CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“STOP IT!” EDWARD LAUGHED as he shoved his friend, Charles, in the shoulder but nearly missed, narrowingly avoiding falling flat on his face. “I’ve had enough of all your teasing for one night.”
He hobbled through the hallways of the palace with the remaining strength in his body. True, he should have rested more considering it was the night before the wedding, but at least his friends had allowed him to sit as they’d played cards and games and regaled each other with memories of the past.
Two of his friends, Charles and Barnaby, were already married, and now Edward would be the third. But their friendship hadn’t missed a single step because of it.
“Someone has to do it,” Tobie said as he roughed up his hair. “After tomorrow, you’ll be a married man.”
Flickering torchlight lining each side of the hallway cast shadows across the walls, creating a sudden sense of uneasiness as his new, temporary room came into sight. Two guards stood on either side of the door, staring forward, each wearing leather armor. Their leather helmets hid most of their faces, which only amplified his anxiety.
But as Barnaby squeezed his shoulder and ribbed him again about this being his last night alone, he forced a tight smile, reminding himself he was safe here. No harm would come to him.
His friends bid him farewell, and he sent Cedric away to get sleep, promising he would send for him if absolutely necessary.
Heart pounding with discomfort, he approached the two guards with his room key in hand. Neither glanced his way, but one of them held out a familiar book with an envelope tucked inside the pages.
“For Your Lordship,” the man said with a brief nod. “From the Lady Vivienne.”
Edward eagerly took the book from him, thanked him, and disappeared inside his room. His fingers trembled with excitement as he lit his lantern, bathing the room in a soft orange glow.
When his legs refused to hold his weight any longer, he sank onto the soft mattress of his bed and didn’t hesitate a moment longer as he slipped the envelope out of the book, broke the seal, and read the letter within.
At first, he smiled at her sweet words. But slowly, his smile melted into a confused frown when she mentioned a rather dreary fairy tale. Her favorite? He knew without a doubt it was one of her least favorites.
I ask that you read it to remember me in our short time apart.
“Can I not read it tomorrow?” he chuckled to himself. “I’m bone tired.”
But as he loosened his cravat with the intention of sleeping fully clothed when he was too exhausted to dress himself down, he glanced again at the book and the letter keeping the page bookmarked.
With a sigh, he carefully opened the worn-out pages of the tome, his eyes traveling over the words but his mind not making sense of them in its weary state. Surely, this could wait a day or two, even if he wanted to give Vivienne the world. Including this very simple request.
He started to close the book when he noticed one of the letters was darker than the rest, as if someone had intentionally traced over it with ink.
C.
His eyebrows drew together when another letter on the next page looked similar. L. He knew for a fact that he hadn’t drawn over it himself. Had Vivienne? Or perhaps he hadn’t read this story enough to realize it had always looked this way.
Sure enough, several more letters throughout the story were colored the same. Sporadic. Without a pattern. Almost like a game. Like a…
Hidden message.
Quickly, he turned back to the beginning and began stringing the letters together in his mind. C. L. A. R. A.
What did that spell? Was he missing a letter? Were there any other letters hidden throughout the pages of the other stories?
But as he searched for similar letters, he found none, which brought him back to the ones he’d discovered. It wasn’t like any word he knew. It was closer to nonsense than an actual word or phrase. Kind of like…
A name.
His blood ran cold as he finally pieced together what the message said. Clara. His sister. And considering the story he’d found her name in…
Vivienne thought Clara was his would-be killer.
“No, no stop!” someone shouted from the corridor.
A gurgled grunt, followed by a thump in the hallway, snapped his attention toward his closed door. His heart shot to his throat. He stumbled to his feet, blindly grasping for anything to use as a weapon on the nearby table until his fingers clasped around the hilt of the jeweled dagger given to him by Vivienne’s father.
He wasn’t a weapons enthusiast like his friend, Charles. He didn’t even keep knives on his person like Barnaby. He had books and stars, neither of which would help him right now.
His pulse pounded through his veins as his grip tightened on his dagger, not knowing if the blade within the sheath was sharp or dull.
With his other hand, he patted his pockets for his key and finally found it in his trousers. Had he locked the door? He couldn’t recall if he’d had the chance in his excitement to read Vivienne’s letter.
Clara? the voice inside his head trembled to ask.
He was bigger than her. Stronger, too. She would never be able to get close enough to injure him if he fought back. But…that was on a good day. His body was still healing.
The door rattled. Locked.
Panic consumed him as he tucked his dagger into his waistband and tugged the sheets off his bed. His hands shook as he worked to tie them together and then next around the leg of his bed.
