**THE PRINCESS SERIES is part of the GOLDEN UNIVERSE, and considered a sequel to THE GOLDEN QUEEN/A BRAZEN LOVE**
♦YOU MUST HAVE READ THE GOLDEN UNIVERSE NOVELS AND THE BRAZEN NOVELS TO READ THIS SERIES!♦
Cordelia, the Princess of Totresia, has alw...
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♪ Thought I almost died in my dream again Fightin' for my life, I couldn't breathe again ♪ {The Weeknd—After hours}
"Ugh."
Cordelia had no other words to describe the onrush of agony to her scalp as she sat up. As if every vein, every neuron, every fiber of her brain was on fire but also banging on the insides of her skull while also weighing a thousand tons.
How much did she drink the night before? She couldn't recall, and couldn't open her eyes to count the bottles of brandy or the mugs of ale or the flasks of Thomas' beverage-of-the-day—which always remained a mystery.
Everything hurt. Her toes, cramped in the tight shoes she'd been desperate to switch out for more travel-appropriate boots. Her calves and thighs, from the constant riding, the walking, even the running—though she wasn't positive if she'd been running recently. And her shoulders were sore, her fingers numb as if she'd slept on them, her neck stiff as if she'd been resting on a hardened floor. And her head pounded with a ferocity never felt in her weeks of voyaging.
She tried to pry her eyelids apart, but the mere motion caused her to hiss. "Ahh."
She gritted her teeth and took a whiff of her surroundings—which weren't what she'd expected. Not the piss-riddled floors of yet another animated French tavern. Nor the sewer stench of the back alleys where she'd more than once passed out after an eviction from whichever bar she and the others had been rowdy at.
And now that she thought of it, she wasn't outdoors at all, which was... unusual. Thomas and Razin and Helen—they got rough, at times vulgar when they imbibed, which often resulted in them not having a roof over their heads for the night. On many occasions they'd ventured outside of whichever town they'd been visiting and took to a space in a field, under the stars, lying close to one another for warmth and praying the horses wouldn't break free from the stubbly trees they were attached to.
But not today—whatever day it was. There was no soft sway of meadows in the background, no swish of air on Cordelia's cheeks. There was no scent whatsoever, aside from Helen's stolen lilac perfume, that flittered into Cordelia's nostrils and relaxed her.
A subtle warmth at Cordelia's right side, lodged against her thigh, signified that wherever she was, she wasn't alone. Helen was there. But she felt no other presences, and heard no noise but a few faint moans coming from far, far away. As if emanating from the end of a lengthy corridor, and brushing under a heavy threshold to reach Cordelia's ears.
"Hmm." Intrigued—and a tad worried that the boys' behavior got them caught and Helen and her were in some dingy French aristocrat's basement awaiting torture—Cordelia sought once more to open her eyes.
This time, her lashes parted and, despite the blurry image, she pieced together a large, metallic door a few feet across from her. It had a slit at the top, sealed shut to bar her from the outside world. To its left was a sconce, its candle bright, and burning, shedding a brazen glow within the small enclosed area. Shifting her neck—and not without several grunts of difficulty—Cordelia noted the dusty floor-boards below her. And the faded charcoal walls surrounding her—from the pain, the rigidity in her back, she assumed she was propped against one of the rear facade of this narrow, rectangular space.
