Counting Shadows (Duplicity)

conclusion: Lor thinks I’m afraid.
    And I am.
    Lor has led me one step closer to avenging Ashe. I’ll find his murderer soon, no matter what Lor says, and I’ll kill him.
    So what will I do after that? I won’t inherit the throne; I’ll have the taskless job of ‘princess’ my entire life. I know that my current Guardian is only temporary; Lor will eventually find some way to escape from here. And I won’t have a husband. Ever.
    I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering what I’d admitted to Lor:
“He was my… everything.”
    My life will be meaningless once I kill Ashe’s murderer. It may as well be over.
    And that scares me.

Eighteen
    I wake the next morning to a knock at my bedroom door. My heart pounds and I take in a deep gasp. No one should be in my chambers, not this early. But then I see the light pouring in through the windows, and I realize that it’s not early at all. It’s at least midmorning.
    I drag myself from the bed and yelp as I fall to the floor. My bed is shorter than usual. Then I blink a few times, clearing my mind, and realize that my bed’s height hasn’t changed. I’m just in a different bed that usual.
    That’s right. Lor stole mine last night.
    I straighten my nightgown and answer the door. Lor stands there, although it’s a different Lor than the one I encountered last night. This one doesn’t stumble or collapse at my feet; he stands proudly, shoulders straight, chin tilted up. His jaw is gritted, and he rubs at vambrace around his wrist. The skin around it is already raw.
    He nods toward the main door of my chambers, which stands behind him down a short hallway. “Someone keeps knocking at that door.”
    I peer around him, which is a bit of a task. Lor has a brawny build, and the dungeon has failed to strip all his muscle from him. It strikes me again how easily he could crush me, how quickly he could kill me, and how I could do nothing about it. But somehow I’m not scared of him.
    “Do you know who it is?” I ask.
    “No.”
    “Then go see,” I say. “I can’t answer in my nightgown.”
    He raises an eyebrow and gestures to his shirtless chest. “So it’s better for me to answer half-naked and reeking like a ‘pig sty’?” His voice turns sarcastic as he says those last words, and I know he’s mocking my previous comment.
    I shove past him, not even bothering to give a response. I’m not in the mood for an argument or a comeback. When I reach the door, I yank it open and put on my best I’m-having-a-bad-morning-don’t-you-dare-piss-me-off glare. I’m sure my rumpled nightgown and hair completes the picture of a very sleep-deprived, very angry, and very un-presentable princess.
    I want to hit something.
    But I resist the urge and try to focus my bleary eyes on the person in front of me. It’s Farren, looking just as perfect as ever. His tunic is ironed, his shoulders straight, and his crown balanced on top of his neatly combed hair. The only non-perfect thing about him is the frown on his face.
    “So I hear you’ve gone insane,” he says in a deadpan voice, not even bothering with a greeting.
    “I don’t know what you mean.”
    Farren barges past me, into my chambers. He stops right where Ashe’s blood once dripped onto the floor. “Cut the bull, Faye. You know what I’m talking about. Choosing an Angel as a Guardian? What were you
thinking
?”
    I shrug. “It seemed like the best choice at the time.”
    “
Why?
What would possess you to Choose an Angel? I know you’re just trying to spite Father, but don’t you realize this will be
my
problem in a few months? As soon as I inherit the throne, this all falls on me.
I’ll
be the king with the unstable sister.
I’ll
be the one blamed for your antics. And you’ll be in danger from your own Guardian!”
    “I wouldn’t hurt her.”
    Farren whirls toward Lor, who stands in the hallway. An awkward silence takes over the conversation.
    “This isn’t about spite,” I mumble lamely.
    Farren takes in Lor, his eyes concerned. Then his gaze lands on Lor’s shoulders, and there’s a loud
snap
as Farren’s jaw clamps together. He inhales sharply through his nose. “Faye,” he growls. “This Angel has the same tattoo as Ashe.”
    “My name is Lor,” Lor says. “Not ‘this Angel’.”
    I shoot Lor a warning glance with a clear message:
Now isn’t the time.
    Farren scoffs. “Is this why you picked him as your Guardian? Because he reminds you of the past you refuse to forget?”
    I glare