Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Wren cleared her throat in warning but moved discreetly away.
“We’re not betrothed,” he said quietly when he reached me, and he took my hand. “Her parents proposed a match because I’m friendly with the Northern Prince. I declined.”
“She seems to think it’s imminent.”
“She’s wrong. Even my father won’t force me into a marriage I don’t want. And I don’t want it.” He looked in the direction she’d walked with narrowed and questioning eyes. “So I’m not sure why she’s here.”
“To force your hand.”
He looked back at me. “She can’t.”
“Still, be careful of her. She’d have had to leave the Edgelands before you reached the stronghold, so she couldn’t have known about the assassination attempt. Either she planned her trip the moment you were Gated—”
“Or she has contacts in the palace,” he finished, “and a very fast messenger.”
“Exactly, Niko.”
He looked back at me, and after a moment, a slow smile spread across his gorgeous face. “Fox, are you jealous?”
“Of course not.” Jealousy was for good coins and soft furs. Not princes.
He looked at me for a long time. “You’re lying. You have a tell.”
Being called a liar was one thing. Being accused of having a tell—of being obvious—was a different kind of insult. I was a thief, after all. “I do not have a tell.”
“You do.” He actually looked amused by this. “You clench your right hand.”
My immediate reaction was to object. And then I unclenched my right hand. “Damn it,” I said, then crossed my arms.
He bit back a grin. “ ‘Niko’ is an improvement over ‘Your Gods-Damned Highness,’ but I still hate the name. And you have nothing to be jealous of.” He leaned forward, lips at my ear. “But if you think it’s necessary, I’m perfectly willing to prove my…interest…to you later.”
Every bit of my traitorous body rose to that obvious bait, eager for him to make good on that promise.
When he left the room, Wren moved beside me. “I don’t know where to start.”
“You don’t need to. I can hear it already.”
“Was it worth it? Whatever put that look in your eyes.”
“I’m sorry to say that it absolutely was.”
She made a very unhappy noise. “If he likes her, he’s dumber than we thought.” She looked at me, her eyes cold as Edgelands ice. “And if he hurts you, I will end him.”
“You’re terrifying.”
“You’re welcome.”
“As for the prince—trust me on this: You’ll be second in line. And I still have your blade.”
We made our way to the courtyard, where a table bore a dozen bladed weapons of all shapes and sizes, including a sword in a silver scabbard crusted with glinting sapphires.
“Are these actually good weapons?” I asked Wren as we looked them over. “What if sapphires fall off?”
“They won’t,” the prince said. He joined us at the table, picked up the sword, and unsheathed it. He put aside the scabbard and I watched carefully, just in case one of the jewels rolled away. So easy to slip into a pocket, but no luck there.
The blade was no less impressive than the scabbard had been. It was a silver longsword with a golden guard, the blade etched with lines and symbols. It gleamed in the sunlight. He ran a finger down the engravings in the same way he might have touched a lover. “It’s called the Moriad.”
“It has a name?”
“It does. It was commissioned by the third—or maybe it was the fourth—Emperor Eternal.”
“It was the third,” Catalaya said behind us. Her maid stood behind her, her expression as hard and cold as the steel.
“Was it?” the prince asked, his gaze on the blade.
“It was. Laeith’s mother was emphatic that he learn his Carethian history, and I was taught alongside him for several years.
They say the emperor wanted to remember the blue sky that hung over the plains where he slaughtered marauders from the east, so he had the sword commissioned for the victory. ”
“The telling I heard,” the prince said, extending the sword at arm’s length, “was that he was moved that the sky would shine so beautifully over a field of death. He commissioned the sword so he would never forget the cost of victory.” He glanced at her. “Would you like to hold it?”
“Of course.” He extended it. She took it neatly, rolled her wrist with what looked like expert skill. “Well weighted,” she concluded, and handed it back.
Jealousy flared in my belly again.
“Fox, would you like to try?” he asked.
“No, thank you.” No point in showing off what I couldn’t do.
“Wren, you’ll have your chance. So let’s get started.” He looked at Red and nodded. “You’re up.”
“With pleasure, Your Highness.” Red came forward and selected a pair of matching short swords, their blades gleaming with iridescent color that had Wren sighing with longing.
The prince and Red moved several strides away to the wide center of the courtyard, and they took their positions.
Red turned to face the prince, angled his body, and raised his weapons.
“First to point,” the prince said. “Go.”
