“Apologies, but I cannot. Lucinda Blackthorn, servant to the prince’s fiancée. This is Calcifer, and if I do not get him into a room, he will, in fact, claw my eyes out,” she said as she passed, even managing a half curtsy for a show of goodwill. “Also, the prince needs a healer.”
Maybe she should have been more specific about the gravity of his illness since they all took off towards the carriage, shouting orders behind her. Either way, it left Calcifer and Luci to find a safe space. The halls were too big, but luckily, it was only recently that she traversed these halls once before.
Walking in plain shoes was much easier to navigate as opposed to the heels from only a few nights ago. A few servants eyed her and whispered, but no one tried to stop her as she quickened her pace to near running. Finally, a familiar white inlaid with gold door came into view just as Calcifer began to dig his claws into her neck. Thank goodness for the gloves on her hands for protecting them, but her neck was vulnerable to his fury.
Throwing the door open, she ran in and threw her back against the door, slamming it shut. Calcifer leapt from her shoulder, hair standing on end as he ran and ducked under the same desk Prince Maximillian hid under during the ball.
Low growling sounds gave away his hiding spot.
“I don’t think your cat is happy.”
Luci jumped, her heart racing like a rabbit trying to outrun a fox.
“You're bleeding, did you know?”
Prince Maximillian Vencia.
He stood in front of one of the many stacks of books lining the walls. In his hand was an open leather-bound book with yellow-stained pages that were probably ancient. He looked like a miniature form of Prince Ira with his light brown hair, defined nose, and high cheekbones, but Luci supposed that was a requirement for being a Vencia. The hazel eyes were different, though. They bespoke an awareness and wisdom that did not belong to a seven-year-old, prince or no. Precocious indeed.
“I’m bleeding?” Luci asked.
The raising of his eyebrows made her feel as though she were a very stupid woman. He nodded his head with a long-suffering sigh.
“On your neck and shoulder. Also, why are you dressed like that?” he asked.
The way he tilted his head was bird-like in nature, and Luci was positive he was puzzling her out. More concerning was that when she touched her neck and shoulders, a burning, stinging sort of pain ran through her, making her jump. Indeed, her fingers came away crimson.
“Calcifer was displeased with his carriage ride,” she said.
The pain was sharp as she pressed her fingers to the wounds, but she endured it, needing to staunch the bleeding.
“You’ll get it infected like that. Here,” Max said.
He set down the book and shrugged his way out of his navy and gold trimmed jacket and held it out to Luci. That felt like a misuse of fine clothes.
“It’s fine. If there was something on my hands, I’ve already introduced it to my body. I don’t want to ruin your coat, but thank you very much.”
It would seem Max inherited his chivalry from his older brother. How it skipped Lucien Vencia was a mystery.
“Suit yourself,” he said, sliding the jacket back on. “Though I think that is faulty logic. Either way, you haven’t said why you are dressed like that.”
Luci peered down at her simple brown dress laced with a deep brown corset. It was just as good as any dress. Why it should offend the little prince was also a mystery. So many mysteries in this family. If only there were enough time or energy to investigate them.
“It’s just a dress.” Luci shrugged, still holding her battle scars.
Max eyed her up and down like they were seeing very different things.
“You look like a servant,” he said. “Also, why is your hair black?”
Luci stilled.
This was quickly becoming the worst possible room she could have chosen to release Calcifer.
“Iama servant,” Luci said carefully. “And this is the color of my hair.”
A tilt of his head, and he could see her dissecting every inch of her, cataloguing each feature and sound into that strange mind. When he was through, he shook his head and retrieved the book he was holding.
“Well, when you were here the other night, you were dressed like a lady, and your hair was blond. Either way, that’s inconsequential. I’ve gone through every text we have about the glass room, and no one has ever experienced what you did, though I was hoping you would repeat it so I might write it down. It’s possible Ira breaking down the door was responsiblefor the glass breaking, very foolish of him, but regardless, I think it’s worth considering whatever you did inside was the reason.”