“Thanks for the display of family loyalty,” grumbled Lucy, but the others joined them a moment later, so she suspended the sibling squabble for the time being.
“Cody’s not with you?” asked Kincaid, looking around as if expecting the older Kyonan man to leap from behind a suit of armor. “He won’t miss the coronation, will he? Should we have made sure he was awake?”
Lucy and Matheus exchanged a look, chuckling. “Trust me,” Matheus said. “He’s awake.”
“Cody’s never slept in a day in his life,” said Lucy, taking pity on Kincaid’s confusion. “He’s got way too much energy for that. My mother says that he’s as over exuberant now as he was when he was thirteen.” She shook her head. “He’s probably been up for hours, and managed to fit in some sparring in the royal training yard.” Her voice turned slightly bitter. “If he could find anyone willing to demean themselves to train with a Kyonan.”
Jocelyn raised a questioning eyebrow, clearly aware that there was some story behind her best friend’s comment. But she seemed to accept from Lucy’s flick of the head that they would have to talk about it later.
“Shall we head in, Your Highnesses?” Lady Rodanthe cut in, inclining her head toward the nearby doorway into the throne room.
“Actually, Lucy,” said Eamon quickly, trying to catch her eye. Lucy’s heart sank. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“I don’t want to be late,” she said half-heartedly, her gaze on an unremarkable tapestry on the far wall.
“Rubbish, Lucy,” said Matheus briskly. “There’s plenty of time. We’ll wait here for you.”
Lucy glared at her brother, but he met her look with an unconvincing expression of innocence. Her eyes passed to Lady Rodanthe, and she saw that while the older woman didn’t look especially impressed, she wasn’t actually going to challenge the prince’s request for a private conversation.
“We will locate our seats,” the noblewoman said, her firm tone a reminder that they all had an important event they mustn’t be late for.
“It will only take a minute,” said Eamon, the pleading note in his voice weakening Lucy’s defenses a little. She had spent the rest of the ball the night before avoiding him and his stormy gaze, and she didn’t particularly want to talk to him right now. But she wasn’t heartless. She knew it was humiliating enough for him to basically beg in front of the others, and to turn him down completely would be unkind.
“All right,” she said as casually as she could.
Others had started to arrive for the coronation, a slow but building stream of people brushing past the visiting group to enter the throne room. Many shot them curious looks, huddled in the corridor as they were, and Lucy could see Eamon’s guards watching the passing parade with alert and suspicious eyes.
Eamon looked around for a moment, clearly as unexcited as Lucy was about the idea of trying to have a personal conversation in the midst of the bustle. The throne room was clearly long, because even the closest other door was a bit of a walk away. Eamon gestured toward it.
“Perhaps in there?”
“All right,” sighed Lucy again, without any marked enthusiasm. What was there to say that hadn’t been said already?
But she followed Eamon anyway, the Kyonan guards close behind the pair. Eamon pushed his way into the room, which seemed to be some kind of medium-sized antechamber, and the guards surged past Lucy in order to satisfy themselves that the space was secure.
Eamon shut the door behind him, turning to Lucy with a serious expression.
“I know you want to get to the coronation, Lucy, so I’ll be quick. I wanted to talk to you about that man last night.”
Lucy raised an eyebrow. Apparently Eamon hadn’t sought her out for another opportunity to apologize after all.
“What man?” she asked, her tone icy. “I danced with so many men, you’ll really have to be more specific.”
Eamon scowled, his expression clearly saying that he knew she was trying to be provocative.
“Well, you didn’t dance with this one. I’m talking about the older man. The one who took you out onto the balcony.”
“What about him?” asked Lucy. “What concern is it of yours?” Her tone was anything but encouraging, and Eamon hesitated before answering.
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Lucy, but everyone in our delegation is my responsibility, in a sense.”
“So you’re in charge of etiquette now, are you?” Lucy challenged. “Lady Rodanthe hasn’t expressed any concern over my dancing last night.”