Red struck first, wheeling the swords around him like a whirlwind. He moved forward, and the prince stepped aside, his body sleek and limber. The prince came in low with the longsword, but Red turned quickly enough to redirect it with the edges of his blades.
“Well done,” the prince said. “Reset.”
They assumed their starting positions again.
Red came in high this time with lethal slices that might have removed the head of an unprepared man.
But the prince knew how to fight. The Moriad must have been heavy, but you couldn’t tell from the quick strike, the pivot, the slash.
He brought the sword down, and Red managed to slip beneath it, but he didn’t spin away quite fast enough, and the prince touched him on the back with the tip of the blade.
“Damn it,” Red said with a smile. “You got me.”
“Long reach,” the prince said with a grin. “Good match.”
“Your Highness,” Red said, then gave a little bow.
“Not bad for a prince,” Wren said. Possibly her highest compliment.
He grinned, then resheathed the sword and returned it to the table. “Are you ready for a round with Galen?”
She lifted her windblade and shifted her gaze to her enemy. “Most definitely.”
It wasn’t one round, but dozens. Galen fought like a soldier, and she fought like a slinking cat, getting in jabs if his focus strayed for even a moment.
But they were closely matched and traded victories back and forth, refusing to stop even as shadows shifted around them.
They were both sweating and breathing heavily, and still raised their weapons for another round.
I couldn’t decide if they looked furious…
or aroused. And that did not bear thinking about.
“Well done,” the prince said, rising and offering applause. “I think you’ve amply demonstrated your skills for Her Ladyship.”
Catalaya smiled politely but looked a little bored. She’d spent most of the time sneaking looks at the prince.
Wren and Galen stared each other down for another heavy moment. Galen blinked first, probably because his loyalty to the prince outweighed, at least a little, his disdain for Wren. He gave her a very crisp bow, then walked away.
I took her a goblet of water from a spread laid out by Talia. “Are you going to disembowel him or bed him?”
She sneered at me and drank heavily. “I’m going to get out of the palace. I think you were right. I’m losing my mind.”
Which meant she wasn’t as sure about her answer as she’d like to be.
There was a soft “Oh” across the courtyard, then a scuffling sound. We looked back in time to see Catalaya stumble and fall. The prince hurried to her and took her arm.
“Caty. Are you all right?”
“I’m—I’m not sure.” He helped her to her feet, but she wobbled a bit. “I must have caught my toe.”
She brushed off her skirts and gave him a Very Brave smile. “I’m sure I’m fine. Just a bit embarrassed.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
She nodded at him, took a step forward, and nearly fell again. “Oh!” she said prettily as he caught her by the waist. “I must have injured something.”
“I’ll ask our healer to come out.”
“I think it’s best if I go back to my room.” She looked up at him. “Perhaps we could have some plum wine and simply talk a bit. Like we used to do.”
“Let’s get you settled, and we’ll see what the healer says.”
The prince looked back at me with a slightly weary expression, then escorted Catalaya back into the palace.
“She’s working him like it’s her job,” I muttered.
“She’s got a yearning for him and the money to back it up. It is her job. I’m going back.”
“Want me to walk you out?”
“Sure. You can use your fancy badge if anyone tries to stop us.”
I doubted anyone would. I was becoming a fixture in the palace, which wasn’t something I was comfortable admitting. But as we walked toward the palace door, Galen stopped us.
“May I have a word?”
“With me?” I asked.
He nodded and moved a few strides away.
“This should be interesting,” I murmured to Wren. “Wait here.”
I followed him to the edge of the courtyard, where a lilac bush scented the air with heady flowers.
His expression was grave. “Be careful of Catalaya.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“Be careful of her, Fox. Her goal is to get what she wants, even if it hurts him. I’m not sure what you want, but you won’t hurt anyone to get it.”
I wondered how much it cost him to admit that, but at least he’d also managed to question my motivations. Good for him.
“The prince doesn’t trust her,” I said.
He glanced around, ensuring that he could speak safely. “Princes are trained to take what they want directly—usually by force. The daughter of an aristocrat doesn’t have that kind of power. So, to get what she wants, she has to be clever. Sly. She’s known to be…a planner.”
“A planner?”
“Has always taken steps to win without much care for how it impacted anyone else. His Highness is one of the things she’s planned for. You and the prince are friendly, and she won’t like that.”
“Foxes are sly.”
“And she has money, connections. You’re poor.” He said it like it was a character flaw. “But…” he added, which kept me from simply walking away.
“But?”