Literature
The Thorncrown Prince
“Your Highness, wake up!”
Prince Anselm jolted upright in bed at the sound of a girl’s voice. For a few moments it was all he could do to stare ahead groggily, seeing little around him.
What was the matter? The hour must be past midnight, judging by the dying embers in the hearth across his bedroom. No moonlight shone through the windows left open against the cool summer's night, though he could hear a faint rustle of wind out there.
“Your Highness! You must listen to me.”
“What is it?” He turned to the girl, squinting through the darkness. “And who are you, to waken me at this hour?”
“I am Rhinna.” The girl by his bedside was trembling–and for the first time he recognized the voice as that of his sister’s young handmaid. “I’d never have done this at any other time, but it’s–it’s that your life is in gravest danger. You must flee the castle.”
Anselm ran his fingers over his eyes and shook himself. He was very much awake now.
