Peter lifted one shoulder. “I’m sure you can make it work.”
The muscles in Grayson’s neck tensed. “I’m not so confident.”
The crown prince’s eyes narrowed. “Let me rephrase: you will make it work. I don’t think I need to describe the ways I’ll punish you if you don’t do as I order. I will be king, Grayson. I am your future, and I can make that future a nightmare.”
He knew Peter was telling the absolute truth. He would make Grayson’s life miserable.
But the thought of stealing a young woman and dragging her to Lenzen, throwing her at Peter’s feet and beneath his non-existent mercy . . . It made him ill.
He would not be a part of this. He may not have many choices right now, but this was one he could make.
“All right,” he lied, his quiet voice echoing in the silence. “I’ll bring her back.”
Carter smiled, and so did Peter.
Fates-blasted fools.
And the joke was truly on them because when Grayson made it back from Mortise, he was doomed to incur the wrath of either his mother or his father, and neither of them would leave much of him for Peter to torture.
The sun was just peeking over the pine-covered mountains when Grayson left his bedroom. He had one bag slung over his shoulder and his weapons were sheathed in all the usual places across his body. He hadn’t slept well. Between nightmares about the man he’d killed in his father’s office and all the things weighing on his mind, it really was no wonder.
He didn’t look back as he left his room and locked it, then moved for the dungeon. When he arrived at Mia’s cell, Fletcher was already standing guard. The older man reached for his keys, but Grayson halted him with a raised hand. He set his bag aside and then pulled out a small drawstring bag.
Fletcher frowned as Grayson placed the weighty pouch in his palm. “What’s this?” he asked.
“I’ll bring you more when I return, if you watch out for her.”
The old man actually scowled. “I don’t need your coin.” He tried to hand the bag back, but Grayson refused it.
He tugged out a key. “This is to my chambers. Twelve stones in and seven to your left, the square is loose. There’s a map inside. It will lead you to a cave not far from here, and there are instructions on how to find a chest I buried. Half the coins inside are for you, and half are for Mia.” He took a breath, knowing he was asking too much. But he had no choice. “If something happens to me, I need you to get her out.”
“Are you mad? We’d never make it out of the castle.”
“There are instructions on the map that will help you navigate the guards.”
“No.”
Grayson’s voice tightened. “My father brought her here to control me. If I’m gone, she no longer means anything to him. He will kill her.”
Fletcher’s eyes widened and he muttered a curse.
Grayson grasped the man’s free wrist and folded the key into his palm. “Please. I’m not above begging.”
The guard grimaced. “Please don’t do that.” He gripped the key in his fist and blew out his breath. “I’ll do all I can to keep her safe, but I can’t make any promises. Not with the king.”
Grayson nodded, knowing it was the best he could expect.
When he reached into his pocket again, the man groaned. “Fates, what else?”
Grayson lifted a sealed letter. “If something happens to me, I want you to give this to her. Please don’t read it.”
The man sighed. “I won’t.” He took the letter, then eyed Grayson. “You’re a legend, Your Highness. If you want to come back, you’ll make it happen. So make it happen.”
Grayson swallowed, his throat feeling suddenly tight. “I’ll do everything in my power to return.”
He also knew he wasn’t invincible. He could fail. Which was why he’d needed to take these precautions for Mia. It was also why he wouldn’t tell her about the possibility of gaining her freedom until he returned. He didn’t want her to have that dream ripped away, in case something happened to him.
Fletcher unlocked Mia’s cell and tugged the door open. Before Grayson could step inside, the old guard did something he never had before—he bowed.
Unnerved by the show of respect, Grayson hurried into the room.
Mia waited for him. She stood in a soft pink dress, her dark curls falling around her shoulders and framing her round face. In her hands was a folded sheet of paper, and she was fingering the edges. She fidgeted where she stood, chewing her bottom lip as she eyed him. She took a bracing breath as the door clicked shut, and then she held out the folded paper. “I don’t want you to open it now. Wait until you’re . . . away.”
He took it, thumbing one of the stiff corners. He swallowed, suddenly losing all words.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, drawing him close. He embraced her in return, breathing in her jasmine and lavender scent, pressing his body closer to hers. She was so small in his arms, but she was everything to him. His entire world.
He let her go slowly and Mia eased back to cup his cheek, guiding his gaze to meet hers. “Promise me you’ll be careful.” There was vulnerability in her voice, and fates knew his own fears were rising.
“I will be back,” he promised. “This isn’t goodbye.”
Yet.
He forced that away. He couldn’t afford to be conflicted. Gaining Mia’s freedom, letting her go . . . that was his only goal, now. He owed her everything. He swore to the fates he would give her this, no matter what it cost him.
He reached into his pocket. “I have something for you, too.” Color invaded his cheeks, but he tried to ignore that as he tugged the necklace out. It sat on his gloved palm between them, looking suddenly pathetic to him. He’d made it last night. A gray pebble was the only ornament, bound to the leather string with crisscrossed strands of twine. He should have gotten her a book, or paints, or—
“Grayson, is that . . .?” Mia clapped a hand over her mouth. “That’s the pebble. The pebble we first played with.” Her gaze lifted to his, and moisture brightened her rich brown eyes. “You kept it?”
