by Frost Kay
“Understood, my lord,” Madrid murmured with a bow. “I will make sure my men protect what you hold dear.”
Destin wrapped a hand around Tempest’s forearm and led her from Ansette’s bedroom. Madrid soon followed, barking orders at the soldiers. The men retreated down the corridor to their stations as Madrid had commanded. Something told Tempest that this was a pointless endeavor. Whoever tried to murder Ansette had made their point; they would not come back to finish the job or to attack Tempest. Whatever their goal, they’d given up the element of surprise. Even though they hadn’t killed the princess, they’d struck fear into the heart of the palace.
The question Tempest had to work out was why the princess had been the target in the first place. Ansette was a smart girl, but by all accounts, she held no favor with the king, nor any power. Why not strike at the newly announced heir?
The king released Tempest and retrieved his daughter from the stone wall, and escorted her down the hallway with Tempest on one side and Madrid on the other. He halted in front of Tempest’s rooms and let himself in. She blinked and followed him in as he set his daughter in the pink brocade chair near the low fire. Tempest swept past them and added a few logs to the fire, staying quiet as they lit, creating a warm blaze.
A troop of maids entered the room, first curtseying to their sovereign before converging on the shivering Ansette. Destin caught Tempest’s eye and held his hand out to her. She sheathed her sword and laid it on the end of her bed before taking his hand. The king led her from the room and closed the door behind them. Madrid stood at attention as the king dropped her hand.
“Find who did this,” Destin demanded.
“It will be done,” Madrid answered solemnly.
The king focused his full attention on Tempest. “I leave my daughter to your care for the night. I can trust you to do this, my lady?”
“Of course, my lord.” She’d never said more honest words to him. Tempest wouldn’t let anything happen to the princess. “I’ll guard her with my life. Your family is my family.” The last bit wasn’t true, but it was exactly what he needed to hear.
Destin nodded, his blazing, golden gaze softening just a touch. He brushed a kiss over her forehead. “I will not forget this.”
What was supposed to sound comforting sounded more like a threat. Tempest read between the lines. If she kept the princess safe, he’d be in her debt. If Ansette came to any harm, there’d be no place Tempest could hide from his wrath.
He pulled away and prowled toward the banister, his purple robe trailing behind him. “And prepare to wake at dawn,” he growled. “The rebel scum shall meet their ends as the sun rises.”
“Dawn?” she managed to ask evenly.
“They do not deserve to remain breathing,” Destin spat, spinning to face her. “If they have no qualms about murdering an innocent girl, they deserve no mercy. They die at dawn.”
He strode away, his arms snapping at his sides as he yelled at the soldiers he passed. She watched his imposing figure disappear around the corner, and her shoulders sagged. It was mere hours until the sun rose.
“Best go to bed, Tempest,” Madrid murmured, his gaze roving the area for danger.
“As if I will gain any sleep,” she muttered.
He glanced at her, her bared legs, and then the myriad of soldiers inhabiting the corridor. “You’re unclothed.”
She snorted. “I’ve run naked through the barracks before. My ankles will hardly offend anyone with what is going on. I’m sure none of them have even noticed.”
“They’ve noticed. Did Maxim teach you nothing of men?”
“It’s skin. Nothing else.”
“You are the king’s betrothed and one of his trusted ones. You must act accordingly.”
That sobered her. Her gaze strayed back to the closed door. The princess was now in her care. Tempest nodded to Madrid and entered her room. The maids had changed Ansette into a nightgown from Tempest’s wardrobe. The girl looked awfully small with her knees hugged to her chest.
Striding over to her small collection of spirits, Tempest poured some whiskey into a cup and maneuvered through the servants who were crooning at the princess. Tempest held the glass out to the princess.
“Drink it,” she commanded softly.
Ansette took it gingerly from her hand.
“Do it quickly so it doesn’t taste as bad.”
The princess tossed back the alcohol and grimaced before handing back the cup.
“It’s time for bed.”
The girl stood and woodenly moved to the bed. Tempest pulled back the covers and tucked Ansette in before rounding the mattress and crawling in on the other side. She stared at the maids.
“If you intend to stay, make your pallets on the floor and keep silent. The princess needs rest.”
Tempest wiggled her body backward until her spine pressed against the headboard. The servants quickly made their beds on the floor and fell silent.
“You’re not going to bed?” Ansette whispered to her.
Tempest glanced down at the girl and shook her head. “I’ll stay awake to keep watch.”
The princess’s eyes filled with tears, and she held her hand out. “Thank you.”
She eyed Ansette’s hand before taking it in her own. The girl squeezed it once before closing her eyes, tears silently tracking down her round, pale cheeks. She never let go. Tempest stared at their clasped hands for a long time. This was not what she’d expected when she’d accepted the king’s offer. This was dangerous territory. Unbiddenly, she began to hum her mum’s lullaby. The princess’s breath eventually slowed and evened out. Even then, Tempest never released the girl’s hand.
She gazed out the window.
Dawn would arrive too soon.
