“We have to warn Naomi.”
Madeleine scrambled after me. “They don’t want to hurt Naomi. They want to hurt you. They’re going to kill you.” She grabbed my arm, her perfect painted nails digging into my skin. “Do you think you can fight them, Freya? You have to hide. Now.”
It didn’t make sense. Sten was trying to kill me? Sten had been the murderer? I pulled my arm out of Madeleine’s grip and ran into Naomi’s room. Naomi was still asleep, dark hair falling across her face.
“Naomi,” I hissed. I shook her, making her hair shake. “Naomi, wake up.”
Her arm flew out, knocking me away. She blinked. “Freya?” She scrambled up, shoving her hair away from her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Madeleine says Sten is attacking. We have to leave.” Back in my room, Madeleine clattered through the drawers of my dresser. She pulled out a long, delicate gold chain, with a ruby cut like a star. It was one of the jewels I’d worn at my coronation.
“Madeleine, what are you doing?”
“Let’s hope you don’t need this. But just in case—”
The front door rattled and slammed, and Madeleine jumped. “I wedged a chair against the door,” she said. “But it’s not going to hold them for long.”
“There must be another way out of these rooms,” Naomi said. “They’re supposed to be safe for the king, aren’t they?”
“If there are other ways out, I don’t know them.”
“There are storage rooms in the back,” Naomi said. She hurried for the door. “Covered up. There must be something.”
I nodded. Naomi led us out of the bedroom into the corridor, as the guards rammed on the door again.
Naomi grabbed my hand at that, squeezing painfully tight. She tugged me around the corner and into a room at the end of the corridor, before shutting the door quietly behind us.
The room was dark except for one sliver of moonlight, creeping in through the arrow-slit window. I could just make out the shapes of several large pieces of furniture, but Naomi seemed to know where she was going. She pulled me toward what appeared to be a wall in the dark, then reached out and opened a space where the door must have been.
“Wait!” I said. “Dagny! They’ll hurt Dagny.” I pulled my hand out of Naomi’s grasp and turned back.
“Freya, wait—” But I’d already thrown open the door, and ran back into the corridor. I couldn’t let them hurt Dagny. She relied on me to take care of her, and if they touched her . . .
I pulled open the door to my bedroom. Please let her be somewhere obvious, I thought. Please don’t let her have wandered off.
But Dagny wasn’t there. Not that I could see. I pulled back the blankets and peered at the top of the wardrobes, but there was no sign of her.
A door creaked. Someone was walking through the corridor.
I ducked and looked under the bed, but I couldn’t see anything. Why was it so dark? “Dagny?” I hissed. “Dagny, where are you?”
A meow came from behind me. I spun around. Dagny leaped out of a slightly open drawer, her tail fluffed, eyes glowing. “Dagny!” I ran forward and scooped her up, pressing her fur against my nose. Dagny meowed again, and she whacked me on the chin with her paw.
“Queen Freya.” I spun around. The black-haired guard, Reynold Milson, stood in the doorway. “Why don’t you put the cat down, and come along with me now?”
I tightened my grip on Dagny. The only other way out of the room was into Naomi’s bedroom, and that had no other door, no other means of escape. Which meant I had to speak, not run. “What do you want?”
He stepped closer, still blocking the doorway. “Come on, now. Let’s not make it any harder than it needs to be.”
I took a slight step back. If I could lure him closer, make him step fully into the room, I might be able to dart around him and escape into the corridor. But he would have allies, wouldn’t he? Other people helping him. Should I pretend to surrender? Pretend to trust him, make him relax?
No. Madeleine had barricaded the door. He knew I was afraid of him.
“I take no pleasure in this,” he said. “But justice must be done. You understand that, don’t you?”
I shifted Dagny’s weight, trying to free one of my hands. There was a heavy candlestick on the table on the side—if I could just reach it, if I could use it as a weapon . . .
Milson stepped closer again, and something glinted between us. A sword.
I couldn’t fight a sword with a candlestick. But I wasn’t going to go quietly, either. I took a small step to the side, trying to make out the shape in the corner of my eye without looking away from him.
More men would come. More people to drag me away. I couldn’t fight them all. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try. I snatched up the candlestick, feeling its weight, holding it between us.
“That isn’t going to help you.”
A loud crash shook the room, and he staggered forward.
Madeleine stood in the corridor, a candlestick raised above the guard’s head, ready to strike again. I ran. The guard struck out with his sword, but his aim was slightly off, dazed by the attack, and I swung my own makeshift weapon wildly. It hit the blade with a shriek of metal on metal. The force of the blow knocked it from my hand, but I didn’t pause to care. I twisted past him, and Madeleine grabbed my arm, hauling me away.
More shouting from down the corridor. If the guards had had any hope of being subtle, that crash would have destroyed it. More attackers would follow now.
Madeleine dragged me back into the room we had entered before. The lock clicked behind us.
“It won’t hold them for long,” Naomi said. She was pushing a huge shape forward, her voice straining with the effort. Madeleine darted forward to help. The furniture—some shelves, I thought—scraped against the floor. The door thudded as someone tried to open it from the other side. And then the shelves were wedged there, and we were running again, through the next door, and the next. We stopped in a room full of strange shapes—a storage room, maybe—slamming the door closed behind us. I clutched Dagny tight as Naomi and Madeleine maneuvered a cabinet in front of it.
“Is there a way out from here?” I asked.
“We don’t know,” Naomi said. “But it’s safer than being out there.”
“There has to be some sort of passage,” Madeleine said. “We have to look.”
But the darkness was everywhere. I bashed my leg on another piece of furniture as I pushed farther into the room and felt the walls for any kind of door, anything useful for hiding.
“You went back for the cat?” Madeleine said in disbelief. “You risked your life for the cat.”
“Of course I did. She’s my cat.”