He was fully flushing now, but he jerked out a nod.
“That’s . . . amazing. You’re amazing. Will you put it on me?” Mia asked, already putting her back to him as she grasped her hair in one fist, exposing the back of her neck.
Grayson slipped the paper she’d given him into his pocket and tugged off his gloves. His heart kicked against his ribs as he grasped the necklace in both hands. He brought it around her neck and secured it, his fingertips brushing her bared skin. When he was done, he let his thumbs slide down the column of her neck, coasting over the smooth ball at the base. She shivered under his touch and he dropped his hands. Before she could see the newest wound on his palm, he hurried to fit his gloves back on. He refused to tell her how he got it.
Mia slowly turned, releasing her curls to fall down her back once more. She was looking down at the pebble that rested under the hollow of her throat. Her fingers wrapped around the small stone and when she looked up, a tear rolled down the curve of her cheek.
Grayson brushed the tear away with the gloved pads of his fingers, his gut twisting.
Mia sucked in a breath, her body vibrating with emotion. “I promised myself I wouldn’t beg you to stay. But I want to.”
That killed him, in every way.
Left without words, he ducked his head and set his lips against hers, holding her face with both hands. He thumbed the delicate curves of her cheeks and angled the kiss so he could taste her more fully. He needed this, and he knew she did, too.
She gripped his wrists, holding him close. And as the kiss deepened, she slid a hand up his arm, shoulder, and neck, until her fingers got lost in his hair. Her other hand moved to his chest, resting over his racing heart. Her fingers curled into his shirt, dragging him closer, and her other hand shifted in his hair, shooting tingles across his scalp. He shivered, wanting this moment to last forever. To be lost in her kiss, her touch, unti
l everything else in the world disappeared.
When they needed air, he tugged his lips away, but he placed a last kiss against the corner of her mouth before he tipped his forehead against hers, keeping them close. They were both breathing roughly, their sharp breaths mingling. He closed his eyes, his lungs tight. “I love you.”
Mia’s hand flexed against the back of his neck and her brow pressed tightly against his. “I love you, too, Grayson. Never forget that.”
He kissed her again, refusing to acknowledge the burn in his throat or the pressure building behind his eyes. His heart tripped, and he kissed her longer than he should have—it still wasn’t enough. But they were out of time. Because even down here, away from the sun, he knew it was rising.
It was time to leave.
He eased away, but Mia grasped his hand. He flinched as pain shot out from his wounded palm.
Her grip eased, concern in her eyes. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” He forced a smile. “I hurt my hand. It’s nothing.”
Her hold loosened further, and then she gently brought his gloved hand to her mouth, placing a gentle kiss on the center of his palm—right over the painful throbbing. His heart rolled in his chest.
When her gaze lifted, he was surprised by the almost desperate edge that had crept into her eyes. His shoulders tensed. “Mia?”
She stared at him, still gently holding his hand. Her breathing thinned. “Grayson, there’s something I . . . I need to . . .” Her lips pursed and she closed her eyes, exhaling deeply. “Please be careful.”
He frowned, certain that hadn’t been what she wanted to say. “Of course.” He hesitated. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
There was a moment of stillness. A weighted silence as they both held their breath. He never pressed her. Not for anything. But this felt different.
Mia’s mouth opened, and he could feel her hand tremble against his as their fingers slowly twined.
“You can trust me, Mia,” he said softly.
“I know,” she breathed, not looking at him.
Grayson gently squeezed her hand, ignoring the pain that flashed through his wounded palm. “You’re from Mortise, aren’t you?”
Her shoulders stiffened.
“I can try to find your family,” he said, his voice quiet. “I can give them a message. Or just learn about them—see how they are. If you tell me what city you called home, or give me your full name, I—”
“No.”
“But—”
“I am dead to all who knew me,” Mia said, her voice low but sharp. “And I . . . they died . . . I . . . I can’t—I can’t do this.” She ducked her head, but not quickly enough to hide her grimace.
He heard the tears in her voice, and they were knives against his skin. He cupped her cheek and gently forced her tortured gaze to meet his. “You don’t have to tell me a fates-blasted thing,” he whispered. “You don’t have to explain anything. Nothing you say, or don’t say, will change how completely I love you.”
She blinked through her tears, her mouth opening once, but no words came out. Finally, she lifted onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his jaw.
When she rocked back, he brushed a thumb over her knuckles. It killed him to move for the door, but Mia stepped with him, still holding his hand. Her fingers clenched his as Fletcher unlocked the door, and when it swung open and Grayson hefted his bag over his shoulder, Mia still held on to him, his fingers trapped in hers.
Her hand shook as she flexed her hold one more time, and then—their eyes locked on each other—she slowly pulled away. Their fingertips brushed a final time, then Grayson’s hand was empty.
He tightened his hold on his bag and stepped out of the cell, a knot in his throat.
Mia watched him go, her hands clasped in front of her, knuckles resting against her closed mouth. Her shoulders were tense and her deep brown eyes burned with a thousand emotions he couldn’t even begin to decipher.
