Alaric scanned the Healer’s cramped room, his gaze running over the moonlit furniture and shelves. There was nowhere for an assassin to hide in here, and Alaric had positioned himself between Evelyn and the door.
Once he’d determined the room was secure enough for him to rest, he set his back to the stone floor and splayed his wings slightly, his right wing tip brushing Evelyn’s side. Should she stir—or be seized by another coughing fit—he would awaken and be at her side in an instant.
Alaric glanced at her one last time before closing his eyes. As long as he drew breath, he would do his best to ensure nothing stole her from him—not another man, not the Scorpio, not even death.
The Next Day
Sunlight shone gold and bright behind Evelyn’s eyelids. She began to open her eyes but thought better of it. Instead, she rolled onto her side before dragging the blanket over her head.
Last night had been a battle. Her throat was still sore from all the coughing, and her mouth faintly tasted of blood, both her own and the ocean’s, apparently. Her ragged sigh burned her throat. How could she defend herself against poison? Hand-to-hand combat techniques were useless against it. And why did they want her dead so badly? How had the poison gotten past Adria?
She pulled the blanket off her head, ignoring the pinpricks of pain the light drove into her eyes. Alaric laid face-down on the stone floor, a foot away from her. She hesitated before leaning closer, propping her forearms on the cool stone.
His cheek was pressed against the floor. His crown sat next to a wall. Without its weight, his hair was free to stick up in all directions, thoroughly mussed from the night’s activity. He looked peaceful, with his eyelids closed, dark lashes curving away from his tanned skin. One of his wings was folded, while the other was splayed out, so its edge brushed the table on the other side of the tiny room. Alaric had never been more than an arm’s length away, always reaching her before the Healer.
As if sensing her gaze, his eyelids flickered before opening. Though her breath snagged, she didn’t glance away. He cleared the remnants of sleep from his eyes with a few blinks and rose up onto his elbows, staring at the wall before blinking a few more times. His eyelids drifted downward before he dragged them back up.
“You stayed.” The words rasped past her throat and stung. Apparently, she wasn’t quite healed.
He turned toward her before scrubbing a hand over his face. “So I did.” He rolled onto his side before sitting up, his forearms propped on his knees. “Are you well?”
She nodded. “I feel much better. And I didn’t have any nightmares.” She offered him a smile.
His eyes darkened at the word. “You have enough nightmares plaguing your waking hours without having to deal with those in your sleep.”
“Well, if I were on Earth, I wouldn’t have to worry about the assassination attempts, because no one there wants to kill me.”
His expression tightened. “They can travel through the portals.”
“They only want me because I’m queen, right?”
“We don’t know—”
“They started trying to kill me from the moment your knights took me to be queen, and they haven’t stopped since. They’re trying to kill me because I’m—” A cough overtook her next words, and she clasped her aching throat.
Alaric rose to his feet, grabbed a pitcher and a glass cup from the table, and filled the glass with water. He handed her the glass, meeting her eyes as he did so. “You’re not leaving, Evelyn. We’ve spoken of this prior.”
She sipped at the water before setting the glass on the floor. “But you have your powers. Just make a law saying that you can keep your powers regardless of who you are—or aren’t—married to. Problem solved for both of us.”
Alaric shook his head—almost frantically. “No, I won’t allow that.”
She gained her feet so she could meet his gaze without straining her neck. “But why? You don’t need me to be here anymore, so what’s the point?”
His stony mask dropped, just for a second, his jaw tightening. And then it returned with the fury of a tidal wave. “I’ve said ‘no,’ and you’ll remain here for however long I deem necessary.”
“You’re afraid of me leaving.” Vulnerability flickered across his expression, and she used the opportunity to press forward. “Why? Why do you want me to stay if you don’t need me?”
Alaric sucked in a breath and stumbled backward. “I–I—” He shook his head. “If you’ll excuse me.” And then he turned and left. More like barreled out the door, actually.
Evelyn stared as the door clattered shut behind him. What in Torva? What was wrong with him? She’d never known him to be a coward. She crept to the door and cracked it open.
The other patients were staring out the door of the infirmary, which dangled wide open. They’d probably seen the King rush by.
Should she follow him and seek an explanation? Give him room to chill? Evelyn slipped from the Healer’s room. She began to pass the patients, until her gaze caught on one in particular.
“Adria?”
Adria glanced up from her book with a scowl.
“What are you doing here? Are you not feeling well?”
“Not since I ingested the Fire Acid, Your Majesty.”
“Fire Acid?”
“Yes, I’m your poison tester, if you’ll recall.” Adria was a bit snarkier than usual, but Fire Acid could do that to someone. “The poison affected me more slowly than it did you, but there was a reaction nonetheless.”
“Oh.” Evelyn curved her hand over Adria’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I hope you get better soon.”
Adria huffed and returned to her book.
Readers were so strange—always preferring the company of books to that of people. How did they survive? Evelyn strode out of the room, veered to the right, and instantly rammed into someone’s chest.
She backpedaled, rubbing her forehead.
When the knight bowed low, she was certain she could see the smudge she’d left on his breastplate. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Highness.”
“It’s fine.” She dropped her hand to her side.