And so would Brine’s death.
Nine
Tempest
Tempest’s eyes burned as she disentangled herself from the sleeping princess. She’d finally given up and laid down in the bed when her back began to protest sitting in the same position for so long. Two of the maids roused when she sat up, but Tempest waved them back down. Someone might as well get some sleep. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and rubbed her tired eyes, then her hand crept beneath her pillow to retrieve her trusty dagger. There was no way she could lie in bed any longer. She blinked slowly when her fingers came in contact with a piece of parchment. Carefully, she pulled the note from beneath her pillow and tucked it up her sleeve. There was only one person brazen enough to sneak into her room and leave a note.
The Jester.
How had he snuck in? She scanned the room. There was no way he would have risked entering her chambers after the assassination attempt. He must have left it prior. Sloppy. She hadn’t even noticed. Tempest glanced over her shoulder at Ansette. What if it had been a poisonous snake or scorpion put into the bed and not a harmless note? Some Hound she was. Her mind turned back to Pyre. Had he left this note or had it been one of his cronies?
What if the Dark Court is responsible for the attempt on the princess’s life?
Time to find out.
The rumpled edge of her nightgown fell to her feet as she crept from the bed, skirting around the maids sleeping on the floor. Tempest moved on silent feet into the bathroom and closed the door. Each of her breaths seemed overly loud in the marble room. She pulled the letter from her linen sleeve and unfurled the thick piece of parchment.
Meet me where the bread is made.
How delightfully vague.
She frowned, the cogs in her head working hard to make sense of the Jester’s words. A bakery, clearly, but which one? The city hosted hundreds of bakeries.
You’ve only spent time at one.
Hopefully, he meant the one that served the barracks. If he meant any other one, he should have been more damned specific. She strode to the privy, ripped up the note, and dropped it in before relieving herself. Quickly, she scrubbed her hands, face, and teeth then exited the bathroom and entered her wardrobe.
Dawn was still several hours away. That should be enough time to sneak out and back in before the execution.
She smiled reassuringly at one of the maids who lay awake on their pallet, watching her, before slipping from her room. Soldiers lined the hallway, silent sentinels. Madrid cocked his head in question.
“The princess has had a rough night. I’m going to fetch her something tasty and warm from the bakery. It always calms me when I’ve had a rough day,” she murmured, holding Madrid’s gaze.
A young guard smiled at her from down the corridor. “That’s very nice of you, my lady.”
An older guard next to the boy thumped him on the back of the head. “Do not speak to your betters unless they speak to you,” the older man growled.
Madrid arched an eyebrow, his silent communication clear: he didn’t believe her story.
Not that it mattered. He was on her side. At least, for now.
She drifted down the hallway and took the servants’ stairway. By the time she’d reached the central wing of the palace, the entire place was crawling with guards, who were all incredibly anxious and on-edge. She made sure to keep her hair covered. It would not do well for her to draw undue attention to herself. Surely, rumors were running rampant among those in court about the prior night. The king’s betrothed leaving the palace in the early hours of the morning would surely be construed as suspicious to some.
Her gut churned as she checked the sky once more. Dawn would arrive soon, and with Brine and others in the dungeon, she prayed that Pyre had a plan to get his men out.
Her steps slowed when she reached the stairs that led into the grand entrance hall. It would be tricky escaping without being questioned. The entire staff was being questioned by the guards. If she was caught in those passageways, it would seem even more suspicious. Tempest fidgeted and plastered a look of concern on her face when soft footsteps approached almost out of nowhere. She spun to face the new arrival, lies and excuses hovering on her tongue.
Dima blinked at her and placed a hand on her shoulder, his gaze full of questions. “Where are you going?”
“As you know, the princess had a rough night. I thought she might need some comfort this morning. I am going to see the baker about something that might tempt her.”
“I see,” Dima murmured. “Are you speaking about the kitsune baker?”
She eyed her uncle. Madrid had sent along help.
Or a spy.
“I am.”
“Perfect. I have wanted to visit him myself. Follow me,” he said, before striding down the nearest servant corridor.
Tempest kept her head down and kept close to Dima. They passed several soldiers interrogating individuals, but no one paid them any mind as they exited through a small kitchen to a narrow hallway. Her uncle yanked open a rough wooden door and gestured for her to go through first. She stepped out into a dark courtyard. Tempest spied sacks of grain leaning against the walls. So, this was where they kept the grain for the castle.
Dima closed the door. “So, a baker, then?” he asked, unlocking the nearest gate and pushing through.
She followed, trying to map out where they were—the west side of the castle, near the barracks, if she had to hazard a guess. Her uncle locked the gate and headed toward the Hound barracks without being prompted. Temp huffed out a breath as she struggled to keep up with Dima’s huge strides, although thankful for his speed. There wasn’t much time.
“I can only assume that Madrid sent—”
“Yes. He sent me as protection.”
That wasn’t what she was going to ask. “Protection? I am perfectly able to protect myself.”