Eamon sighed, frustrated. “I’m not suggesting it was breach of etiquette. I’m just saying, we all know how unpredictable Balenol can be, and we need to be careful.”
One of Eamon’s guards shifted slightly behind him, pulling Lucy’s attention to the man. She didn’t know his name, but she recognized him as one of the guards who regularly attended the crown prince. She was pretty sure he’d been at the ball last night, in fact. However, in that setting Eamon’s guards had hovered against the wall, out of earshot. Unlike now.
The guard didn’t meet her eye, of course, but Lucy still flushed slightly at the reminder of their audience. It was one of the things she had liked most about Eamon visiting her at Raldon instead of her going to Kynton. His guards didn’t tend to hover so close in the peaceful forest community.
Eamon followed her gaze and frowned, seeming to realize for the first time how close the guards were standing. Lucy could only suppose that he was so used to it that he barely even noticed their presence anymore. But evidently he realized their proximity bothered Lucy. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed her arm and pulled her unceremoniously to the other side of the room. At a meaningful glare from Eamon, the guards retained their place by the door, although they both looked reluctant to do so.
“If you’re quite done hauling me around,” Lucy snapped, pulling her arm free from Eamon’s grip. “You’re not responsible for me, Eamon. I’m not part of the official delegation, as you know perfectly well. And I know as well as you do—better, probably—how dangerous Balenol can be. But it just so happens that Rasad isn’t Balenan. He’s from Thorania.”
“Rasad, is it?” asked Eamon, his eyes narrowed.
Before Lucy could respond, they were both startled by the sudden opening of a door near where they were standing. It didn’t lead into the corridor, like the door they had come through. Lucy’s surprise quickly turned to dismay when she saw who was entering the room, flanked by guards and dressed in a ceremonial outfit of almost overwhelming magnificence.
“Your Majesty!” she said, dropping quickly into a curtsy.
She kept her head lowered for longer than necessary, as she fought the flush of embarrassment that arose at the realization that they had chosen the formal antechamber to the throne room for their cozy chat. Even when she rose from the curtsy, she couldn’t bring herself to look the king in the eyes, instead focusing on the several Balenan guards who flanked him.
They had tensed at the unexpected appearance of others in the room, but seemed to have relaxed when they observed that it was only Lucy and the Kyonan crown prince. Lucy had sensed the similar alarm from Eamon’s guards when the others had entered the room, but each set of guards seemed to have dismissed the other as harmless.
“King Giles,” Eamon was saying, sounding embarrassed himself. “My apologies for this unintentional intrusion. We did not realize—”
It all happened so quickly, Lucy didn’t know what had first alerted her. The sound of a blade being drawn was jarring in its very familiarity, because the context was all wrong. Before she had even had time to turn toward the noise, she had reached for her weapon on instinct. Her hands had already closed around the dagger, her skirts bunched to allow access, before she realized with horror that the king, and all his guards, were watching her with blank astonishment. Her hand stilled even as she turned her head to see who had drawn steel—the instinct to identify the danger was too strong to resist, but she couldn’t let
them see her use her weapon. She couldn’t let them see what she was really capable of.
Eamon had clearly been surprised by her actions as well, but he wasted no time gawking at her disarranged skirts, instead following her gaze instantly, back toward the door through which they had entered.
Lucy had barely registered what she was seeing when Eamon’s cry broke the shocked silence. Unlike her, he didn’t hesitate as he threw himself at King Giles, shoving the monarch forcibly into one of his own guards with not a moment to spare.
For a horrifying moment Lucy remained frozen in place, everything seeming to slow down as the blade—thrown by one of Eamon’s own guards—buried itself into Eamon’s arm, now occupying the space where the Balenan king had stood seconds before.
Eamon’s grunt of pain as he hit the ground seemed to unlock the rest of the room from its stupor. Lucy was dimly aware of the other Kyonan guard tackling his rogue companion, two of King Giles’s guards racing to subdue the man as well. The other Balenan guards had formed up around their sovereign.
