Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
The plan was simple, but unease threaded through Nin’s limbs as she marched through the halls at Cedric’s side.
The guard uniform sat on her like a boy in his father’s suit—ill-fitting, itchy, and rustling too loudly with each step.
It was the smallest size they could provide, yet the stiff navy coat, high collar, and oversized shoes did little to give her the authority she wished to embody.
Cedric, on the other hand, strode with ease, his sights set ahead, his steps echoing across the marble floor.
The one comfort she had was pinned snugly beneath her coat. The queen’s brooch nestled over her heart as Nin tugged at the white cross belts lowering toward her abdomen when they should’ve been sitting across her chest.
When they turned a corner into a crowded hall, her awareness heightened as she glanced between giggling noble ladies and dignitaries chatting amiably.
Would any of them recognize her? Her steps stiffened, sweat beading under the white wig Lucille fitted her in, but none of them turned their heads in her direction.
For the first time in weeks, she became invisible.
Nin exhaled. She hadn’t realized what it meant to breathe without perpetual scrutiny and the unspoken anticipation of her failures. For once, her body could unwind, her mind free to think without the weight of royal expectations.
They turned down another corridor, then another until Cedric thrust a set of wooden doors open.
They found the head housekeeper in her registry room, her gray locks pinned tightly in a bun at the nape of her neck, tucked under a white cap.
She bent over a ledger at a wooden desk with three bells lined near her elbow.
The woman’s sharp, dark eyes hardly acknowledged their entrance, her mouth thinning as they approached.
Cedric halted before her desk, his shoulders squared—every inch of him exuding command.
Yet the Head Housekeeper languidly removed excess ink against a blotter, placed her quill back in its inkwell, and straightened her ledger before acknowledging him. She did not bother to rise to greet them.
“What may I do for you, Captain? I’m a busy woman, as you know, so I would appreciate it if you made this brief.”
“Madame Roussel,” he inclined his head in greeting. “I am in need of information I suspect only you can provide.”
“What sort of information?” she asked, crossing her arms over her somber blue dress, the stomacher as stiff as her rigid posture.
“You have a roster of all the servants in employment. We need to know more about a male servant who may be in close correspondence with Princess Adelina’s attendants.”
Madame Roussel blinked slowly. “I have several servants attending to Her Highness. You’re going to need to be more specific.”
“He has a crooked nose,” Nin supplied, deepening her voice. “Brown hair, a slight hunch in his posture. Seems a bit skittish. He was offering macarons the night of the ball.”
Madame Roussel’s brow furrowed in thought. After a moment, she pulled a leather-bound book from a drawer in her desk and thumbed through the contents. She stopped on one page, her finger grazing the paper before it stopped on a name.
“Pierre Martin,” she said, tapping the page and turning it toward them.
“What can you tell us of him?” Cedric asked, examining the roster closer.
“He hasn’t been seen in three days.”
Nin schooled her features, resisting the pull of surprise. It had been three days since she had overheard Pierre whispering to one of Adelina’s servants. They exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them.
His disappearance was too coincidental.
“Where has he gone?” Nin asked.
Madame Roussel shut the book with a resounding snap, pinning her with a baleful stare.
“Who knows? Perhaps to that tavern he likes to sneak off to. If you find him, let me know. Inform him that he will be assigned to night shifts for one week and that his salary will be reduced upon his return. Otherwise, his name will be struck from the rolls and sent to the barracks.”
Cedric leaned closer. “What tavern?”
Madame Roussel stood, the keys on her belt jangling with the movement. “The Briar and Bell. Now, if that is all, I have hundreds of servants to oversee.”
With a shared bow, Nin and Cedric turned, a new lead filling her with hope.
“Stay alert,” Cedric reminded her for the tenth time, his hand gently resting on her arm as they stopped by a service door.
“I know how to sneak around,” she whispered back.
“I’m painfully aware,” he muttered.
Nin bit back a smile at the dry amusement in his tone as they slipped through the door and into the cool night.
They wore new disguises, their laborer clothing rumpled, and her hair pinned beneath a boy’s cap.
The courtyard smelled of damp stone, slick from the rain that had rolled through the afternoon like a soft siege upon the palace.
Guards patrolled along the outer gate, their torches cutting streaks of light through the mist.
By the time they reached the cobbled streets beyond the palace grounds, the air thickened with pipe smoke, horse manure, and washed dust. Rainwater cascaded over blue tiles, forming filthy puddles that spattered pedestrians as carriages passed. Somewhere nearby, a drunk was singing off-key.
It was the first time she had stepped off the palace grounds in a month.
Part of her missed it more than she would like to admit: the way she could weave through a crowd unnoticed, the crisp and foul scents mingling together, and the rhythmic thrum of a crowd going about their business without a care for propriety or all the suffocating court rules.
“Feels like home,” she said softly, folding her arms over her dusty coat to keep the chill from sinking into her bones. It was one sensation she hadn’t missed—the unsettling, bitter cold that followed her whenever the weather turned for the worse.
Cedric gave her a sidelong glance. “I don’t mean to insult you, but that’s deeply concerning.”
Nin barked out a laugh but swiftly covered the sound with a slap of her hand over her mouth when a pair of men stared at her from an adjacent alley. Her grin remained when she composed herself.
“I suppose it is in some ways,” she said with a quiet chuckle. “But… It’s all I know.”
From his profile, she couldn’t make out his face, but she sensed a shift within him, an understanding within the silence.
