I Love You, My Cursed Prince

Attentiveness was required here. She was in a world of people she didn't trust, not that she trusted many people. Her eyes were always looking around for anything suspicious or even dangerous.

But she still talked to herself, mostly about unrelated things. It made her feel better.

"Some birds don't sing in cages."

"Potato cheesecake is quite lovely with white wines, isn't it?"

"I hope Papa's well."

"Will it snow for much longer?"

"I wonder what's for dinner."

"Can dogs and goats become friends?"

"Fairy stones are actually very disgusting when one truly considers their nature."

Muriel had her cloak, a pair of gloves, and her muff as she walked around a frigid garden. The visible plants were b.a.r.e and dormant. The cobblestone pathway she walked on had a fine layer of snow that had yet to be swept away by any servants. Most everything else on the ground was buried under layers of whiteness.

Her mind clicked and ached as she kept talking, and she was very careful not to talk about her most dangerous thoughts.

Something was terribly incorrect in this castle.

Why had Princess Arya sent so many companions away? What flaws did she see in them?

How long would it take for her to send Muriel away?

Would she have Muriel beaten?

Muriel would have wondered if the princess was a serial killer, but as far as she knew all the previous companions had been sent home. Nobody was murdered.

She sighed. Her breath floated along in a misty shape.

This was an odd place to be in.

She happened to notice someone. She stopped rambling to herself.

There was a tall man a few feet ahead. He was wearing a long, dark blue cloak and a matching hat. With a slight tilt of his head, the man paused and looked at Muriel as if she was a pretty little flower that had managed to survive the winter, surprised and delighted.

Muriel walked up to him and curtsied. "Good afternoon, Sir."

The man gave a short bow. "Good afternoon. I haven't seen you before. Are you the princess' new companion?" He was somewhat handsome, straight brown hair with a square face and warm green eyes.

"Yes, Sir. I'm Muriel Devin."

"Ah. It's good to meet you. I'm Doctor Aron Bergson."

Muriel thought that doctors were the sort of people one should never betray. They knew how to kill and make it look like an illness. She kept herself even more humble than when she was with the princess. "It's a p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e, Sir. Do you live here?"

His smile was warm. "Yes, Miss. I live here, and when anyone's ill or injured I tend to them."

"Oh, then you must be a very busy man."

The doctor's round nose twitched. "Yes. The prince is very ill."

Even though Muriel didn't know this prince, she was curious about his condition. But she also knew that she had little to no business asking about it. Thus, she only said to the doctor, "I hope His Highness recuperates soon. I imagine the Princess would be much happier if her son was healthy again."

"She would, Miss," Doctor Bergson said with an oddly confident nod. "She's a loving and attentive mother."

Muriel's fingers wiggled inside her muff and gloves. She tapped some of her teeth with her tongue. The doctor likely didn't notice any of that, however. "Doctor, may I ask, are you married?"

He shook his head. His hair seemed to be in a single braid running down his nape. "I'm far too consumed with my occupation to have a wife."

"But certainly a wife would appreciate a husband with regular income."

"Just the same, I shouldn't marry." At this moment, both of them were dusted with snow. "I need to leave you, Miss. I hope you won't mind."

Assuming he needed to go past her, Muriel stepped aside. "Don't let me keep you, Sir."

"Goodbye, Miss Devin," the man said as he passed her, some snow falling from his shoulders and hat, his boots' heels grinding on the pathway.

The doctor appeared to be pleasant enough, but Muriel knew better than to rely on him. She could only rely on herself.