The door handle rattled again, this time sounding as if something metal scraped against it.
Rather than staying to find out who the person was on the opposite end of the door, Edward threw open the window, inhaling sharply as cold air smashed into his face. He grabbed onto the bed sheets and tossed one leg over the side of the sill, followed by the other, until he scaled down the palace wall with shaky, unstable limbs.
Riiiip!
Edward cried out as he found himself suspended in the air for mere moments until the fabric caught again. His body smashed against the side of the stone wall, violently jarring him enough for his grip to fail him, and he plummeted the rest of the way to the ground.
He groaned as he pushed himself to his hands and knees onto half-frozen mud. His entire body ached from the impact, and a shivering chill set into his bones.
But somehow, he managed to climb to his feet and glance up at the open window far above him. The blood drained from his face as a head peeked out, their attention quickly honing on him. They wore a leather guardsman helmet that shrouded their features, but the person’s shoulders were distinctly masculine.
If it wasn’t Clara, then who was after him? An assassin?
The man threw a rope over the side of the window. Edward gasped as he turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, not entirely knowing where he was going when he wasn’t familiar with the palace grounds. In the extreme darkness of midnight, he quickly lost the path. His clothing caught on brambles like teeth trying to snap him up in its maw.
The first thing he should have done was find a palace guard. But considering one now chased him through tall trees and unforgiving branches, he didn’t dare turn back toward the castle, not knowing who was a friend and who was an enemy.
Feet crashed through the underbrush behind him, gaining on him by the second. Breaths wheezed in and out of his weak lungs. His heart beat far too quickly, threatening to collapse on him and spill him onto the forest floor. Weakness plagued his body. But somehow, he kept running as fast as his ailing body would carry him.
Something slammed into him from behind, hardly giving him any warning before he crashed to the ground, skidding over mud and roots and hidden cobblestone.
He rolled over onto his back, only to halt when something cold pressed against his neck.
“You were always slower than the other children,” a voice snarled above him. “It seems as if nothing has changed.”
Edward wheezed, his fingers desperately clawing for escape. But the blade against his throat pressed hard enough for him to cease his efforts. Quick, frosty breaths escaped his mouth, clouding his view of the man pinning him down, threatening him with a sharp dagger.
“It never had to end this messily,” his attacker growled. “But now you give me no choice.”
The man shifted as if he were about to drag the weapon across his throat, but then something else tackled him to the ground.
Edward gasped in air the moment the blade left his neck. He rolled onto his feet and struggled to stand. For a moment, his heart stopped as he found Vivienne standing several paces away in her nightgown and bare feet, a bloody knife in her hand. His attacker was doubled over, the back of his shoulder covered in blood.
“Vivi!” He scrambled toward her and reached out a hand, but before he touched her, the attacker launched to his feet, grabbed Vivienne around the neck, and pressed the knife against her throat.
No! he screamed in his mind. Not her. Not her!
“Stop!” he cried, lifting a cautioning hand. “Release her. You can have me. Please. Please. ”
Edward’s fingers brushed against the dagger he wore tucked in his waistband, but he didn’t draw it. Not yet. Not while Vivienne’s life was in danger.
“But now there’s a witness, isn’t there?” The man squeezed her tighter around the shoulders until she grunted in pain.
Suddenly, Edward’s blood ran cold, his jaw hanging agape as he finally recognized the man’s face, the man’s voice. “Uncle Maxwell?” he gasped.
His uncle reached for his helmet, tugged it off his head, and threw it to the ground, revealing wild, murderous eyes and a nest of black hair. He no longer resembled the kind and patient uncle he’d known his entire life.
“Why…why…?” Edward shook his head, glancing between his uncle and the dagger he pressed to Vivienne’s throat. “What vexes you to do such a thing?”
“Have you not pieced it together, nephew?” The man released a deranged laugh, his wild eyes catching a glint of the moonlight overhead. “I have slowly been poisoning you for a year now. For as many books as you read, you are not very bright.”
“Run, Edward,” Vivienne said in a strangled voice, her gaze flicking from his face to the path to the left of him. “Do not give this sick bastard the satisfaction of listening to another word he says!” And then she screamed as Maxwell pulled back on her hair and angled the blade so dangerously that even the smallest movement might spell her death.
Panic consumed him, dread piling like dead bodies in its wake. He took a single step forward but stopped when Maxwell shook his head ever so slightly.
“I want your title,” his uncle growled. “It’s mine. It should have always been mine. Your father was sick, just like you. He should have died. But he didn’t. At least not before his wife birthed a son.”