But Lucy had eyes only for Eamon. Her scream of horror was lodged in her throat as she dropped to her knees beside him, her mind reeling at the sight of the blood now pouring from his arm.
“Eamon,” she gasped.
His eyes were shut, his face bunched in pain. He had fallen on his injured arm, and the blade was still protruding. Lucy blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the sick feeling in her stomach. For a moment all she could see was the sight of her uncle, dead on the ground with her blade in his heart, and his thick, red blood pooling around him. But she resolutely forced the image away, trying to return to the current crisis.
Her hand hovered over the blade, uncertain whether to pull it out or leave it in. She knew nothing about healing and injuries. Something dripped off the edge of her nose, and she realized that she was crying. She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, impatient of the distraction.
“Eamon, talk to me,” she said desperately.
“I’m all right,” Eamon said, his eyes shooting open at the sound of her voice. “I’m fine. I just had the wind knocked out of me. Is the king—”
“You didn’t just have the wind knocked out of you,” said Lucy, angry with him for no reason she could articulate. Even so, a knot of tension had loosened in her chest at the alertness of his tone. “You have a dagger sticking out of your arm.”
“I’m fine,” Eamon repeated, pushing himself up with his uninjured arm. “Is King Giles safe?”
Lucy followed his gaze, belatedly remembering the real target of the astonishing attack. King Giles was back on his feet, his expression hard and calculating as his gaze flicked between the two of them and the cluster of guards at the door. The Kyonan guard who had thrown the dagger had been disarmed, and was being held roughly by two of King Giles’s guards, his expression belligerent. The other Kyonan was racing across the room toward his injured prince, his face pale.
The door into the corridor burst open, causing two more of the king’s guards to surge forward. Jocelyn tumbled through first, drawing up with a gasp as she was confronted with the drawn blades of the Balenans. She stumbled back a step, into Kincaid, who leaped forward, positioning his wife behind him before Lucy could blink. She saw Matheus hovering behind the couple, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide with horror as he surveyed the scene before him.
King Giles calmly assessed the new arrivals for a moment before he spoke, his voice as steady and commanding as ever.
“Close the door behind you, Matheus.”
Lucy’s brother started at the unexpected instruction, but he did as he was told quickly, hurrying into the room and pulling the door shut. The guards in his vicinity lowered their weapons slightly, so that Jocelyn, Kincaid, and Matheus were no longer being held at sword point.
King Giles returned his attention to the knife still lodged in Eamon’s arm. “Summon a physician,” he barked to the room at large, and one of his guards hastened to obey. He had barely left the room, via the door through which the king and his group had entered, when several more Balenan guards appeared in the doorway, as if from nowhere. Two of them grouped around the king, while the others raced to join the guards still restraining the Kyonan who had thrown the blade.
The king met the visiting prince’s eyes, his expression impossible to read. “It seems you saved my life, Your Highness.” The words were courteous, but the tone made Lucy shiver.
Eamon shook his head, more pale than Lucy had ever seen him. “I don’t know what to say, Your Majesty,” he stammered, his voice much less confident than usual. “The man has been one of my personal guard for years. I cannot imagine what—that is, I can hardly believe—” He was clearly struggling for words. “I am as horrified by his actions as you are, Your Majesty. Please believe that Kyona would never participate in…would never…”
Lucy felt a cold rush go over her body as the full implication of the incident broke in on her. She looked between the hard-eyed king and the mutinous guard, her breath catching in her throat. A member of the Kyonan delegation—one of the prince’s own guards—had just tried to assassinate Balenol’s new king. The danger of war between the two kingdoms had never been greater.
The king was silent for a moment, his expression shrewd as he took in Eamon’s inelegant stuttering, as well as the blood dripping steadily down the prince’s arm.
Eamon took a deep breath. “My father is as determined as you are to heal relations between our kingdoms, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice much steadier. “It is for that reason he sent me to Nohl, to witness and celebrate your coronation on behalf of Kyona. We are fully committed to a harmonious future.”
