Amusement fizzled as Brandon stared at the huge stack of papers on his table. He groaned. “Andre, I didn’t mean to bring all the paperwork for all the weeks we’ll be gone.”
Andre looked up from his own stack of papers. “You said that if we aren’t leaving yet, we may as well be productive and reduce how much work you’ll be coming home to.” He gestured at the stacks. “So I took your words at face value and brought all that I could find. Less to return to, Your Highness.”
Brandon rolled his eyes at his aide. “You know I don’t like it when your logic supersedes mine.” He pulled the gold inkwell and pen closer as he started reading the top paper, unbuttoning his cuffs to roll them to his elbows and avoid unexpected ink stains.
Maybe an hour passed in peaceful quiet, interrupted only by the arrival of Clara, the scratch of Brandon’s pen, and the quiet murmur of Zane reading a book aloud to the ladies while Garnet rested.
He wasn’t sure what it was that caught his attention first, but something itched under his skin, something unsettling that came over him in a way that just felt wrong. He stopped writing, breathing as silently as possible as he listened, trying to find what caught his attention. The room smelled lightly of the herbs Zane brought for Garnet, and Adeline cooed in the quiet, but nothing looked off.
Zane lowered his book, frowning. “Do you hear that?”
Brandon set his pen in its stand while he strained to hear whatever had caught Zane’s attention. He stood, barely able to make out a quiet murmur that ebbed and flowed.
“What is that?” Andre left the table, walking slowly to avoid making extra noise.
Zane marked his spot in the book with a delicate bookmark and stood as well, moving to the door with quiet steps. He pressed his ear against the wood and shook his head. “It’s not coming from the hallway.”
Sapphire scooped up Adeline, a thin line of worry between her brows as she watched first Zane, and then Andre, prowl about the room. Brandon shot her a reassuring smile before turning his attention on his aide.
Andre passed by the window, then doubled back and threw it open, a cold blast of Decembri air and snow swirling through the room. The ladies protested before falling silent, everyone now able to hear what Brandon had barely been able to make out before. It sounded like dozens of men were below at the gate in front of the palace, all riled and angry, chanting, their voices breaking over the quiet of the snow, perversely shattering the peace.
“Out the prince! Out the prince! Down with Richard!”
Brandon crossed the room and reached the window at the same moment as Zane and Clara. They peered through the open window frame, looking down and to the left.
Brandon’s breath left his lungs in a single rush.
There had to be at least a hundred men outside the palace doors, all bundled securely against the freezing air. Soldiers had already closed the main gate, but a large mob of irritated men and even a few women stood there, some pushing against it, black snow trampled beneath their boots. As many as he could see were armed in some way, several with spears.
What the Void was going on? Surprise and fear squeezed his lungs. Reformers?
“Andre!” He snapped over his shoulder, eyes glued on the mass of life below him. “Go find out what this is about. Quickly!” Out of his peripheral he saw Andre snap an arm across his chest before vanishing out the door.
Distantly, he heard Garnet sneeze in the cold air. Chagrined to be worsening her illness, he cranked the dial to pull the window back in place. Even with the pane closed, he could hear their chanting, recognizable now that he knew what they were saying.
Clara whirled away from the sight below, disappearing into a side room and reappearing a moment later, her sword hanging on her belt. She tied up her blonde hair, a mix of calm and concern tightening her features. She beckoned at Adeline. “Shall I put her down for her nap?”
Sapphire nodded, her attention diverted to the window. “Yes, please.” She scooped up Adeline, planted a kiss on her forehead, and handed her daughter over to her bodyguard. “Thank you.”
Zane leaned against the window frame, arms crossed, glaring down at the mob. His gaze flicked between outside and across the room to Brandon’s family. Zane drummed his fingers against his shirt sleeve, eyes narrowed.
Clara breezed back into the room, pausing to see for herself before joining Garnet on the couch.