“But you wouldn’t be the heir. James would.”
Maxwell tugged harder on Vivienne’s hair until tears of pain leaked out of her eyes. “Little children come by accidents all the time. It wouldn’t have been difficult to dispose of James next. But oh, how I would grieve. ” The man’s unhinged laughter sent a chill up Edward’s spine.
“Why?” he rasped, fearful of advancing any farther and risking Vivienne getting nicked by the blade. “You lead a good life. Why do you need mine?”
“I have nothing,” his uncle hissed. “Your vile father took half my trading ships when they went to find a cure for your so-called ailment. And you know what? They never returned. And neither did my ships.”
Grief and guilt cut him deeper than any knife could. “I was a boy then. What could I have done to sway them against their decision to leave? They were trying to preserve their line.”
Yet, the guilt had eaten him alive for many years until he’d finally forgiven himself for what he couldn’t control.
“And what of your other trading ships?” Edward asked, desperately glancing from the terror in Vivienne’s eyes to the knife at her throat. A chill rapidly climbed up his arms, soaking him to the bone. “You are still a wealthy man.”
“Not anymore. The money has dried up in failed investments. I can’t start over. I need your title and your wealth.”
“By killing me?” His weak body lost its footing, and he shifted just enough to catch himself on the nearby trunk of a tree. “What have you done to Clara?”
“Nothing yet. I might take pity on her poor soul and marry her off to someone who will take her off my hands. Or I might not. I haven’t quite decided.”
Edward’s gaze darted toward Vivienne once more. His uncle hadn’t killed her yet like he’d tried to do to him. There must be a reason. “I’m sick. I’ll exaggerate just how much to the king and forsake my title. I’ll move several leagues away if it appeases you. Just let her go. I beg you.”
Maxwell’s features relaxed, although he didn’t loosen his grip on Vivienne. He smiled, but it held more menace than amiability. “I will be sure to mourn the hardest at your closed-casket funeral. My poor nephew and his fiancée assassinated by Armandy soldiers on a midnight tryst.” He reached into his pocket and threw several golden medallions with the Armandy crest to the ground. “What a tragic love story.”
His uncle flexed his arm as if prepping for the kill.
Edward had never moved so quickly in his life as he launched himself forward.
The quick action seemed to take Maxwell off guard. The faint hesitation lent him mere moments to do what must be done.
One moment he stood by the tree, and the next, he unsheathed his knife and thrust it into his uncle’s stomach.
The other man grunted. Blood spilled out of the wound. His grip loosened on Vivienne, giving her the chance to slip out of the confinement of his blade.
But then the remaining strength in Edward’s body failed him as he collapsed to his knees. Maxwell’s expression contorted with rage. He swung his dagger at Edward’s head. Vivienne screamed.
Rather than experiencing blinding pain before the darkness of death, Maxwell’s blade caught on another in a screech of metal. Blindingly fast, the newcomer disarmed his uncle, and when Maxwell unsheathed a second dagger from his belt and attempted a second stab, the other man impaled him through the chest with his sword.
A grunt escaped his uncle’s lips moments before he crashed onto his side and lay unmoving on the cold, hard ground.
Edward stared in disbelief at the uncle he had looked up to his entire life, at the man who had played with him and laughed with him and made him feel as if he weren’t quite so alone. How could his heart ache so fiercely for a man who had tried to kill him several times and attempted to murder the woman he loved?
“Edward!” Vivienne gasped, pulling him out of his shocked daze as she threw her arms around his neck. “Are you injured? Let me see you.” She pulled back just enough to inspect his face, his chest, his arms. And when she seemed satisfied that no blade had touched him, she embraced him yet again.
He blinked dazedly as his gaze found the man who had ended his uncle’s life. He wore an Edilann guardsman uniform, the blue of his cloak standing out against the pale moonlight as he cleaned his weapon on dead grass.
Only twice before had Edward seen the burly man with brown hair and wide-set shoulders. Gilberd Keats had saved young Prince Sterling’s life years ago and had been offered the position as the personal bodyguard to the prince himself. What was he doing outside at midnight in his uniform?
As if hearing his unspoken thoughts, the man nodded his head toward a young boy with wide eyes peeking his head out from behind a tree. “He decided to sneak out. Again. He might have just saved both of your sorry arses by doing so.”
Vivienne gasped and quickly bowed to Prince Sterling. Edward couldn’t find the energy to do so as well, especially as Gilberd grabbed onto his arm and hoisted him to his feet. He barely remained standing when the shock of his uncle’s death and the weakness in his body threatened to collapse him.