He straightened. “I have a note for you, from the former Duke Draven.”
“Former?” Her heart pattered in her chest. Was he dead?
“He has been stripped of his rank for treason.”
She swallowed tightly. All because of her. There had to be some way she could get him out of there. “Thank you.”
The knight handed her a wad of paper.
Ink and dirt—at least, she hoped it was dirt—smeared the paper. It truly did appear as though it had come straight from the depths of the dungeons. She peered up at the knight. And Alaric had allowed this?
The knight’s face was a blank stone slate. “The King has permitted you to respond.”
He had? She glanced around for Alaric, but he was nowhere to be seen. For what purpose? Evelyn unfolded the paper slowly, anxiety and concern surging through her. She noted how the knight’s gaze trailed her every move. And then it clicked: Alaric was allowing this, because he wanted to know if she was still loyal to Draven.
She smoothed her face of expression as she read the note.
Your Highness Evelyn,
Please come to the dungeons. I have some information you might find useful.
-D
She peered up at the knight. Had he read the note prior? Probably. It wasn’t like Alaric would allow her to be pen pals with Draven without supervision. “Very well, then. I’d like to meet with the former Duke Draven.”
The knight’s brows flickered before settling into a frown.
“He did say I could respond, correct?” she asked.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Then this is how I choose to respond.”
He paused for a beat before nodding. “As you wish. I’ll have to acquire an escort for you. For your safety, of course.”
She suspected it was more to keep an eye on herself and Draven than safety
, but it didn’t matter. After these weeks of suppressing the urge to ask about Draven, she’d finally get to see him. Perhaps she could find a way to help him without betraying Alaric’s trust.
The dungeons reeked with waste, vomit, and the sharp tang of blood. Lux light glistened against the slime-slicked walls. She drew her cloak close as the cold prison air wove through the fabric of her dress. The only music was the regular clank of guards moving, the off-beat slap of bare feet against stone, and the undertone of murmurs and groans. The lower they went, the darker, colder, and filthier the dungeons grew.
This was probably unconstitutional. In America, nicer prisons even had TVs. This place should at least have some heating. She grimaced at the filth caking the gaps in the cobblestone floor. And a thorough mopping wouldn’t be amiss.
Draven didn’t belong down here.
They stopped in front of a cell. The darkness hid its inhabitant from view, until the guard leading their dungeons expedition lifted his Lux torch—a simple wooden cone with a spherical Lux stone.
A man shifted in the corner of the cell. He stood, unfolding his cramped frame. The light revealed golden curls, turned light brown with grime. Draven’s gaze whipped to her, and his guarded expression eased. Though he was in need of a bath, he appeared unharmed.
Despite herself, the beat of her heart hitched at the sight of him. It seemed that the past seventeen days of distance had been reduced to dust as her feelings for him rushed back. Evelyn drew in a slow breath, suppressing the sudden bout of emotion. Yes, it was good to see him, but that didn’t change the fact that their romance had been rushed and that she didn’t know Draven’s motivation for helping her.
As much as she cared for him, it would do her good to guard herself.
Evelyn turned to the guard. “Could you give us a moment?”
She cupped her aching throat in her palm. She’d been trying to keep talking to a minimum, but sometimes there was no helping it.
The knight eyed both of them before ending his survey with a huff. “Five minutes.”
She puffed air into her cheeks before releasing it in a sigh. They didn’t have much time.
Draven strode toward the edge of the cell and wrapped the fingers of one hand around the bars. “You came.”
She neared him and whispered, “Given time, I might be able to persuade the King to release you. I’m sorry for the part I played in placing you here.”
“We don’t have that kind of time.”
“What do you mean? We’re not on some sort of deadline.”
He seemed to struggle to meet her eyes.
“Are we?”
His tension petered out in a sigh. “I’m afraid so… I’ve found information about your mother.”
“My… mother?”
He nodded. “She’s in great danger, Evelyn. We must go to her immediately.”
Evelyn shook her head. “How? How is she in danger? How would we get out of here?” And given he had been imprisoned in the dungeons, how would he know?
“I have it all planned out. Use the passage to slip into the kitchens, then add poison to the guards’ drinks, and—”
“Manasseh?”
“No.” Draven leaned closer. “If one fell unconscious instantly, it would draw attention. What I have is a slow acting poison, so if we time this right—”
“They’re going to… to die?” The harsh whisper tore from her mouth.
His gaze fled hers. “Ev—”
“No.” The knights shifted toward her, but she held them back with a raised palm before lowering her voice. “Draven, what’s this about my mother? How do you know she’s in danger? You’ve been down here in the dungeons.”
His fingers rippled, rising and falling as he drummed them against the bars. “I can’t say.”
“Then how do I know you’re not lying so you can escape?”
His expression slackened. “Lie… to you? Evelyn, you used to trust me. What happened?”
Guilt pried at her heart, tempting her to open it to him once more. “Last time I tried to escape, it didn’t work out and it cost me Alaric’s trust.”
“Ah. So now it’s Alaric’s trust that’s important to you, is it?”
“Building a relationship with him is the only way I’ll ever get to see my mother and free you.”