“I really don’t like the looks of this,” Zane said finally. “There’s been too much happening recently for this to be random timing.” He rubbed his thumb against a dark ring that Brandon hadn’t noticed before. “And I don’t know where your guards are or why they haven’t come by to check on you yet.” He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, leaving furrowed tufts pointing in every direction. “Now I wish I’d worn armor today.”
Sapphire and Garnet conferred with Clara in quiet voices before Clara looked up at Zane. “Your training for situations like this likely supersedes mine. What do you recommend for a course of action?”
As long as the mob stayed outside, they would be safe, right? But what if the mob moved against them, actually broke down the gate? Or what if they grew bored and turned against innocent townspeople? Was there a way to calm the situation before it grew out of hand?
The door opened without a knock, and Zane had his short sword half pulled out before realizing it was Andre. He sheathed the weapon and raised his eyebrows expectantly.
Andre bowed marginally as he closed the door behind him. “The palace is on lockdown due to the Reformers we see down there.” He turned to Brandon, his entire body tense. “Your Highness, you are needed in an emergency meeting at the throne room with Prince Richard and His and Her Majesties.”
“Understood.” Brandon turned to Zane. “Please look into the matter of the guards. I don’t want to leave the women without knowing they’re well defended.”
Any pretense of being relaxed and poised disappeared from Zane the moment the words “lockdown” came out of Andre. He almost resembled an angered nightcat, tense, ready to strike. Zane nodded. “Of course.” He turned to Sapphire and Clara. “Sapphire, I want you armed as well. We aren’t taking any chances with your life.” He looked at Brandon, his eyes holding the same serious gravity that Brandon first saw returning from the failed negotiations at the start of the year. “You too.”
Clara and Andre both hustled to the master bedroom, returning within minutes with belts and swords in hand. Clara handed Sapphire a black leather belt, then Sapphire’s distinctive blue sword and sheath.
Sapphire stood and buckled on the gear below her dress belt, quickly tying her sheath to the sturdy leather. She paused, then kicked off the flat slippers she had been wearing, toeing them under the couch. “Clara, I need my boots. Delicate shoes are for lazy days. This is not a lazy day.”
Brandon swallowed hard as Sapphire sat on the edge of a chair, pulling her dress up to a working and fighting length, using the hidden hooks to keep it in place. He didn’t want her anywhere near any possibility of danger, but she had to be prepared, just in case. She smoothed her skirt over her thick gray leggings and pulled a blue ribbon out of her pocket, deftly tying her hair out of her face. Clara returned with Sapphire’s worn brown boots.
Andre handed Brandon his sword, and he unlatched his belt, sliding the frog and sword on. Brandon glanced up to see that Andre had armed himself even further than his typical sword, an additional curved dagger at the small of his back, and a straight short sword on his other hip.
Zane stood by the door, his arms crossed over his fitted black shirt. He fairly bristled with weapons now, his bag discarded on a nearby chair. He nodded in satisfaction and bowed with his hand over his heart, a formal gesture he rarely used within the confines of their informal gatherings. “I’ll be back as soon as possible with answers or guards or both.” His gaze traveled to Garnet. “Stay safe. Lock the door behind me.” He pointed at Brandon. “Don’t do anything rash.” Then to Andre: “Keep an eye on Brandon.”
<
br /> Andre saluted, a small snort of humor punctuating his movement as Brandon scoffed. He had no plans for grandstanding today. Besides, he had to go to a meeting. The danger that abounded there was such that Andre couldn’t help with.
Zane opened the door and peered out cautiously before slipping out and closing it with barely a click.
Brandon sighed and glanced out the window again. The noise had grown louder, more of an angry beast’s roar than a chant. Sapphire’s cool hand brushed over his arm and he folded his hand over hers, squeezing her fingers and turning away from the crowd below to kiss away the worry lines on her forehead.
Her big blue eyes shone with concern, and she searched his face intently as he pulled back. “Please be careful.” She whispered. “I nearly lost you last year; no heroics or parlaying. I can’t go through that again.”