Gilberd didn’t stay by his side but rather approached his uncle’s body, crouching down to examine him. Edward had to look away. It didn’t seem real. All this time, Maxwell had been the one to poison him? He suspected his original doctor was somehow involved, too. His uncle had confirmed Clara’s innocence, and he felt immensely relieved that he at least had one family member he could trust.
“Forgive me,” Vivienne said, blinking rapidly. “I thought it was Clara. I was close. But not correct.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers. “Your warning gave me enough time to be on my guard.” His thumb caressed the back of her hand when she began shivering as if the chill only recently set in after the shock. “How did you find me?”
“I saw you from my window. I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been so worried about you.” She covered her face with her free hand. “You put me in a panic when I saw you fall. And again when you started running. I should have brought guards. But there was no time.”
“You saved my life, Vivi. Had you come even a second later…”
But then he inhaled sharply as he remembered her bare feet. He stooped to pick her up and relieve her feet from the frigid ground. But when he nearly collapsed the both of them, he grunted and shook his head, setting her back down.
“Nuh uh, this is not happening. My body is too exhausted.” Rather, he slipped his shoes off and helped her into them. They adorably dwarfed her feet.
Next, he took his dress coat off and draped it over her shoulders.
“You’ll catch a cold,” Vivienne protested.
“A cold is the least of my concerns right now.” And then he pulled her closer until she fit securely in his arms, his chin resting on the top of her head. “You are the bravest woman I know.”
She tipped her head up to look at him and bit her lip, her immense worry still staring back at him. “Should we postpone the wedding?”
After her desperation to wed before she started showing, she sure didn’t seem to care now. Not after what had happened. But keeping her safe was of the utmost importance to him, which included the sphere of her reputation and happiness. “No. We won’t let this ruin our day.”
Gilberd interrupted them as he gestured with his arm for them to follow the path back to the palace. “I’ll have other guards take care of this. I saw the entirety of what happened, so I can add an honest and detailed testimony. We’ll inspect your room, Lord Beaumont, and find evidence against Sir Maxwell.” And as they walked with the young prince trailing beside them, the guard turned to Vivienne. “Did I see you tonight? Or are you safely tucked in bed?”
Edward glanced at Prince Sterling as Gilberd said this. Hiding information from the monarchy was one thing. But what made Sterling an exception? The two almost seemed like friends with a fifteen-year or so age gap.
“Tell it how it happened,” she finally answered. “I likely was not the only witness.”
Another worry crept up for the young boy, almost an adolescent now. He was likely still innocent of this world. “He should not have seen that,” Edward murmured, watching as Prince Sterling kicked a rock across the path and lifted his head to gaze at the stars with a contemplative expression.
The guard released a long breath and glanced at the prince. “It’s not the first time the prince has witnessed death. He’ll be all right.”
They reached the palace, and Edward gave Vivienne one last embrace as Gilberd sent Sterling back to sleep and alerted guards about what had happened. Edward was bone weary, but he could not sleep when his family member was dead. All because he’d wanted his title.
He’d offered everything. Maxwell could have had his title and his money. But he’d brought this on himself. He’d chosen death over mercy.
Only minutes later, Gilberd returned with a grave look on his face. “One of the men guarding your room is injured, stabbed with the same weapon Maxwell had tried to use on you.”
Vivienne’s hand flew to her mouth. “Will he live?”
“He might. He’s recovering in the infirmary as we speak.” Then the man turned to speak to several other guards.
How could his uncle do this? Of course, money and fame made some men delirious with desire, enough to steal and murder. But he could hardly connect the man tonight with the man of his past.
“I need to return home,” he murmured in Vivienne’s ear as guards flitted around them, their activity drawing the attention from other nobles as well who wandered into the corridors with confused, sleepy expressions while wearing their night clothes. “Clara needs to know what happened.”
“What if someone else tries to kill you?” she asked through chattering teeth.
“The person who wanted me dead is gone. I’ll take guards with me, too.” He kissed her on the forehead and lowered his voice. “Wait for me at the altar. I promise I will be there.”
She nodded mutely as she handed him back his shoes and coat, replacing them with a thick, wool blanket instead. “Be safe, Edward.”
He lifted her hand and kissed the finger with his ring hugging it, conveying all the sincerity of the love in his soul with the single action.
And then he tried not to glance back at her over his shoulder as Cedric helped him to a waiting carriage to take him back home in the darkness. He wasn’t sure he could leave the palace if he did.