“True, but you wouldn’t have escaped the palace without notice today. This is a dangerous game we’re playing. Never let pride stop you from accepting help.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“I’ll always help you, lass.”
They swept through the quiet upper-class circle of Dotae until they reached the bakery that supplied the barracks. A bell chirped merrily as they opened the door and stepped inside, the scent of yeast, cinnamon, and toasted nuts teasing the air. The baker lifted his head and pointed upward to the attic before returning to sliding out several freshly baked, delicious-smelling loaves of bread from a wood-fired oven.
“I shall remain out here,” Dima muttered.
He really wasn’t there to spy after all.
Tempest nodded and mouthed a silent thanks, then she stalked upstairs. The carved door to the attic was open just a touch. Tempest slowly pushed it open and stepped into the cramped room. Pyre sat on the windowsill, his gaze pinned to the darkness outside. One ear flicked her way before twitching back into place. She closed the door softly and eyed the silent man.
“You summoned me, so here I am,” Tempest said flatly.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his lips curling into a small smirk. “Who knew you could be so obedient?”
“Enough,” she demanded. “We don’t have time to quibble. I need answers. What the bloody hell is Brine doing in the dungeon?”
“Gathering information,” he replied, not looking at her. “We were getting ready to release Destin’s political prisoners from the dungeon. The king pushing forward this execution has…interfered with those plans.”
“Interfered?” Tempest hissed, stepping away from the door. “He’s doing a bit more than interfering, Pyre! Brine is going to die! Along with anyone else you’ve placed in that prison.”
“It’s not ideal—”
“Not ideal?” she whispered. “Would you really let them die?”
He tossed a baleful look her way. “Of course not! Do you think me so cold-blooded?”
Tempest snapped her mouth shut. She was not going to answer that question.
“You do, don’t you? You believe I would let my own men die.”
“You had the former prince murdered in cold blood.”
His upper lip curled, revealing two long canines. “That’s not true. The king had his son killed.”
“Your men were there,” she said harshly and then waved her hand in the space between them. “I’m not here to argue with you. What is your plan?”
“We’re going to get them out now,” he said, once again staring out the window.
“And how will we manage that?”
“I’ll take care of it, my lady. You just play your part as the dutiful future queen. Bring no suspicion upon yourself. The king is wily and has many years of experience. He will discover your secrets if you’re not careful. I cannot protect you inside the castle.”
“I don’t need your protection.”
“Because you don’t need help from anyone?” He chuckled. “Just stay out of this, Temp.”
As much as she wanted to fight against him, she knew he was right. Damn him. Working on the front lines on this particular rescue attempt would jeopardize everything she’d been working for. Even meeting with the kitsune was dangerous enough. Every time they did something like this, the chance of Tempest being caught increased tenfold.
“We cannot meet like this again,” she whispered.
He nodded and swallowed. She followed the motion and noticed he was wearing his favorite forest-green cloak, fastened around his neck with a delicate gold chain made up of interlocking leaves. He looked far more like the man she’d first met than he did the Jester or Mal. He looked like…her Pyre.
She paused, realizing she’d taken several steps toward him.
Don’t be stupid. He’s dangerous.
He turned his attention from the horizon back to her face. Dark smudges marred the skin beneath his eyes. He looked tired—more tired than she felt, which was a feat in and of itself. Was it
due to stress or had he been up at all hours of the night?
“Pyre,” she said softly. “The king has ordered Madrid and me to discover who made the attempt on Princess Ansette’s life. I need to know that—”
“It was not my people. We did not attack the girl.”
She studied Pyre. He held her stare, his gaze never wavering.
“I believe you,” she said finally. His shoulders seemed to sag a little bit at that. Or had she imagined it? “Ansette has been given into my care for the time being but if there are any leads you can give me that would help me catch the one responsible—”
“I will.”
“I know I can’t personally be involved with this, but if there’s anything I can do to help…”
“You can help me by treading carefully,” he said, very quietly. “You must be careful with this task he has given you. Destin is not in the habit of keeping around powerful women, Tempest. He is playing a game with you.”
“I know that.”
“Do you really?” His eyebrow rose in a silent challenge.
“Do you really think I am not always on my guard around him? That man is as dangerous as a southern viper and just as slippery.”
“An apt description.” He stood, bringing their bodies closer. Tempest tipped her chin up, so she could see his face. “Don’t think for one second that he trusts you. Destin might have left Ansette’s care in your hands, but it’s a trap. It always is.”
“I’m not naïve.” The threat had been clear the prior night.
“He’s trying to draw out those who oppose him by using his children. Don’t let him snag you in one of his webs. There’s only one way out: death.”
Pyre’s gaze scanned her face, his expression softening. He reached for her cheek, and Tempest’s traitorous heart flipped. She took a small step back, and his fingers curled into a fist. He lowered his hand, all expression wiped from his face.
“Please be careful,” he said, emotion leaking into his voice. “I’m serious, Temp. Listen to me this time. For once in your life, just…listen to me. Do not do anything rash today.”
