After tonight, she’d be one step closer to returning to Earth—and more importantly, finding her mother.
For the past few days, she hadn’t found an opportunity to poison the King. But tonight, she would create her own opportunity.
Evelyn emerged from her Room and stood. Her nightgown caressed her legs, its sheer silver overskirt sparkling in the moonlight. When she’d asked the fairies to dress her in a more flattering nightgown than she typically wore, their expressions had ranged from intrigued to confused. Though they never spoke of it in front of her, they obviously knew about her relationship with the King—and that there wasn’t much of one in the first place.
A door opened in the next room before smashing shut. Her walls trembled slightly. The King was back. Time to create an opportunity.
She reached under the vanity, where she’d stored the Manasseh after she’d failed to poison him a few days ago. Any moment, King Alaric would come in to escort her to dinner. She’d ask if they could take it in his room again. Evelyn pressed the vial to the underside of her braid and tied it there with a leather band. It would be easier to access from there than if she’d shoved it down her front.
She smoothed her hands down her buttercream-soft nightgown. The King didn’t want to be emotionally intimate, yet he’d need an heir eventually. Dressed as she was, she had no doubts she’d get close enough to poison him. It only took a drop, after all.
The moon inched across the sky, and the King didn’t come for her. She listened as he walked across the room, and the light peering into her room from the beneath the door dissipated. Wood creaked, probably the bedframe, and all went silent.
Only a whisper of Lux stone light illuminated the room. The fairies had dimmed it, leaving the room shadowed. She stood and paced, avoiding the darkness lurking beneath her bed. It was all too easy to imagine a hand darting out and dragging her down.
Evelyn didn’t have time to be paranoid right now; she had a king to poison. But how? It wasn’t like she could sneak into his room uninvited. Perhaps she should just wait for tomorrow night.
She marched toward the door connecting their rooms and grabbed the handle. No, it had to be tonight. If she were honest with herself, she’d been avoiding this because she’d felt afraid and guilty. Afraid, because she didn’t want to be caught. Guilty, because she feared the King might not deserve this.
But seeing his brutality toward mere smugglers—not even murderers or rapists—had finally forced her to confront the truth: he was a cold man who would do whatever was necessary to benefit his kingdom and strengthen his hold on his throne. She pushed the door open and quietly slipped into his room.
Someone had entered his room.
One moment Alaric had been immersed in a torture-induced nightmare, the sound of the whip whistling in his ears. The next moment he’d found himself awake. He knew not to disregard his instincts, so he remained still, waiting for the intruder to reveal himself.
There it was: the faint whisper of fabric.
Alaric slipped his dagger from beneath his pillow, rolled off the bed, and landed in a crouch. He peered around the bedpost. A figure darted for his bed. Someone had plotted to murder him in his sleep.
He surged across the room and knocked the figure to the floor. His legs went around the intruder’s waist, pinning him down. The intruder’s build was slighter than he’d expected.
Alaric pressed his dagger to the intruder’s neck. “Don’t move.” He applied more pressure, so the man would know Alaric wouldn’t hesitate to slice his throat.
A choked whimper slipped from his lips, its pitch surprisingly high. And feminine. Alaric glanced up at the intruder’s face. Though it was dark, his night vision revealed wide honey-colored eyes, a petite nose, and pale lips.
Alaric lifted his weight from her. “Evelyn?”
“Alaric?” She sounded just as surprised. Perhaps she had thought him to be an assassin.
The door burst open, flooding the room with light and voices.
Alaric held up a hand to shield his eyes and squinted. “Halt.”
The guards rushing into the room froze. One straightened, cleared his throat. “Your Majesty. We heard a commotion.”
Alaric nodded. “The Queen was simply paying me a visit.”
His gaze slid to her sprawled figure, and he nearly choked on his breath. Her neckline dipped sharply between her breasts, exposing a V of soft skin. The fabric of her nightgown outlined her curves in exquisite detail before draping the length of her legs.
Evelyn rose to her feet and brushed off her gown, her face pinking in a way that stole his breath all over again.
His gaze cut to the knights. He didn’t want anyone else to see Evelyn in this state of undress, with a rosy blush coloring her skin and her sleek braid sliding over her shoulder. “As you can see, the Queen and I are quite all right. Return to your posts.”
The men bowed to both of them before exiting the room and closing the door, bathing them in darkness and moonlight. Alaric turned toward her. If he’d known she’d visit his room that night, he would have worn a shirt. Hopefully she hadn’t noticed the scarring on his torso when the knights had entered.
She curtsied with a slight wobble he found endearing. Like a colt learning to gain its feet. “Good night, Your Majesty. I’m sorry to bother you.”
Bother? That wasn’t quite what he’d label her visit. She turned toward her room, and he slid in front of her. He caught a glimmer of fear in her gaze before she glanced away. Was something wrong?
“What matter was so pressing you couldn’t wait until morning to address it, Evelyn?”
“It’s really not that important after all. I was just a bit frightened, I guess.” She drew her braid over her chest and fiddled with the ends.
