Kissed him.
He held her hand and pulled it to his lips. “I never thought I’d see you again. And seeing you is both wonderful and painful. I have a message of great importance but I must be brief; one of Boris’s men saw me on my way here.”
“What! Then you must go!” Catherine looked back at the door, where Sarah had stationed herself. “This is madness. I wanted to see you, but not at the risk of your life.”
“I’ll go soon, but I have to tell you my message first. Your father is planning an invasion. He has thousands on men on the border at this moment ready to invade Pitoria.”
“What? No, you must be mistaken—my marriage is supposed to bring our countries closer together.”
“Your marriage is a diversion. I’ve seen their orders.” Ambrose held out the letter to Catherine. “Today they are advancing on the border, and they invade tomorrow at first light.”
Catherine scanned the letter, her eyes wide, and it pained Ambrose to see her so shocked and confused.
“You believe it?” she gasped.
“Your father’s seal is on the orders.”
“But . . . why? Why the invasion at all? And why this sham of a marriage? It makes no sense. I’m here and Boris and Noyes too. An invasion would put us all in danger.”
“That’s why I had to see you. To warn you. I believe Boris must be party to it. Who arranged for all the lords of Pitoria to be at your wedding? Who insisted on it?”
“He’s my brother . . . he wouldn’t,” breathed Catherine.
“The lords away from their castles, the whole country distracted by celebrations. It’s the perfect opportunity for an invasion.”
Catherine shook her head. “But . . . why invade at all?”
“That I don’t know, Your Highness. But whatever your father’s reason, it’s happening.”
From the corridor came the sound of running and shouting.
“Boris is here.” Ambrose took Catherine’s hand. “Don’t let him know what I’ve told you. You must get word to Prince Tzsayn. He can protect you.”
“Ambrose . . .” Catherine began, but before she could say anything more the door burst open and four of Boris’s guards ran into the room, swords drawn. Ambrose backed to the window, drawing his sword as well.
Boris strode in with Noyes behind him, his eyes gleaming.
“Well, sister, you continue to surprise me. Meeting your lover under your husband’s roof the very day before your wedding?”
Ambrose stepped forward. “We are not lovers. I am Princess Catherine’s guard. Sworn to protect her.”
“Protecting her! Bringing disgrace upon her, you mean.”
“I was not alone with Ambrose, and we were merely talking,” Catherine said. She made a subtle sign with her hand, and Ambrose saw Sarah nod and slip out of the door behind Boris.
“Well, there’s no time for talk now.” Boris turned to Ambrose. “My father wants you back in Brigant to pull you apart limb from limb, but I fear I will have to disappoint him.”
Ambrose felt his blood rising. “You, or your men? I seem to remember the last two you set against me didn’t pose too much trouble.”
Boris sneered. “Then let’s see what happens with four. Take him!”
Ambrose swung his sword up, but before Boris’s guards could attack, Catherine darted in front of him, saying, “No, Boris! Not again.”
“Out of the way, sister! You shame yourself.”
“It’s you who shames me!” And she stepped forward so that the point of one of the guards’ swords was against her chest.
“No, Catherine!” cried Ambrose.
The guard looked uncertain and began to lower his blade, but Boris stepped forward, pulled Catherine out of the way, and threw her roughly to the floor as he shouted, “I said, take him!”
Ambrose knew he had to get the numbers in his favor as quickly as he could, and he swung to the nearest assailant and cut across his sword arm. The man staggered back. The next guard aimed a clumsy cut at Ambrose’s head but he ducked beneath it, his sword opening the man’s throat. He parried the third guard’s strike, but the fourth was already outflanking him. Ambrose fell back, taking the fight away from Catherine, who was still sprawled on the marble floor. Boris’s men came forward. And then the room was full of noise, the stamping of boots and shouts in Pitorian as blue-haired soldiers surrounded them, and Ambrose had never been so happy to have a spear pointed at him.
“Drop your weapons, in the name of His Highness Prince Tzsayn!”
Ambrose dropped his sword, and the other men did so reluctantly. Boris’s blade was still sheathed by his side.
From behind the crowd of soldiers stepped another man. He was young and slim and wearing a coat of blue silk. Prince Tzsayn. Ambrose had heard the rumors of his scarred face, and indeed it was a strange sight: one side handsome, the other looking like melted wax.
Tzsayn walked over to Catherine, saying, “It seems I was right—you are more familiar with warriors than I, Your Highness.”
He held out his hand, she took it, and he gently helped her to her feet.
Ambrose forced himself to stay still. He should be the one to take her hand, to help her rise, and he was sure now that that was what she wanted too, but the look she flashed him was enough to hold him in place. There was nothing he could do. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply. Catherine was safe. He had delivered his message. Whatever happened next was out of his hands.
“Can you tell me what is happening here, Your Highness?” Tzsayn asked Catherine softly.
Boris snarled a reply. “This man, Sir Ambrose Norwend, is a wanted traitor. He’s to be returned to Brigant for trial and execution.”
Tzsayn turned sharply to Boris, an exaggerated look of surprise on his face.
“Ah, Prince Boris, I didn’t see you there. It seems we’re all going a little blind, as I am sure you would have helped your sister had you noticed she’d fallen to the floor. Perhaps I am seeing this wrong too, but Sir Ambrose does not seem particularly willing to return with you.”
Boris sniffed. “He thinks he can do as he likes instead of as the king demands.”
“Oh dear. He sounds like a true villain.” Tzsayn looked at Ambrose for the first time with a swift, searching gaze. Ambrose held it for a moment, then bowed his head.
Tzsayn leaned to Catherine. “What do you say, my lady? Is he a villain? I’m tempted to think that in this case Prince Boris might be right.”
“My father demands that Ambrose returns to Brigant, that is true, but I fear that if Boris were to escort him Ambrose would not complete the journey alive.”
Tzsayn nodded thoughtfully.
“Well, I have a simple solution to the immediate problem. As Prince Boris will not be returning to Brigant until after our marriage, I suggest that, in the meantime, Sir Ambrose is kept safely and securely in my custody.”
Ambrose began to hope that he would make it out of the room alive after all.
Boris bristled. “That won’t be necessary, Your Highness. My men can ensure he is secured.”
Tzsayn shook his head. “I don’t wish this villain to cause any more trouble before my wedding day. He is my prisoner, until I decide otherwise.” Tzsayn turned to Ambrose. “Have you anything to add, Sir Ambrose?”
Ambrose flicked his eyes toward Catherine, but her own held no clues for him. He stepped forward proudly. “Prince Tzsayn, I am no villain. I had no desire to fight here, but was forced to defend myself against Prince Boris’s men.”
Tzsayn cocked his head. “But why are you here at all?”
Ambrose hesitated. With Boris and his men in the room, he could not reveal the truth. It was for Catherine to pass on the news he’d given her.
“I was here to speak with Princess Catherine about . . . an urgent matter.”
“Which is?”
“Which is for the ears only of Her Highness and those she chooses to trust.”
Tzsayn blinked, then nodded. “I see. Take him away.”
Ambrose felt each of his arms clasped by one of the blue-haired guards.