.”
I huffed. “That doesn’t mean I need silks.”
“No,” Ryden said calmly. “It means you need to stop looking like a cursed librarian.”
The tailor scribbled furiously.
“Height: five-four. Shoulders: narrow. Hips... surprisingly present.”
I flinched. “Excuse me?”
Ryden took a slow sip of something dark. “She also needs to stop smelling like wolfsbane.”
I turned to him, scandalized. “You can’t comment on how I smell!”
“I just did.”
“It’s from the kitchens. And herbs are better than blood.”
“It’s distracting,” he said simply. “Pick another scent.”
I glared. “Pick another attitude.”
Hayden made a strangled noise. Ryden just tilted his head, that unreadable smile twitching.
“You keep talking like you have a choice.”
“And you keep acting like you’re charming.”
“I am charming.”
“You’re a walking headache.”
“And you’re wearing that same apron again.”
I crossed my arms. “It’s lucky.”
Ryden raised a brow. “It’s offensive.”
I resisted the urge to stab him with my fork.
After breakfast, I trailed after him.
Everywhere.
He said nothing. Just expected me to follow like a trained bird.
Council chambers. Library. Strategy room. Training yard.
I moved like a shadow. Everyone bowed. Everyone stared.
Except him.
He only noticed when I didn’t speak.
Julise grabbed me before lunch and dragged me into a closet full of linens.
“Are you okay?”
“He called me laundry-ghost and said I stink.”
“So he likes you.”
“He’s insufferable.”
“And you’re spiraling.”
“I am not—”
“Your nails say otherwise.”
I looked down. Bitten to the quick.
Julise raised a brow. “Told you.”
“I hate that you’re always right.”
She grinned. “We’re training again tonight. You’re getting stronger.”
“You think he suspects?”
“Not yet. But his eyes are too sharp for comfort.”
Later that day, Ryden summoned me again.
Carriage ride.
Diplomatic meeting.
I sat stiffly, arms crossed.
“Why me?”
“Because I said so.”
“You need new reasons.”
“You need fewer questions.”
The meeting was with Lady Kaelen. She barely acknowledged me.
On the way back, I muttered, “She hates me.”
“She hates everyone.”
“Except you.”
Ryden didn’t smile. “That’s why I don’t trust her.”
That night, Julise and I met under the stars.
The stables were quiet. Cold. Peaceful.
Candles circled the ground.
“These are your targets,” she said.
“They’re candles.”
“Then don’t let them out.”
My hands trembled. Magic buzzed beneath my skin.
I tried. I failed. I tried again.
Julise didn’t scold.
She waited.
And when I held a flicker steady for ten full seconds, she nodded.
“Control.”
I slumped back. “Tomorrow I serve breakfast in a dress I didn’t choose.”
Julise smirked. “And perfume. Don’t forget that.”
“Do you think he knows?”
“He suspects.”
“What do I do?”
“Act clueless. And keep training.”
I smiled.
A real one.
Julise always made the chaos feel like strategy.
Even when I couldn’t tell the difference.
The next morning, the tailor returned.
Three gowns.
A bottle of perfume.
And a note:
Stop smelling like bad choices.
I almost laughed.
Almost.
- Writer
