Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Cedric marched into his quarters, furious that Nin would even suggest something so foolish. Not only would she risk her life further, but she would also jeopardize everyone else involved. Lucille had put her life and livelihood on the line as much as he had.
He would have to keep a closer eye on Nin, perhaps even recruit guards to monitor her, to ensure she didn’t get herself into trouble again.
Cedric snatched his notebook from his desk and strode back into the hallway. His gaze flicked toward Nin’s quarters, and his chest constricted.
The assassin had come too close. Cedric had no desire to relive that strangling fear again. Yet the memory of it still tightened around his throat. Even if Nin had begun as the princess’s double, she was more than a pawn to be discarded.
Not for the royal family.
Not for the kingdom’s sake.
A servant with light brown hair and round eyes approached, carrying a crystal vase overflowing with flowers. The arrangement was of Princess Marianne’s favorites. Blush pink peonies, violet sweet peas, white ranunculus, all threaded with lily of the valley.
“What are those for?” Cedric asked.
The servant startled, nearly dropping the vase before righting it in his arms. “Th-these are for the princess, Captain.”
“From whom?”
The servant hesitated, then produced a folded note of soft, cream paper. “From Prince Rodrigue.”
Cedric accepted it and unfolded the page. The script slanted and flowed, with each curve and line having its own purpose.
My dearest Marianne,
I was distressed to learn you had fallen ill last evening. I am sorry I failed to see the signs, and I wish I had been more attentive. I know these flowers cannot make up for my neglect, but I hope they may bring you comfort.
Please rest, and do not let the court and its expectations trouble you. If anyone whispers, they will answer to me. I would rather you recover than extend yourself again.
My prayers and thoughts are with you.
With all my love,
Rodrigue
His jaw set as he folded the note with deliberate care. Logically, he knew the prince was unaware he was bestowing his affections on the wrong woman. It was not Rodrigue’s fault for being taken by the warmth of her smile.
So it made little sense that Cedric’s fingers tightened over the parchment in his hands.
Rodrigue could be free to dote on her.
Cedric frowned at the bouquet and instinctively moved toward the blooms. “Let me inspect them first.”
The servant hesitated but handed the bouquet over. It was unlikely that Prince Rodrigue would conspire against his fiancée, but he couldn’t rule out the possibility or the odds that someone else might have tampered with them beforehand.
Cedric rifled through the blossoms, searching for hidden weapons or traces of powder or poison. He examined a peony closely before finally handing the bouquet back. A few flowers had wilted during his inspection, their petals fluttering over his boots, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Here,” Cedric said. “You can deliver them now.”
The servant grimaced at the disheveled bouquet before nodding. He knocked on Nin’s door and disappeared inside when he was allowed entry.
Cedric lingered in the hall, his thoughts tearing through all possible suspects behind the attacks. Who here would want to sabotage the alliance with Castaviel? Who would benefit most from the union failing?
He considered every neighboring kingdom—but some were too small to dare attempt such a plot. If they were found out, they would start a war they couldn’t win. So, who among them had the resources to act and be certain they wouldn’t be caught?
Although his men had reported capturing the head of the Silver Flame this morning, Cedric doubted they had the right man.
They should focus their energy on figuring out who their benefactor was.
Determined to do just that, he made his way through the halls and slipped through one of the servant doors.
Servants flattened themselves against the wall as he passed, and he ducked through a concealed door leading toward the barracks.
A set of steps plunged into the earth, and he followed the dark path.
The narrow hallway reeked of mildew, the air thick and damp. Cobwebs clung to the corners, and the dim flicker of sconces cast jagged shadows along the walls.
At last, the passage opened into iron-barred cells. Beneath the palace’s chandeliers and glittering splendor, this was where its true brutality festered.
One of his men saluted. “He’s right this way, sir.”
As soon as they reached the cell, Cedric’s gut turned. The cloaked man was lying motionless on the floor.
He unlocked the cell, rushing inside to check for a pulse.
Nothing. The prisoner was dead.
Half-eaten food on a crude wooden plate lay discarded beside the would-be assassin. Someone had snuck in and killed him—poison, most likely. There was no suicide capsule between the man’s teeth.
This was deliberate.
Cedric whirled on his heel. “When was the last time you checked on him?” he demanded.
“Just t-two hours ago,” the guard said, his shoulders hunching, gripping his baton against his chest. He was right to be afraid.
“And in that time, someone managed to slip in here unnoticed?” Cedric snapped, closing the distance between them. “Who’s been down here?”
“No one of importance, Captain. A servant came to bring his meal an hour ago.”
Flames burned beneath his skin. “There were no orders to bring the prisoner anything,” he seethed.
“B-but—”
Cedric refused to listen to his excuses. How had he failed to train the incompetence out of this man?
“What was the servant’s name?” he asked.
The guard faltered. “I—I didn’t catch it.”
Cedric swore under his breath. Someone didn’t want them to know who this assassin—or their master—truly was. He searched the body, but there was nothing. No insignia, no papers, no hidden blade. Nothing to identify him.
He straightened, jaw tight. “You,” he rounded on the guard, pointing a finger in his face. “Ten lashes. Tonight.”
Cedric turned on his heel and ascended the stairs two steps at a time. An hour had most likely given the spy plenty of time to escape or integrate themselves within the palace walls. It could be any unsuspecting face he had previously overlooked.
The kitchens were hot and bustling when he pushed through the doors—filled with the smell of roasting meats, sticky dough, and butter. Pans clattered, cooks shouted orders, and flour dusted the air.
“Where’s Monsieur Giroux?” Cedric barked.
Every head in the room turned toward him in unison, their hands freezing mid-task.
A man with dark hair and a slim build turned from the back of the kitchen, stabbing a long, gleaming knife into a wooden block. The Chef de Cuisine glared across the room. “This is my kitchen, Captain. You’ve no business storming in here.”
Cedric approached with calm, measured steps. “We need to talk immediately, and that’s an order,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.
Something must have convinced the man, because the chef pushed from the counter where a cooked duck glistened under the morning light.
“Fine. Five minutes, and that’s all,” he grumbled.
Cedric motioned him to step outside into the small courtyard littered with chickens pecking at the dirt. Some servants glanced curiously at them as they pushed wagons full of bags of flour or barley, but he led him far enough away to avoid prying ears.
“Who made the meal for the prisoner this morning?” Cedric asked, his voice low.
The chef blinked. “Prisoner? I did not know we even had one.”
“You didn’t?” Cedric pressed.
“I was not informed, Captain,” Monsieur Giroux said, his brow pinching. “This is news to me.”
Cedric’s stomach tightened. The man did not have the telltale signs of deceit. There were no over-controlled movements, discrepancies between words and body language, or self-soothing gestures. Either the chef was a practiced liar, or he was telling the truth.
Cedric trusted the latter.
“Then who took food down below?” he asked.
The chef’s frown deepened. “I don’t know. None of my staff mentioned it, and I certainly didn’t order anyone to send food there.”
Cedric held the chef in his grim regard as his skin prickled under his jacket.
Someone had moved through the kitchen unseen.