The city’s condition worsened with every turn, the muck and grime a long-lost friend; the once clean cobblestones transforming into cracked paving, laughter to murmurs, and lantern glow to smoky haze.
They stopped outside a brick building wedged within a dark alley, a crooked sign shaped as a bell swung above them, just like its namesake: The Briar and Bell.
A flickering light bled through warped shutters distorted by time and weather, and a low rumble of conversation floated through the seams in the door.
It was the type of place she had avoided.
Nothing good came out of men inhibiting their senses to make excuses for the evil they wished to do in the shadows.
Nin entered, keeping her head lowered. Slow ribbons of smoke ascended to the rafters, hanging over the men huddled around their tankards, who pretended not to size up every person who walked through the doors.
She discreetly took in the sticky floorboards, the slanting timber frames, and the clusters of tables scattered around the room without catching anyone’s eye.
Her vision sharpened on a slight figure in the corner. “There,” Nin murmured.
Pierre sat at a corner table, half in shadow, fingers drumming against the table, his eyes downcast into his tankard as if he were waiting for the contents to swallow him whole.
They approached quietly. Cedric placed a firm hand on the back of Pierre’s chair, and the man stiffened, bolting out of his seat like a jackrabbit.
“Going somewhere?” Nin asked, sliding into the chair across from him.
Pierre froze.
Cedric leaned closer to the servant’s ear, his voice low and steady. “You’ve been missing from the palace for three days.”
Pierre’s throat worked into a swallow as he obeyed.
“We already know,” Nin added, quieter now, “that you were speaking with Adelina’s servant about… under the palace deliveries…”
Cedric’s grip on the back of Pierre’s chair tightened. “You’ve been involved in something you shouldn’t be,” he growled. “Their Majesties won’t like that.”
“N-no! I-it’s not what it looks like,” Pierre said, sliding further into his seat. “I just did as I told—I wasn’t part of that, only the tray—”
“Tray?” Cedric pressed, lowering himself into the chair beside him.
A chill ran down her spine.
Silence suffocated their shadowy corner. All the blood drained from Pierre’s face. With his lip between his teeth, the servant hunched over his drink, his knuckles whitening around the handle.
“Pierre,” Nin said, more gently. “Someone has died, and more could if you don’t talk.”
His breath grew shallow as he surveyed the tavern as if he were still searching for a way out.
“I know… I know that now,” he finally admitted miserably. He dragged a hand over his face.
Cedric glanced at her, and she nodded, allowing the quiet to pressure him into talking. Low murmurs rumbled, and tankards clanked throughout the tavern as Pierre sank his face into his hands.
“I got a note… with Princess Adelina’s seal,” Pierre continued in a near inaudible whisper.
“It said I was to deliver the meal, leave a message, and then make myself scarce for a few days. I’ve been receiving them for the short weeks she’s been a guest. I was told to watch Princess Marianne—try to investigate her. ”
“Investigate what?” Cedric asked, stiffening in his seat. “And you’re sure it was Princess Adelina’s seal?”
Pierre nodded frantically. “I’ve seen it before. The raven crest on her carriage. I was instructed to note her preferred food choices and the fragrance she uses. Little, inconsequential things.”
Nin’s pulse sped. Her memory flashed back to the night of the ball with startling clarity, recalling the plate of macarons she had followed toward the empty hall…
The realization left a sour note in her stomach. It had been so unassuming, veiled in blush pink and cream, that she hadn’t given it a second thought until now.
“Did she meet you herself?” she asked, leaning forward. Her mind raced unbidden with other possibilities of habits and quirks they might have used against her.
“No. A messenger brought the note and slid it under my door. They promised me one thousand francs. It said to destroy it after reading, so I did.”
“So, a little bribe was all it took?” Cedric tutted under his breath.
Pierre’s hands pressed into the table, his eyes swinging between them like the flickering lantern above. “I swear I didn’t think anyone would be harmed,” he whispered. “Everyone knows she’s been angry about the betrothal—about him choosing…” He caught himself.
Nin’s stomach twisted into a tight knot. About him choosing Princess Marianne.
“But I never thought she would…” Pierre gulped, lowering his voice into a near-indecipherable murmur. “She would kill anyone.”
Nin met Cedric’s gaze across the table. A muscle jumped in his jaw. The relief she expected sank into her stomach as a lump of ice. Deep inside, she had wished her suspicions were wrong.
“And you’re certain it was Adelina’s hand?” Cedric asked.
Pierre nodded. “Yes, it had her signature vanilla scent on it, too. I swear on my grandmother’s grave!”
Cedric sighed, motioning her to stand. “Then we have nothing else to discuss.”
They turned to leave, but Pierre grabbed her arm, voice breaking. “You’ll protect me, won’t you? If she finds out I talked—”
Cedric peeled his fingers off her sleeve with a scowl. “Leave the city and don’t talk to anyone. If I see your face again, you’ll regret it.”
As they stepped back into the cold night air, Nin’s thoughts churned.
The image of Adelina’s perfectly composed face, her pretty smiles concealing her smirks, and her clipped remarks all made sense.
Nin was right to trust her gut, yet sadness washed through her like the rain trickling through the streets.
Princess Marianne’s own cousin wished her dead.
“She tried to kill the real princess,” she said as they walked briskly over wet pavement, their boots squelching in murky puddles. “If she knows the assassin failed, she will try again.”
“Perhaps sooner rather than later,” Cedric agreed grimly. “We investigate tonight.”