The next few days within the confines of the room were dull. The room's stale confines offered no solace—its unchanging view, flavorless meals, and repetitive routine. It was all the same except for the nightmares that grew more and more vivid each time I drifted to sleep. They clawed my mind, jagged edges sharper with each passing night. It would soon be hard to tell them apart from reality. I let out a long sigh as a knock sounds from the door. At least they learned.

  “Let me guess, chicken?” I turn around, raising my eyebrows at the sight of Serevin. I have not seen him since that day.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” I smirk.

  “We depart tomorrow and everyone wants to visit the market. You’re coming with us,” he states.

  “I am perfectly content in this cottage. You can run along,” I sway my hands to shoo him away.

  “Get dressed,” he says and leaves.

  I tread down the stairs, freedom has never felt so unrewarding. Despite the insomnia and boredom, the past few days of solitude offered an unexpected reprieve— I was not in constant look out for the many I have wronged. This profession does get you a lot of hate. Not that I mind being targeted. It is free practice.

  “Took you long enough,” Elisia impatiently paces by the door. Someone is excited.

  I walk slower.

  “You’re not wearing gloves,” says Hagen, eyes narrowing.

  “Seeing as you emptied my vials, I haven’t had anything to use for that,” I sneer. My body can only mimic a poison’s traits for so long.

  “I don’t believe you,” he grunts.

  “We could make a pinky promise?” I offer, wiggling my finger.

  “Keep your hands to yourself,” Serevin answers for him.

  But Hagen takes me up on the offer.

  I pause in shock as he hesitantly loops his pinky around mine and Serevin’s eyes widen ever so slightly, as if anticipating the worst.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “It’s the truth,” he states, pulling away.

  “Why did you do that?” Elisia glowers.

  “We’ll be riding in one carriage later, we can’t have any accidents happen then,” he shrugs and walks out of the front door. She follows him out, scolding him for taking the risk.

  “You could’ve used an apple!” her faint voice chastises.

  A brown carriage is waiting by the front gate. Seizel waves at the group from one of its windows, “Let’s hurry!” he shouts.

  The market is as busy as always. The vendors call on customers to try their goods, the workers carry baskets of produce on their heads, and the merchants go from shop to shop to find the best bargains. The air is thick with a mixture of fragrances: the aroma of morning coffee, the blend of exotic spices, and the floral perfume from flowers on display.

  “Let’s eat first, I’m starving,” Seizel says, heading over to the nearest restaurant. A restaurant I know all too well.

  One would mistake it for an antique shop with the assortment of outdated instruments displayed by the entrance if not for the sign that says ‘Morsel’s kitchen’.

  “Hello, darling, it’s been a while,” a plump lady greets. The quartet gives me puzzled looks as the woman pulls me in for a hug.

  “I’ve warned you about this before, Morsel,” I squirm, instinctively keeping my hands in the air and wriggling away.

  “You’ve brought friends!” she exclaims.

  “Captors,” I correct and she gives me a weird look. Serevin and his guards also seem displeased by the term, their expressions bordering disgust.

  “The last time you said that was with Nieven and look how great you get along. Be that as it may, I won’t stick my nose in your business,” she says and leads us to a table.

  Our food arrives shortly after we order and my mouth waters at the taste. With Morsel’s gift, it is no wonder people frequent the restaurant despite its humble facade. The food is the only delight at breakfast, with the prince and his guards being stiff and quiet as soon as they discovered that the restaurant owner knew me.

  They must be expecting an ambush. Not that I blame them. But I would not wreck havoc at Morsel’s place. She deserves better.

  “I wonder how a nice woman like that came to be acquainted with you,” Serevin breaks the silence.

  “How do you know her?” Elisia questions and Seizel mirrors her narrow-eyed stare.

  “She makes decent food,” I answer, pointing at my nearly finished plate.

  “There has to be more?”

  “With all this chit-chat, one might think we’re actually friends. Don’t take her remark too seriously,” I dismiss and focus on my dessert.

  The table goes silent once more, with only the surrounding chatter and the clinking of metal utensils on glass to be heard.

  I prefer this to pointless questions.