Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Cedric surveyed the ballroom, hunting for any gleam of a weapon. The hours crawled, punctuated by the seconds ticking down in his pocket watch. From his vantage point on the second floor, he repeatedly marked Nin’s location to ensure she was still there.
Nothing had disturbed the celebration—so far.
No one had appeared suspicious in the hall. No one had been apprehended. Every guest had been accounted for. But he would not lower his guard.
Another song flitted through the ballroom, and his attention drew back to Nin.
She curtsied, her posture perfect, her steps poised as she danced.
She encapsulated everything he had taught her.
No one could tell her apart from the true Princess Marianne.
However, a strange sensation stabbed beneath his chest as gentleman after gentleman asked her to dance, their eyes roaming over her in appreciation.
Cedric’s fists clenched over the railing.
Nin’s smile flashed as she spun, her pink dress whirling like a flower petal on the wind. Three nights before, she had directed that smile at him when she slipped past his defenses in more ways than one. When their eyes met, their breaths stilled in the charged silence.
Shaking the memory away, he resumed his diligent watch as the lights dimmed. Music swelled, and he scrutinized the audience, enraptured by the ballet performance—then stopped. At the edge of the crowd, he caught the familiar blush silk and golden wheat hair cascading down her back.
Then she turned, looking up to the second floor.
Their eyes met.
The small smile tugging at Nin’s lips struck him with unexpected force. Even in the dim lighting, her eyes held a familiar spark that mesmerized his senses. She was safe.
“Captain.” One of his men approached, but he remained fixed on Nin.
“Some news you may want to hear, Captain.”
Cedric reluctantly dragged his attention away. Jean wore his navy uniform, combed his brunette hair, and was absent of the smell of ale. The transformation was impressive.
“There has been some activity in the west wing,” Jean said. “I believe it’s a couple making a rendezvous, but guards are investigating it as we speak.”
“Good,” Cedric said. But unease continued to roll in his gut in slow waves. “Does everyone have an eye on the princess?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Cedric’s priority shifted back to the ballroom floor.
His brow furrowed. Nin was no longer standing with the audience. His spine went rigid as he scanned the sea of gowns and suits.
She wasn’t there.
Ice pricked in his veins, but he forced himself to steady his erratic heart. He didn’t hesitate, descending the steps and signaling to the other guards. One of them hurried to his side and said, “She was just here a moment ago. She turned the corner and—I don’t know where she went.”
Cedric stopped short. “What do you mean you don’t know where she went?”
“She just—vanished.”
Cedric’s jaw clenched, heat flaring beneath his cravat.
“You’ll lose your post by the end of the night,” he said through his teeth. “How could you lose her?”
“I’m sorry, sir!”
Cedric gestured for the guards to follow, and they moved with care, slipping through the shadows to avoid alarming the guests. From across the ballroom, the queen took notice of him, Cedric gave a small nod, nothing more.
He had made her a promise—a promise to himself. Tonight, he would not break that oath.
Princess Adelina and Ambassador Otto Dennhardt were quietly conversing when they passed them.
Cedric lingered on them only a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
Nin had been wary of Adelina, but even now, he struggled to believe a woman like her was capable of something as precise as an assassination.
Heat seared through his coat like a burst of flames.
Cedric’s breath caught mid-step. His pulse stilled. The metal of his pocket watch burned brightly against his palm when he reached into his coat.
It could only mean one thing—the necklace.
Nin.
His stride grew longer, quicker. They inspected the pillar where she was last seen and faced an open door into a hallway. Empty.
A servant rounded the corner. Cedric didn’t slow. “You,” he barked. “Have you seen the princess?”
The servant nodded nervously. “I was taking a plate of macarons around the corner, and I thought I saw her behind me. But then—then she wasn’t there anymore.”
“Where?” Cedric demanded. The servant pointed to the empty corridor.
Cedric plowed forward, marching into the hall. He searched room after room, throwing open doors—one revealing a startled couple who shrieked and stumbled apart.
Not her.
He shut it without apology and continued, his heart pounding. Each empty room magnified the dread building under his ribs.
Then—on the floor—he saw it.
Her fan.
He stooped to pick it up. A faint white dust clung to the ivory lace and painted roses as he studied them closer. It had no scent, and the grains were too finely milled, too iridescent to be anything but his worst fear. He tracked it instinctively—toward the staircase that spiraled upward.
Toward the rooftop.
“Upstairs,” he ordered. The guards moved in unison as he took the steps two at a time, the echoing sound of his boots on the stone amplifying the pounding in his ears. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t.
Fear flooded his veins as he shoved open the rooftop doors. A wave of cold night air filled his lungs.
There—
A tall figure in a dark cloak had one hand firm around Nin’s arm. He guided her toward the roof's edge as she stumbled beside him. Her head bowed, and her movements were wrong—too awkward and compliant.
Cedric moved without thinking.
He lunged, tackling the figure to the ground.
The guards rushed in, grappling with the cloaked man as he fought fiercely, punching erratically and attempting to reach into his pocket.
Cedric caught his arm and twisted it behind his back.
A small pouch burst, sending a cloud of strange powder scattering across the stone.
He stilled.
Silent Breath.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Nin stumbling, her eyes half-closed, her feet carrying her toward the ledge.
“Nin—!”
He tore himself from the cloaked man. The guards restrained the would-be assassin as Cedric caught her, spinning her away from the edge and into his arms.
“Nin,” he breathed, the familiar scent of her lilac-perfumed hair grounding him in place. “It’s all right. I’m here.”
She sagged against him.
“Oh, good… I knew you would come…” she mumbled into his chest.
Relief warmed the icy fear that still gripped him by the neck. He gently tilted her chin upward, but her eyes rolled back.
“Yes,” he said, pulling her firmly against his chest. “You’re safe.”
Cedric’s head snapped toward the guards. “Secure him—quietly.”
They dragged the cloaked man away, kicking and flailing until one guard drove a fist into his gut. A low grunt escaped him as he crumpled, finally still enough to be hauled from the rooftop.
When they were alone, Cedric looked down at Nin’s listless form. “Maker, forgive me,” he murmured, tightening his grip as the wind cut piercing and cold through his hair. The weight of what had nearly happened pressed down on him, heavy and unforgiving.
He guided her carefully back down the stairs. “Tell their Majesties, the king and queen,” he ordered a passing servant, “that Princess Marianne is unwell and has retired to her chambers.”
“Yes, Captain,” the servant said, hurrying off.
Cedric carried Nin to her room and laid her gently on the bed.
Her grip tightened. “Don’t… let go…” She groaned softly.
Cedric froze.
Every fiber of his being begged to obey her command—to stay beside her and never let go.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, unsure whether he was apologizing for failing her, for knowing he couldn’t stay, or for both. Guilt flooded him in unrelenting waves, regardless.
Quietly, he loosened his hand from her grasp and brushed a loose lock of hair from her face.
The concealed door slid open, and Lucille rushed in.
“What happened?” she gasped, bringing her hands to her heart.
Cedric straightened. A chill replaced the warmth in his hand where he had touched Nin. “Someone drugged her and tried to lead her over the edge of the roof,” he replied. “They meant to kill her.”
Lucille’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, heavens—!”
“Please undress her and get her ready for bed,” Cedric said quietly.
“Yes, of course—at once.” Lucille hurried to prop Nin up and untie the laces of her gown.
“I’ll give her some privacy,” Cedric said, stepping back.
He closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall, the rough stone cool against his back as his breath came in ragged gasps. Slowly, he slid down until he collapsed onto the floor, his hands raking through his hair.
He had almost lost her.