A chuckle broke through his concern and he hugged her, crushing his cheek against her curls. “I’m still going to be in the palace, Gem. They can’t reach me here.”
She grasped his shirt, clinging to him. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”
“I promise.” He leaned back and tilted his head so he could kiss her. He smiled, burying the worry and concern in an effort to relieve her. “Stay here, keep an eye on things. I’ll be back.” He pressed his lips on her forehead and slipped from her arms, nodding to Andre as he strode toward the door. Andre opened it, looked both directions in the hall, then held the door for Brandon, shutting the door behind them. They waited in the hall until they heard the lock slide into place.
Now the nerves rose, threatening to choke Brandon. When was the last upcry against the royal family? Just what could they do to soothe the people?
Despite his desire to sprint to the throne room, Brandon forced himself to only walk a bit faster than normal. Clusters of staff stood around in the hallways in large groups as they passed through, nervous faces turning to watch them. He took a breath and nodded a calm greeting to them as he passed by, hoping they would be assured by his example.
It was hard to ignore how much louder the mob sounded downstairs. Instead of a distant echo, it had grown into a thundering roar. He looked back at Andre, relieved to note that even his collected bodyguard and aide seemed disconcerted by the turn of events. At least he wasn’t out of line, feeling the glimmerings of panic dancing along his nerves.
Guards clumped outside the throne room doors, all immediately turning aside to let Brandon and Andre through. General Brigley blocked the entry and nodded to Brandon before pounding his hand against his heart as Brandon walked up to him. “Your Highness,” he greeted, his face tense.
“General,” Brandon replied, stopping to look at the men surrounding him and Andre. Most of them appeared unaffected by the outside gathering, but a few had tense, slightly hunched postures. He turned to face them fully, hand on his hip. “I know this situation is different than our normal day-to-day. Thank you for your devotion to king and country.”
Backs straightened, chins raised, the men saluted as one. “Sir!”
Brigley opened the door for Brandon, giving him a small half smile that twitched his moustache. “Thank you.” Brandon gave him a quizzical look and the general lowered his voice as Brandon passed. “Not all the royal family are as thoughtful in their words today.”
Brandon nodded, unsurprised. He clapped Brigley on the shoulder and strode into the chamber. Frustrated voices rang throughout and he allowed himself to walk faster trying to catch what was being said; he needed to be clear-headed to work this situation favorably. Somehow.
Queen Victoria sat in her chair, white faced and thin lipped, hands fisted in the folds of her ruby skirts. Her husband stood in front of his throne, thick fingers tapping on his sword as he argued with Richard. “We can’t just arrest them all! Where would we put them? The dungeons aren’t big enough to—”
“Then we execute any who have a history of troublemaking,” Richard exclaimed, his face red. He stomped forward. “They’re revolting against our rule, and we can’t send an envoy to find out what they want. We know what they want! And we’re not going to let them have their way!” He clapped Brandon on the shoulder, his only acknowledgement of his brother while he focused on Rupert. “We won’t risk a drop of royal blood over a bunch of Void Born, hot-headed Reformers!”
Rupert turned away in a huff, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ve never had such an outcry against a royal member before let alone a mob like this.” His volume remained even, though his voice shook with frustration. “We need to find out what they want, and try to calm them without giving in to their demands.”
“And if that’s impossible?” Richard challenged.
Victoria gripped the armrests of her throne, leaning forward. “Then we’ll take drastic action that is best left avoided.”
“Either way, we’ll send out an extra squad of guards to stand between them and the gate.” Rupert said. His eyes narrowed. “This just had to be timed for the day that we have the least amount of manpower here in the palace.”
Brandon frowned. That was true. Princess Violet was out visiting family in Perennia and a small contingent of guards had left with her. Another contingent was in the city of Jerlen for training the soldiers there.
Could this have been an inside job? First, Sapphire being poisoned, then the missing suspect-servant turned murder-victim, and now a mob at their gates when they had less manpower than normal. The timing was suspicious, at best.