Aware that Fletcher was watching, knowing their time was gone, Grayson turned away.
He’d barely taken a step when Mia called his name.
She gripped the edge of the open door and her toes brushed the invisible line of the corridor, but Fletcher wasn’t even watching—he’d turned to give them privacy.
“Can you do something for me?” Mia asked. “When you’re in Mortise?”
Of all the requests being made of him lately, this was one he was eager to hear. “Anything.”
Her grip on the wooden frame tightened, her knuckles going white. “When you’re there, I . . . I want you to visit the beach.”
“The beach?” It was the last thing he had expected.
“Yes. Find a place where you can be alone. Take off your boots and sink your toes into the sand.”
This request was getting stranger by the moment. “Why?”
Her mouth twitched, but she didn’t answer him. “I want you to stand just inside the ocean and let the waves roll over your feet. Let it be sunset, and close your eyes and feel the warm sun on your face and the cool water on your feet. Feel the shifting sand beneath you, and whisper my name. Let me be there. With you.”
Grayson stepped back to her slowly, his heart thumping too hard and fast. He rested a hand on her cheek and stared into her eyes. His voice came out low and rough. “You are always with me. You’re the best part of me.”
She rolled up on her toes and kissed him, the gentle press of her lips searing all the way to his heart.
Chapter 11
Desfan
After a draining dinner with the council and their families, Desfan knew he needed a reprieve before he could face another evening in his father’s office, trapped with reports and half-written letters—including one to Princess Serene that he’d been struggling to finish since the betrothal had been accepted.
He’d wanted to write a letter to her—not her father, not about the alliance—but to her. He wanted to introduce himself, ask questions about her. The only issue was, of course, he didn’t know what to say. Every question felt arbitrary, since they had already agreed to be married, and when it came to describing himself, well . . . He knew he wasn’t the polished diplomat Serene was known to be, or the stately ruler one would expect from his title. And then, of course, he’d delayed in reaching out for so long, it felt awkward to send it now.
Desfan wanted to escape the castle, just for a few hours, but he knew he couldn’t. So he went to visit his father instead.
The serjan was in the same place he’d been for six months—his bed.
Saernon Cassian breathed. Sometimes he blinked. Sometimes he swallowed water and broth. But he didn’t otherwise move. When he was awake, it was really no different than when he slept. He never spoke. His eyes, when open, registered nothing. Sometimes his body twitched, or he would moan. But otherwise, it was as if his body was the only thing left of him. And even that was wasting away.
In many ways, it was like he was already gone. His soul was no longer here.
And yet Desfan still visited him.
He sat beside his father, the physicians and attendants having slipped respectfully from the room when he arrived. He’d left Karim outside, and he knew his friend would keep anyone from disturbing him.
Karim couldn’t save him from his thoughts, though.
Desfan balanced his arms on his knees, hands dangling, shoulders slumped as he viewed his father. “Fates, I wish you were here,” he whispered.
When Desfan was a child, his father had been so large and powerful. He’d had a booming laugh, a gleam of mischief in his warm brown eyes, and his hugs had been rib-crushing.
Then he and Desfan had received the news—a sudden storm just off the coast of Dorma had caught the royal ship and dashed it to pieces. Just like that, at eleven years old, Desfan’s life had irrevocably changed. His mother and sisters would never return from their summer trip. He would never see them again.
Mortise had lost their beloved Seraijan Farah and two cherished sera
ijahs that day.
Desfan had lost everything.
His mother’s tender smile, the way her long fingers sifted through his hair as she sang him to sleep.
Tahlyah’s hitching laugh when she made him grin, her shrieking scream when he’d toss her in the water—and her retaliating pinches.
Meerah’s ever-ready smile, the way she’d crawl into his bed at night and beg him to tell her a story, or how she’d hang on his arm until he would help her build a castle in the sand.
He’d lost his childhood. His security.
And he’d lost his father.
When the news came, the serjan had collapsed and wept. And though the tears had eventually dried, the sadness had never left his gaze. He was no longer the vibrant man he had been before. He was a shadow of himself.
Desfan remembered standing by his side in the royal mausoleum and looking upon the markers that belonged to their family, no ashes in the vault because the sea had claimed their bodies. That was the last time his father had embraced him, his hold almost strangling—as if he feared Desfan, too, would be lost.
And he had become lost.
Those first few months had been a daze; he hadn’t wanted to do anything. And then, as if something inside him flipped, he suddenly had to do everything. He couldn’t sit still. He had to be in motion.
He avoided his tutors, skipped his lessons—except for fighting. He’d relished that.
He refused to pray to the fates or attend religious ceremonies; the fates had abandoned him, so it seemed only fair.
He stole things for the thrill of it. He gambled. He learned how to cheat. He ran away, only to be hauled back a day or three later by the guards. He snuck out of the castle most nights and by the time he was thirteen, the guards would find him in dirty alleys, his body swollen and bruised from street fighting.
The more frustrated his father became, the more Desfan acted out. Because anything was better than seeing his father’s eyes so cold. So empty.
Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 2) Page 11
