She nodded, then looked up into his eyes. “All of Eden could have lost you. I could have lost you.” She stepped into his arms and pressed her hands against his wet back.
“I’m fine. I’m right here with you.” He tipped her face up and pressed his lips against hers—first gently, then more insistently as the feel of her against his skin lit a fire in him. Nothing else mattered but the way she made him feel—like he was already a king. Like there was nothing he couldn’t do as long as he had her.
“We cannot, Andreus. We have no time.”
He didn’t need time. He just needed her.
“Andreus. My prince,” she panted then shifted back so there was space between her body and his while still keeping her warm hand on his chest. “The ball will start soon. There are things I have learned and you must know. I came upon Elder Ulrich speaking with Captain Monteros. They were speaking about the knife the man used to try and kill you.”
“What about the knife?” he asked.
“It had a maker’s mark on it.”
Andreus didn’t see why that was such a big deal. All of the blacksmiths in Garden City had a mark they used to identify their work. Adderton metal workers would follow the same custom. “That should make it easier to track down where the attacker came from.”
“That’s the problem. They know the mark and where it is from.” She shivered and looked up at him with worry bright in her eyes. “It was made by the blacksmith here at the Palace of Winds. The attacker was not sent by the King of Adderton.”
The words took his breath.
Was the assassin from here? From Eden Castle—his home? Did someone in the court wish him dead?
“Do they know anything about the attacker other than where his knife was made?” he asked, pulling away from Imogen so she didn’t see the fear that shivered up his back.
When Imogen didn’t speak, he turned back. “Imogen? Is there something else I should know?”
“Captain Monteros isn’t sure whether the rumor he’s heard is correct. He is not certain . . .”
“About what? Tell me.”
“No one from Garden City recognized the attacker, but one of the guards says he remembers seeing the man speaking to someone near the tournament grounds fence during the first trial. A woman. The guard recognized her as someone who comes often to the castle with her father to make dresses for the ladies of the court.”
A girl who made dresses for the court. A memory tugged at him, of a dark-haired girl’s tear-streaked face and his sister’s smile when she played with the girl and the irritation he felt when he realized his sister cared for the girl almost as much as she did for him.
“According to the guard, the girl gave the assassin the knife. They are searching for her now and . . . ” She stopped and shook her head.
“What?” he asked. “What else are you not telling me?”
“Elder Ulrich said two guards accompanied someone from the castle to the girl’s shop in the city just a few days ago.” Imogen ran her hand down his chest and stepped closer to him as she looked up into his eyes. “That person was Princess Carys. Your sister.”
13
“Princess . . .”
Garret’s voice chased her into the castle, but Carys didn’t stop walking. Servants moved to the side and dropped into curtsies as she passed. Many couldn’t hide their surprise at her appearance. She wanted to put them in their place for not remembering that she was a princess and they were supposed to show respect. She wanted to slap them for their wide eyes and snickers and their horror at the fact she’d killed a man right out in the open.
But there hadn’t been horror, had there? Not from the crowd. After she’d slain the would-be assassin they’d cheered her name. Carys had won a point that she was never meant to win—and that made this all worse.
Now the Trials would go longer. And the future she ached for, one away from this castle where she could finally find peace, was a tiny bit further out of reach. She needed to be smarter and faster if she wanted to finally get away from the scheming and thirst for the power that came with the throne. She shivered. Her body felt too heavy and too cold to think.
She needed the Tears. They would help her focus. She had to get to her rooms.
The attacker.
The stilettos.
Her brother’s shocked expression.
The man lying dead on the dirt-packed ground—dead by her hand.
The cheers and the gasps of the people.
The way Captain Monteros looked at her as if understanding she had a reason for not only learning to wield the stilettos, but to hide her skill.
All of it jumbled together amidst the overwhelming need. The bottle was in her pocket. She just had to be alone.
Her breathing became ragged as she attempted to outpace the two guard members, including the one who had accompanied her to the North Tower, trailing behind her. Watching her.
In the castle, there were too many servants, too many guests in the halls for her to brave pulling the red bottle from the pocket of her cloak.
One sip.
Only one terrible, blissful drink.
That would be enough. It would.
She shivered in her cloak, feeling as though the chill of the wind outside was traveling through the halls with her as she headed up the stairs. When she got halfway, she stopped and listened to make sure there were no footfalls from above or below.
Nothing. Only the beating of her heart as she pulled the red bottle out of her pocket and uncorked it.
She took a small drink. The bitter taste made her wince. One more swallow, just in case the amount she had just consumed wasn’t enough to pull her body and mind back from the heavy, sweating, fear-filled state that had been creeping up on her since the blades left her hands and everyone saw her secret. They would wonder why she had special pockets to store weapons. They would want to know what a princess living in a castle surrounded by the castle guard was so fearful of. They would ask questions and in learning her secrets they might learn her brother’s and she would have failed at the one thing that had purpose in her life.
She started to tilt the bottle again. Just a little more. It would make it easier to hide the secrets. It would make her better at helping her brother.
No.
Carys forced herself to pull the bottle away from her lips and put the stopper in the bottle’s throat before shoving it deep in the folds of her cloak. What she took would be enough to get her through the ball. She paused a moment, her back against the stone castle wall. Already she felt lighter. The throbbing in her head was clearing.
Ignoring the guard posted at her rooms, Carys shut the door behind her and wished she didn’t have to go out of it again today. But she did. And she had to be ready for whatever came. Andreus was counting on her.
Juliette hurried to greet her. If her maid was shocked by the stilettos Carys pulled out of her pockets before she allowed Juliette to assist her in removing her muddy clothes, she didn’t show it.
“I have a rose oil bath waiting for you, Your Highness, and Miss Larkin delivered several items along with your dress for the ball.”