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55. The Prince ‘s right

Neem

“I’ll be fine, take me to my room.” I sign to the prince but he pretends not to see me.

We pass by so many servants on the way, and the entire time my heart is beating so loud it deafens me.

We have long left the servants’ wing and we are surely headed to his chambers and despite myself, I wonder what the others think. The prince is carrying me in his arms, and people bow and curtsy to him as he passes, their silent judgement following me. For some strange reason, I want to defend myself. I never asked him to carry me and I surely never asked him to bring me to his quarters.

We enter his chambers and the weight finally lifts off my chest. I don’t know what I would have done if we came upon the king. I don’t want to find out how much of a capital offence it is to have the prince carry me, a mere servant in his arms.

He carries me into his bedchamber and puts me on the bed but I stand right back.

“I can’t.” I sign. I’m his servant, not his equal.

“Lie down. I insist.” He comm
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