“And do you really think he’d do either? You think he’ll eventually allow enough slack in your leash for you to merely visit her?”
She brushed her fingers against her neck, almost able to feel the collar of which he spoke. Alaric didn’t seem the type to cede control easily, and he had adamantly denied her earlier requests.
“Do you?”
The knight stepped forward. “Time is up, Your Highness.”
She nodded and turned to follow them.
“Hang it, Evelyn. Just answer me.”
She peered at him over her shoulder, hating the hurt that shone in his eyes. Didn’t he understand this was the only route? Betraying Alaric’s trust again would cost her dearly—and it would hurt Alaric.
“I’m sorry, Draven. I can’t do this.”
Alaric hadn’t summoned her for the remainder of the day—not for etiquette lessons, management meetings, or even dinner. He probably just needed space.
She’d wandered the palace, the knights drifting behind her like phantoms. She’d roamed through the library, the Hall of Kings, and even Alaric’s room. Draven’s questions plagued her more than she would have liked to admit. Would she always be Alaric’s captive? Or would he learn to trust her? If he did, would she betray him again or remain here forever?
And what about her mother? Could she truly be in danger? Or was this part of Draven’s ploy to escape? If Draven spoke true and her mother suffered as a result, she would never forgive herself. Perhaps she could ask Alaric. Even if he wouldn’t allow her to return to Earth, maybe he could send someone to check up on her mother.
It was dusk when she opened the door to the infirmary. She wanted to check on her maid, Adria, and ask the Healer for more of that Ocean Blood medicine. The knights stopped to guard the entrance as she entered the room.
The sun had spread a dim shimmering curtain of orange across the room, leaving shadows to streak across the floor and crouch behind furniture. One apprentice healer rested his head on the back of his wooden chair, his mouth parted in a snore. He’d have quite the crick in his neck when he woke up.
Evelyn slipped around the cots, searching for Adria’s form. Thinking that someone had been hurt on her behalf was a terrible feeling. Though she couldn’t help much, the least she could do was check on the girl and offer to bring her some food.
When she’d walked past all of the cots, Evelyn stopped. It seemed Adria had been discharged. Perhaps she was off reading somewhere.
Evelyn entered the Healer’s room in the back and found it empty. Her sigh left her throat aching and raw. The two people she’d come to see in the infirmary were absent. She might as well find the Ocean Blood medicine on her own and leave.
Evelyn approached a shelf, running her finger along the edge. She stopped underneath a bottle full of blue liquid, labeled Ocean Blood. She didn’t want to take the entire bottle, in case another patient needed it. Perhaps she could find a smaller bottle to pour it into.
Someone shifted in the shadows, and Evelyn stifled a jump. Could it be an assassin? Should she call for help? Find a weapon with which to defend herself?
The man rose, his silhouette a stark black against the ebbing sunlight. The sides of his shadow were bulky and rippling at the bottom. Like wings.
Alaric. Perhaps he wanted to talk now. She stepped toward him—then stopped. His wings… they fluttered as if they were pure fabric rather than webbing and bone. As the man drew closer, she realized she’d mistaken his cloak for wings.
Great. The one time she thought it was Alaric in the shadows, it was a freaking assassin.
What had Alaric taught her about assassins? Right: 1) Your first action should always be to ru
n. Evelyn turned on her heel and ran. A hand fisted around her hair and yanked her back, sending a wave of prickles across her scalp.
2) Yell to seek out help. Evelyn opened her mouth to loose a scream, and the man slapped a hand to the lower half of her face, his grip so tight she could barely breathe through her nose.
3) Strike in vulnerable places. Her attacker had gripped her from behind, so that didn’t leave many options available. She drew her leg back and kicked at his kneecap.
Muttered curses streamed from his mouth. He drew her head back and smashed it against the edge of a bookshelf. White pain seared her vision, and her mouth tasted of copper.
She drew in short gasps and threw more kicks behind her. Her assailant growled, and his knuckles slammed into her cheek. She would have crashed to the floor if he hadn’t held a fistful of her hair. Her scalp ignited with pain.
What else had Alaric told her? Where were all the vulnerable places again?
The man dragged her to the pallet and pressed her face against the pillow. He meant to smother her. Though she struggled, he managed to sit on her back, straddling her waist.
No, she wouldn’t—couldn’t—be killed like this. Alaric would come back to find her dead on the pallet. He’d blame himself. And her mother—she’d never get to meet her. Evelyn thrashed and bucked as he pinned her wrists behind her back and tied them, the cord biting into her skin.
Wait. If he was tying her, then he wasn’t killing her; he was kidnapping her. He’d probably buried her face into the pillow to keep her quiet while he tied her up. She strained to draw a breath of air against the thick fabric of the pillow.
What could she do to escape him? He was obviously stronger than her. With a final yank, her assailant tightened the rope around her wrists, and she whimpered as it pinched her skin.
The assassin chuckled. “Weak.”
She would show him “weak.” Evelyn wriggled beneath him and folded her legs to try to kick his back.
He managed to stay seated on top of her and firmly pressed her face deeper into the pillow, until no air flowed into her lungs no matter how she gasped or wheezed.
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