Olive would have the spire.  It was intended to be a guest’s quarters anyway, separate from the main building to afford the resident privacy.  It was attached at the back corner of the house, rising up five stories and tapering to a graceful point.  The top was ringed with a balcony that Olive couldn’t help but be excited about.  It would give her a lovely view of the area, she hoped, as well as a clear line of sight to the sky.

She wanted to ask him why there were so many towers, but remembered his earlier annoyance at her questions and refrained.  She could look up the history of architecture at the library some other time.

There shouldn’t be much dust, he said, as his servant had been cleaning it up until he died.  She’d find the bedchamber on the third floor.  The door on the second floor connected to the rest of the house, but it locked from her side.  Then he gave her a key and left her on the threshold of the spire.

Belatedly, she realized that he hadn’t left her with a light.  She’d even gone so far as to open the door and feel around for a lightswitch before realizing what she was doing.  A sharp pang of loss hit her then.  This really was happening to her.  She really was in another world.

Fine.  She’d just feel her way to the bedroom in the dark.  She wouldn’t go back and beg him for anything, if this was how he was going to treat her.  Carefully, she followed the wall with her hands, searching for the stairs.  The glow of the rings filtered in through the shutters, just enough to illuminate the floor and the dark shapes of furniture.  She was able to find her way up the narrow stairs to the third floor.

The bedroom, she found, didn’t have a door.  The stairs simply opened up into the room and then kept going.  No wonder there was a lock on the second-floor door.  Not much privacy from anyone else in the tower.  The bedroom was larger than her one back home, which was a welcome surprise.  A little sparse, from what she could see, but the bed was large and the mattress was comfortable.  She stripped off the outer layer of her dress and lay down.  Then, as she knew she would, she cried until she fell asleep.

In the morning, she entered the rest of the manor through the second-floor door.  Most of the rooms were closed.  The few doors she tried were locked.  She soon gave up and went to find Prince Cariun.  It was fairly easy to do, as he was the only other person in the house.  She heard his footsteps and soon found him downstairs, setting out plates in the dining room.  

“I’ll be going out,” he said as soon as she entered.  “I need to find you a tailor.  The clothing my sister gave you was actually from one of her ladies-in-waiting, so it’s wholly inappropriate for a guide to wear before the king.”

“How should I be dressed?” she demanded.

He paused in placing a fork and glanced up at her.

“Like you deserve power,” he replied.

Then he quickly vanished through a door at the back of the room.  When he reappeared, he was carrying a tray of sliced bread and a bottle of jam.  Nothing more.  Olive uncomfortably stared at it as he sat it down between them.  Then he seated himself at the head of the table and she quickly took her place as well.  It felt strange, for the two of them to be dining in such a large room.  The house felt… barren.  There weren’t even that many decorations, she realized.  After the dazzling variety at the palace, this place looked practically impoverished.

“So,” she said tentatively, spreading jam on a piece of bread, “your father seems to hate you.”

“He does,” Cariun confirmed.  “Not that he loves any of his children.  But he does hate me in particular.”

“Are you willing to tell me why?”

“It’s because of my mother,” he sighed.  “The king was… positioned for an indiscretion and she made sure she was nearby when it happened.”

“The king was drunk, wasn’t he?” Olive asked dryly.

“He was,” Cariun said with a laugh, before turning grim once more.  “Normally my mother would have been quietly killed before I could even be born, but her position protects her.  So here I am.”

“You’re a bastard, then.”

“That doesn’t matter as much here,” he said after a moment.  “It does in other kingdoms, but not this one.  It’s more… the king didn’t desire a child with her.  He controls everything, you see.”

Olive felt she understood.  The king resented Cariun’s existence because it was the one thing that occurred outside of his will.  The one thing he hadn’t planned and continued to defy him.

“That’s why he doesn’t provide for you?” she asked, gesturing at their surroundings.

“My father granted me a small amount of land when I came of age, but that was all.  The taxes are barely enough for me to survive on and maintain appearances.  Perhaps I could seize more land if I had enough influence to raise followers… but my father has made that difficult.”

His tone turned hard.

“He thinks he can break me,” Cariun spat.

Olive stared at her meager breakfast.  

“If you’re stretched so thin, why are you helping me, then?” she asked quietly.

“To spite my brothers, for just a little while.”

“Is that it?”

He rested his hand on his chin, staring at her consideringly.

“I suspect you’ll turn on me at some point.  If you demonstrate your willingness to comply with His Majesty’s wishes during your oath of obedience, then my siblings will flock to you in an attempt to woo you to their side.  And who wouldn’t go with them?  They will shower you with wealth and prestige.”

“What do you intend to offer me?”

She glanced at him across the table.  The morning sun highlighted the red in his hair.  It curled just below his earlobes, shining like the rubies in his ears.  She didn’t like the way he looked at her - that cold consideration, like she wasn’t even human, but a tool.  Like he was deciding how useful she could be in his hand.

“Revenge,” he finally said.

“Revenge?  For what!?”

He stood, pushing his chair back.

“You have a strong will.  I’m certain you’ll have your reasons soon enough.”

Olive remained quiet, thinking of her earrings.  How the king had watched the entire time, indifferent to her distress.  Her stomach twisted into an anxious knot.  Perhaps Cariun was right.  Perhaps she would have a reason to hate Antris soon enough.