Lucy found herself nodding by the end of Eamon’s speech. It was all true, and he had spoken well, she thought. The king seemed to agree, because something shifted in his expression.
“You were lucky the blade struck your arm,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “It is clear to me that it could just as easily have taken your life.” He met Eamon’s eyes, and some kind of understanding seemed to pass between them, because Eamon sagged slightly in apparent relief before the king had even spoken his next words. “I thank you for your actions. Your intervention, Your Highness, certainly lessens any suspicion that the man acted on behalf of the Kyonan crown.”
Eamon nodded, his face paler than ever despite his evident relief. Lucy bit her lip anxiously. She didn’t think he should be on his feet—he had lost a lot of blood, and it was still flowing freely.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Eamon was saying, but before he could go any further, a silver-haired man with an anxious expression bustled into the room, flanked by two guards. His bag proclaimed him as the physician the king had sent for, and he wasted no time in reaching his sovereign’s side.
“I am unhurt,” said King Giles curtly. “You will see to Prince Eamon’s injury.”
The physician turned his confused gaze on the visiting prince, his eyes widening at the sight of the dagger in his arm. He bustled over to Eamon, and Lucy averted her eyes, not eager to witness the extraction.
Her mind was still reeling from the unexpected crisis, and the emotions swirling through her were too numerous and too confusing to process. For reasons she couldn’t immediately identify, her shock and fear seemed to be laced with shame as she tried to comprehend how close both King Giles and Eamon had come to dying. Her legs shook as she sank into a nearby chair, relieved that no one seemed to be paying her any attention. She could only be grateful that her own peculiar behavior seemed to have been forgotten in the uproar that followed.
“Is the injury serious?” The king’s voice was dispassionate as he addressed the physician.
“No, Sire,” the man said, his eyes still focused on his work. “I apprehend no lasting impact.”
Lucy glanced over, more of the tension leaking from her at the man’s words. She was relieved to see that the knife had been removed from Eamon’s arm, but she looked away again quickly at the sight of the continued f
low of his blood.
“I am glad to hear it,” said King Giles, apparently dismissing the matter from his mind. His gaze turned to the restrained Kyonan guard, his expression becoming hard once again. “It seems I am to be made a liar in my edict that the execution blade is no longer needed in Nohl.”
Chapter Eight
“Wait, Your Majesty.”
Lucy turned in astonishment at Eamon’s protest. He had said this guard had been with him for years, but surely he didn’t think he could save the man. Not after he had openly tried to kill Balenol’s king.
King Giles raised his eyebrows, a measure of suspicion visibly returning to his face. “You would dispute my right to execute this man?”
“Of course not, Your Majesty,” said Eamon quickly, lowering his head in a respectful gesture. “You are Balenol’s king. I would not presume to dispute your right to do whatever you please. But this matter is of great interest to Kyona, also. I would beg your…indulgence in allowing my people to conduct our own interrogations before the matter is…finally resolved.”
King Giles studied Eamon for a long moment, his gaze too penetrating for comfort. “I will consider the request,” he said at last. He nodded to a senior-looking guard. “Take the man to the dungeons for the time being. And take a message to Queen Verena that the coronation must regrettably be delayed by half an hour.”
The senior guard looked startled. “You intend to go ahead with the coronation as planned, Your Majesty?”
“Of course,” said the king, raising one regal eyebrow. His gaze swept around the room, which seemed stiflingly full of people. “I expect the full discretion of each one of you. This matter is to be kept quiet for now.”
Lucy was quick to nod her compliance, along with the rest of the room, but internally she was surprised. She remembered what Jocelyn had said about the king needing to look strong, but still…Keeping a balcony collapse a secret was one thing, but an assassination attempt? Hopefully it meant that King Giles was still as eager to avoid war as everyone on the delegation was.
Downfall of the Curse Page 8