Richard’s eyes flashed, his hand falling to his sword. “We need to do something, now! Before it gets out of hand!”
“What do you think we’re doing?” Rupert thundered. “Planning a vacation?” He snapped his fingers at an aide. “Fetch—”
General Brigley burst into the room, the doors slamming into the fresco walls. He barely bowed, his jaw twitching. “They’re ramming the gate! What are your orders?”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Slate
“Lieutenant!”
Slate jumped, his heart pounding hard enough to try to escape his chest. A familiar young blonde woman stood in the doorway of a nearby side room. Slate stared at her a moment, trying to recall her name. Emilee. The one Richard had snapped at. Slate bowed briefly to compose himself and bury his nervousness under a state of calm. “Yes, miss. Can I help you?”
She left the safety of the doorway and hurried forward, a terrified little mouse, her brown eyes wide enough that he could see his reflection in them. Gesturing in the direction of the main gate, she stammered, “There’s a mob outside. Do you think we’re in danger here?”
Slate cursed silently for the third time in the last ten minutes. Cole had omitted the mob detail. What if someone got hurt? He’d promised the only death would be Richard!
“I’m actually going around to make sure everything is locked and safe,” Slate lied. “As long as you stay inside, you’ll be fine.” He gestured to a set of guards that jogged past them. “We’re still well-defended. But if you’re nervous, you could stay in the music room for awhile? It’s further from the noise.” And, without a doubt, safer. Richard avoided the music room as if the sound of music would wither his masculinity, so Slate had no concern of an unfortunate meetup there.
He raised his hands, glancing down the hall. “In fact, how about you find some of your friends, and you can all be there. It won’t be so bad if you’re not alone, and I doubt the Highnesses have any need of service during this madness.”
Emilee nodded before flinching at the quiet roar echoing down the hall. “That’s a good idea. Thank you, sir.”
Slate smiled down at her, hoping she wouldn’t notice if he seemed off. Or if she did notice, that she would assume he was upset over the rioting as well. “You’re welcome. Now get going!” He watched her turn and scurry down the hall and away from him.
He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. No one would question him here, but once he was in the staff quarters, it’d be harder to explain. Forcing one foot in front of the other as c
asually as he could, Slate walked to the staff quarters, trying not to panic internally over what he was doing.
It was too late to stop it. Not when there was a mob out front.
He was aiding and abetting in the murder of a crown prince. Could he live with that?
Slate turned the corner, relieved to not see anyone there. He could live with this. Richard was trying to kill his sister and her family. Richard needed to be taken out. To protect Sapphire. To protect Finn.
Fists clenched in determination, Slate pushed open the door to the servants’ quarters and looked around for signs of anyone who’d decided to hide from the chaos in here. Surprisingly, there wasn’t a soul in sight. Pleased, he hurried through the main room that separated the men’s quarters from the women’s, and stopped in front of a blank, windowless wall. He knelt in front of the deceptively smooth barrier and pulled off his glove. He glided his fingers along the floorboard until he felt the bump of the switch, and he held his finger there until a spark of electricity zapped him.
The panel of wall sank back and disappeared into the hollow that was shaped just for it. Light from the main room illuminated the dark hallway beyond, the red gem to open the outer wall sparkling in the dim light. Not allowing himself to dwell on it any further, he strode forward and thumbed it. Cold air swirled over him as the door opened and he suppressed a shiver. A blanket of white met his eyes.
This he would do so that his sister could live her life peacefully.
Slate stepped out into the freezing air, snow crunching underfoot as he looked left and right for Cole. He spotted Cole at the same time as Cole saw him. Cole led three other men toward Slate, leaving knee-deep furrows in the snowdrifts. Slate pressed himself against the wall to let them pass by.
Once the last man entered, Slate rubbed the red gem again, watching the door close with a heart-thumping note of finality. He stepped into the light of the main room and watched the four brush snow off their pant legs. They were about to change history. His stomach churned, and he forced himself to breathe deep. He was doing this for good reason.
Betrayal by Blood Page 34