He fisted his hands, resisting the urge to take the braid from her and release it from its bindings. Why did she stir him so? He splayed his fingers to suppress the ache. “Why?”
She shrugged. “Ever since the razor net incident, I keep imagining things in the dark, but I’m just being paranoid. I’m sorry to have caused such a commotion.”
Sympathy surged within him, softening the beat of his heart. He was all too familiar with dark imaginings and nightmares.
She dipped her head. “Good night.”
As she shifted, he moved to block her again. “If you knew you were being paranoid, why come here?”
She lowered her gaze to the ground. “If there did happen to be assassins in my room, I figured I’d be safer with you.”
Her words warmed him more than he cared to admit. “I see. Would you like me to search your room for you?”
“It’s fine. I don’t mean to inconvenience you any more than I already have.”
He clenched his jaw. An inconvenience. He had made her seem like that to him. Nothing could be further from the truth. True, she had wreaked havoc on his previously simple and structured life, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. The isolation had been suffocating, and it felt like only when he was in her presence did he remember how to breathe.
Evelyn strode around him, giving him a wide berth.
“Evelyn?”
She stopped at the doorway.
“If you feel safer with me, you’re welcome to spend the night here.” An apology stuck in his throat. His father had always thought admission of a mistake was a weakness, but Alaric didn’t want things to be like that between him and Evelyn. “And I’m sorry for frightening you.”
She remained facing away from him, running her hand over her sleek braid once more. Finally, she stepped back from the door. “Thank you. I would like that.”
He tamped down the warmth building in his chest. She’d only agreed because she wanted protection—not necessarily because she liked his company. But it was a start.
Evelyn strode toward the bed, her hips swaying beneath the clinging nightgown. She stopped at the side of the bed and bunched her lips to one side. The mattress was as high as her chest. She gripped the sheet
s and tried to yank herself up, but the long train of her nightgown tangled around her legs, denying her a foothold.
A smile nudged his lips, and he stepped behind her to assist her. His hands cupped the curves of her waist, and it struck him how perfectly they fit there. He set her suddenly stiffened form on the bed.
She burrowed beneath the covers, pulling them to her chin. “Thanks.”
He rounded the bed and laid on the other side. He longed to bridge the gap between them, but for tonight, this would have to be enough.
“You wouldn’t mind if I moved closer, would you?” she asked.
If not for the ensuing expectant silence, he would have thought he’d imagined her words. “Of course not.”
The mattress dipped with her weight as she scooted closer to him. The tip of his wing brushed against her figure. She settled in the curve of his wing, her back to him. He inhaled sharply, trying to ignore the contours of her body resting atop his wing.
She trembled slightly, her braid once more coming over her shoulder as she stroked it. Then she scooted against him, the curve of her back flush against his side, her silky nightgown caressing his bare skin. He tensed, her touch evoking a flood of dark memories and the hope of making happier ones. And then she turned toward him, the brushing of their chests arousing a flurry of heat.
Why was she doing this? He could understand that she sought protection and comfort after being plagued by nightmares, but this? She’d seemed disappointed, even angry at him earlier, and now she was snuggling against him.
“Evelyn?”
Her hand cupped his cheek. His chest swelled with a deep breath, and he didn’t dare move. She scooted upward, and another current of heat coursed through him.
And then she pressed her lips to his.
Breath fled his lungs, and his body froze beneath hers. He’d only had a sample of the soft feel of her lips and the sweet taste of her mouth before she rolled away from him, her body stiff.
Was she upset? Why? Could she think his lack of response meant he’d rejected her? He could explain that though he’d admired many a girl in his youth, he’d never been kissed. Or that after what his father did to him, he feared being touched. But that would require admitting to an inexperience and weakness he wasn’t ready for.
But allowing her to think she’d been rejected was simply unacceptable.
Alaric turned toward her and gently pressed her shoulder to the bed, so she laid flat on her back. Though she startled, he curled an arm around her neck and cradled her head. His other hand brushed her hair back before curving against the rise of her cheek. He ran his thumb along the silk of her skin.
She was incredible. From her determination to escape, despite the hopelessness of her predicament, to her love for her mother, despite the possibility it might not be returned. And she was lovely—from her curvy, petite figure to the heart that beat within.
Alaric drew her closer, desire warring with fear. If he should hurt or frighten her through his touch, he’d never forgive himself. He lowered his head until his lips brushed hers. He kept his movements slow, his caresses tender.
Her body relaxed as she melted against him, the curves of her body fitting the planes of his. Nothing felt so right as holding her against him. Her mouth parted, and a flood of heat came crashing down on him as he slanted his head and deepened the kiss.
Liquid flowed from her mouth to his, and he stiffened. Suddenly, it all made sense. She hadn’t come here to seek his protection; she’d come to poison him. And there was only one poison that would affect him but not her: Manasseh.
