The Hidden Prince
Page 6
“That’s why I’m here,” James said. “To look after Tobiah. So that he can be who he is without worrying about danger.”
It seemed to me James was being too hard on himself. Tobiah wasn’t easy to look after, given his vigilante habit. James wouldn’t be reassured, though. His sense of duty wouldn’t allow it.
“Why don’t you wash up?” He motioned to the bloodstains on my gown. “There’s nothing else you can do until your friend arrives.”
“I hate feeling powerless.” I wiped clean my pen and closed the bottle of ink. “I hate not being able to help.”
James’s jaw clenched as he glanced toward the prince’s closed door. If anyone understood, he did. “Sergeant Ferris will escort you to your quarters.” He looked at one of the indigo-jacketed men in the sitting room. “Sergeant, attend Princess Wilhelmina.”
I stood and lifted an eyebrow. “Who is being guarded?”
“You, Your Highness.” James rose to his feet again, too. “Patrick risked you today. What if his aim had been off? What if the wind had picked up? The queen regent and Lady Meredith are being guarded closely, as well.”
As closely as I? They were probably permitted knives at meals. “Very well.”
James leaned close. “Now that you’ve identified yourself, you’ll simply have to get used to a bodyguard following you at all hours. Do you think Tobiah enjoys my constant company? It is the duty of a member of the royal family to stay alive.”
A darkness flashed through his eyes: his failure today, the failure of King Terrell’s bodyguards not even a fortnight ago. He needed me to obey, to take the guard and keep myself safe. And with the wraith boy in the palace, we all needed to be even more alert.
He was correct. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t also guarding the rest of the palace from me.
“Only because you asked so nicely.” I grabbed the leather-bound notebook I used as a diary and strode after the young sergeant James had indicated. A moment later we were out the door, the wraith boy following at a short distance.
It wasn’t a long walk from Tobiah’s apartments to mine. Both suites were located in the Dragon Wing, the area typically reserved for Indigo Kingdom royalty. My presence here was indicative of both the respect Tobiah held for me, and the respect he had for my dangerous abilities. He kept me close because he needed to watch me.
Sergeant Ferris led me in silence, though he cast a few curious looks toward me.
As we approached my door, I made my expression stony. “Yes, Sergeant?”
He ducked his head. “Pardon, Your Highness.”
“If you have a question, ask it.”
He hesitated, but curiosity won over. “You are Black Knife?”
Though an afternoon of sitting over writing materials had made every muscle in my shoulders and neck stiff, I drew myself up to my full height, nearly even with my guard. “What do you think, Sergeant?”
He snapped to attention at my door and held his position. “Your Highness.”
I entered my sitting room, allowing myself to feel a sliver of satisfaction—at least until I remembered the wraith boy trailing in after me, a white shadow jacketed in indigo.
“Stay in the corner,” I told him. He obeyed, hands clasped in front of him, head slightly bowed.
I moved toward the table to lay down my notebook, but stopped. Something was different.
When Tobiah had summoned me to his quarters this morning, I’d run off quickly, not bothering to close the jars of ink, or clean my pens. Now, the bottles were corked or capped, and the ink-stained nibs soaked in a shallow cup of water, rusting.
A folded paper was pinned beneath a bottle of blue ink, a quick W scrawled on the corner.
Someone had been in my rooms. Or still was.
I snatched a clean pen off the table and clutched it like a knife, moving through the room without stealth; any intruder already knew I was here.
One by one, I opened doors and scanned the shapes and shadows of the music room, the game room, and the dressing room for hints of the intruder. But there was nothing untoward. Just the same opulent suite I’d become intimately acquainted with in the days since the Inundation. The same brocade silk curtains, the same glossy, wood-paneled walls, and the same gleaming brass knobs and hinges and other finishings. There were no strange shapes in the pockets of darkness by full bookcases, or under the ornately carved tables, or in the curtain surrounding the tub in the washroom.
Everything was quiet. The windows here faced the back of the palace, giving me a view of the ruined gardens and woods beyond. Protesters’ cries were muted, and I heard no scrape of shoes on rugs or brush of clothes on wood.
Whoever had been here was gone now.
My fist relaxed around the pen, and I lit a candle when I returned to the table.
After King Terrell had been assassinated, Tobiah had told me that people always wanted to kill kings. Now that my identity was out—as well as my magical ability and the way I’d allegedly spent time as a vigilante—I had to be careful, too. Particularly since I was alone here. Had Melanie stayed with me—
Well, she wasn’t here.
I brought the candle close to the paper, but found no traces of powder. There were no unusual scents, either.
It was probably safe.
I slipped the paper from beneath the bottle and unfolded it. The note was in Tobiah’s handwriting. A strained laugh escaped my throat. All that work, and the intruder turned out to be a boy dying just a few doors down the hall.
Wilhelmina,
I’m sorry I didn’t visit you after the Inundation. I should have.
Please forgive me for what I’m about to do; know that it is duty and honor that compel me to act against my true feelings. You were correct when you said I need to decide who I am.
No matter where my heart leads, I must become who my kingdom needs me to be.
With greatest affection,
Tobiah Pierce
My heart twisted, and tears in my eyes made halos grow around the words.
He must have written this right before he announced the date of his wedding to Meredith—winter solstice—during the minutes he’d left James’s side to deliver a list of places in Aecor Patrick might have gone.
Unfortunately, Patrick had been on his way here.
To shoot Tobiah.
Maybe I hated the prince, but I loved the vigilante, and now he was dying.
My feelings had been complicated enough when I’d believed they were separate people, but now that Tobiah Pierce was Black Knife . . .
Black Knife was Tobiah Pierce . . .
And where was Connor?
My breath came hard and fast as I placed the letter on the table once more, and smoothed out the corners. My weapons had been taken away, but not my clothes.
I glanced at the window. Nearly dark.
“Wraith boy.”
In the corner, he perked up and tilted his head. “Yes, my queen?”
“From the balcony, can you lower me to the ground?” Being on the third story, I wasn’t keen to climb down without my grappling hook and line. My first night in this suite, I’d checked the outside wall for any footholds, but without tools, there’d been nothing but a high probability of two broken legs.
“It isn’t for me to question my queen, but”—he shifted his weight—“can’t you simply walk out? Are you a captive?”
I glanced at the letter on the table, the beautiful room that had been my prison for three days, and the crown prince’s blood staining my gown. Black Knife’s blood. “Can you do what I asked?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then you’re going to help me escape.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PHOTO © HOUSDEN PHOTOGRAPHY
JODI MEADOWS is the author of the Incarnate series. She lives and writes in the Shenandoah Valley, Virginia, with her husband, a cat, and an alarming number of ferrets. She is a confessed book addict and has wanted to be a writer ever since she decided against becoming an astronaut. You can visit her online at www.jodimeadows.com.
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BOOKS BY JODI MEADOWS
Incarnate
Asunder
Infinite
Phoenix Overture
The Orphan Queen
The Hidden Prince
The Glowing Knight
The Burning Hand
COPYRIGHT
Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THE HIDDEN PRINCE. Copyright © 2015 by Jodi Meadows. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ISBN: 978-0-06-237705-0
EPub Edition © May 2015 ISBN 9780062377050
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FIRST EDITION
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