Twenty-Seven

 

Molina woke up on the floor, surrounded by gold-filled spindles. The strange man was gone, but he'd done his work well. True to his word, he'd turned all the thread into gold. The king would have to be satisfied now.

She rose stiffly and made her way to the door and banged her fist on it. "Captain, I am done," she shouted.

"I will fetch the captain, mistress," came a voice through the door. There was a pause, then a muffled, "It may take some time to find him."

Molina settled down to wait.

By the time she could hear someone unbarring the door, the sun had reached the arrow slits that passed for windows and it streamed down on the artfully piled up spindles, setting the whole room aglow.

The men in the doorway had to shield their eyes against the brightness, so it took them a moment to register her presence. "The king's work is done, Captain, and I would retire to my chamber now," Molina said pointedly.

A man stepped through the door, blinking. The guard captain looked like he'd been woken from a sound sleep.

"I...ah...yes, mistress. Two of my men will see you safely to your chambers. I must...must report this to the king."

Her arms felt leaden after all the spinning she'd done yesterday, so she was relieved when the guardsmen didn't take her arms like they might a prisoner. Instead, they walked behind her, letting her lead the way. As though she truly was Lubos' wife, and not some girl who hoped the king would allow her to marry him. For the madman Lubos had introduced as his father, the king, was not a man she could trust to keep his promises. Unlike his son.

Vowing to hide in Lubos' chambers until he returned, Molina sank into the prince's bed. She had only a moment to wish the prince lay beside her before sleep claimed her for its own.