He tore away from Evelyn and spat it out before his gaze swung to her. Hurt plunged deep into his chest, and a part of him was glad he wouldn’t remember her betrayal. He should be concerned about where she had obtained the poison or what she planned to do as the poison took hold of him, but he could only return to the fact that she’d used his affection for her against him—as he’d known she would if given the chance.
Alaric’s chest cramped with sorrow. He’d lost her. Even if he succeeded in keeping her in Torva, her heart would always be elsewhere. The one person in decades he’d been foolish enough to care for, and she’d never love him in return.
When the darkness overtook his mind, he welcomed it.
15
Escaping Torva
The silence lasted a heartbeat longer. Alaric’s hurt and betrayal permeated the air before sinking into Evelyn’s bones. And then he collapsed. His massive form went limp on the bed. She should have felt like she’d felled a giant, but sorrow clamped her chest.
She sat upright and knelt next to him. A shockwave rippled through her. She’d done this, after he’d offered to search her room and shared his bed with her.
She pressed a hand to his solid chest, and the steady thump of his heart comforted her. What would it be like to stay here? With him? Even though she hadn’t felt any immediate physical attraction to him, maybe she could just ignore that.
She knew what it’d be like: a marriage of duty but not love. He’d told her as much. Evelyn drew her hand away from his chest. Love was worth spending her entire life pursuing, and that’s what she would do if necessary. But hopefully, it wouldn’t take the rest of her life, and her mother would love Evelyn when she found her.
Evelyn slid the leather bracelet off his wrist and spared him one last glance, guilt ripping through her chest. She didn’t want to hurt Alaric, but this was the only way to be with her mother. One day, she’d look back on this moment and she’d be glad for the decision she’d made.
Evelyn slid off the side of the bed, padded into her room, and didn’t look back.
She plucked the silver key from her vanity drawer, where it’d been nestled among perfume bottles. She drew near the wall between her two wardrobes and slipped the key into the nearly invisible keyhole. A section of the wall magically swung backward, revealing the passage. Evelyn entered, the steps like slabs of ice on her feet. But there wasn’t enough time to rummage in the dark for her slippers.
Everything was falling into place. She’d give the seal to Draven, he’d use it on the document requesting her guards to be replaced, and then she’d sneak back up to her room and slip it onto Alaric’s wrist. Once her guards had been replaced by the mercenaries Draven had hired, escape would be all too easy.
Thirteen more days, and freedom would be hers.
Thirteen Days Later
She didn’t trust her new guards.
Each time her gaze would meet with theirs, chills skittered across her skin. If an assassin ever attacked her, she had a feeling these men would likely step aside.
She quickened her strides, trying to ignore the eerie sensation of their gazes following her, and shoved open the ballroom doors before they could try to open them for her. The doors shut behind her, the thud echoing around the vast room.
Draven stood in the middle of the ballroom. A warm smile graced his lips. “Evelyn.”
She hadn’t realized she’d been tense until the tightness from her shoulders dissipated. “Draven.”
Though Draven taught her etiquette, her favorite moments with him were always when they danced. And before she fled Torva, she’d savor this one last dancing lesson.
The King had required her to attend more meetings with nobles and sessions at court. Then reading treaties, petitions, history, and court proceedings consumed her evenings. As the King had told, their relationship was purely transactional. She eased some of his burden, and he allowed a little slack in her leash.
Sometimes, she wondered if the King somehow knew she’d poisoned him. Perhaps that was why their conversations were so stilted and their interactions so icy. But if he had, he would have confronted her by now. Or thrown her into the dungeons.
Occasionally, she still felt guilty about poisoning him, especially after he’d gathered her close and kissed her so tenderly. But he’d likely done that because he’d thought it’d lead to the making of an heir, not because he felt anything for her.
Draven closed the distance between them. “What’s wrong? Worried about tonight’s ball? Tomorrow’s escape?”
“Just thinking about those tortured smugglers. I wonder if they’re even alive.”
He placed one hand at her waist and clasped her right hand. “The ones with the Achilles Gems?”
She nodded and began to follow his steps as he led the dance. “What are those? Are they that valuable?”
“Their main value lies in what they can do to others—specifically the King.”
Evelyn arched her eyebrows. “What can they do?”
“They weaken anyone with dragon blood. They’ve been banned for hundreds of years by the kings. No one knew why until Alaric’s birth revealed the dragon blood latent in their veins.”
So the King feared someone having control over his one weakness—these Achilles Gems. She sighed, exhaustion tugging at her lids. She’d be so happy to leave this power struggle behind her.
Draven’s steps slowed. “If you’d rather spend this time resting before the Blue Moon Ball—”
“No. The next few hours will be chaotic, so I’d rather just enjoy the moment.” She peered up shyly at him. “With you.”
As the days had passed, she’d gradually become more comfortable in his company. He was the only person she could converse with without broaching topics such as latest fashions and court gossip. But, of course, she didn’t—couldn’t—think of him as anything more than a friend. He would help her escape, and then they’d live their own lives.
Captive and Crowned Page 15
