Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
A few hours later, I was standing in front of the massive door of the palace church, wearing one of Moll’s blonde wigs and a black dress that was more than a decade old and a full size too small.
The dress I’d worn to my father’s funeral, only I’d hastily hacked the high neck into a deep vee in an attempt to make it look more stylish. I should’ve tried it on first, because as it stood right now, my cups were one deep breath away from running over.
“It’s going to be fine,” I muttered under my breath.
I'd already managed to get over the Cradle and into Little Alabaster with my grappling hook. I'd even managed to bypass the guard gate onto the palace grounds thanks to the maze of temporary scaffolding that had been built to allow laborers working on the new moat to transport supplies. After that, it was smooth sailing as most of the night guards were busy at the main entrance of the palace monitoring those coming in and out of the party.
Now I just had to break into the church that I was fairly certain had a second entrance from inside the palace and I was in.
I bent low to examine the door lock and then let out a happy sigh. She was as straightforward as they came. I plunged a hand into my bag and tugged out my easy lockpick. Then, I slipped the device into the hole and closed my eyes. A couple of turns and two twists?—
Click.
Security was lax as it had been decades since the last uprising, and the masses were too busy staving off starvation to bother with yet another doomed revolution. The only true threat to anyone in Alabaster were the flying mantises. And if any more of those creatures found their way past the magical wards that reinforced the high walls of The Great Wall around the Hollow like tonight, the rich here in Little Alabaster would have plenty of time to prepare because they had a massive village full of Cissy Petways to act as a buffer.
Or buffet, was more like it.
It wasn’t until I got inside the church and ambled along the wall to the door on the opposite side of the room that I realized I’d been a bit hasty in my judgment. This lock wasn’t as straightforward. In fact, I’d never seen its equal. Instead of having three or four cuts made to fit a typical key, this was much more complex, like a little maze. Reason I hadn’t seen its kind in The Hollow? The mechanism itself was probably worth more than anything anyone in my neighborhood had worth stealing. I spied silver, and what looked like platinum. Damn.
I made a mental note, already updating the blueprint of the easy lockpick in my mind for the future as I looked around the room for another way in. There, in the corner, a gorgeous, stained-glass window.
I reached back into my bag for the glass cutter I’d brought along just in case.
“This is crazy. Absolutely insane. You should just turn around and go home.”
But even as I whispered the words, I soldiered on, pressing the suctioned end of my glass cutter to the windowpane. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to Moll while I was just hanging around The Hollow waiting for her to come home, knowing what I knew. Best case scenario, everything was fine, I watched until she left on her own, then slipped back out myself with Moll none the wiser. Worst case? Well worst case I’d deal with when it happened.
If it happened.
It wasn't my first time using the glass cutting tool, and it wasn’t long before a circular chunk of the pane gave way. I reached a hand through the hole, unlatched the window, and swung it open. Then I hiked up my skirts and climbed inside.
The chapel was an annex, added onto the palace about five years before, once the king found out he was terminally ill. Religion hadn't cured him and, judging by the damp, musty smell and all the cobwebs, he'd given up on salvation long before he died a few weeks ago.
I lowered myself gingerly onto the marble floor and took a quick look around.
Empty, and utterly silent.
I let out a breath and bent at the waist, sucking in a few steadying breaths.
"She's fine," I murmured. "I'm going to get in, find Moll, and get out. We'll be home laughing about this tomorrow while we gorge ourselves on turkey stew and dumplings."
I hurried to the door that looked as though it led to the main palace, based on the layout. My instincts were right and a short while later, I stood at the end of a long hallway listening to the music playing in the distance. I followed the sound, on high alert, until I caught sight of a powder room. I slipped inside and tried not to notice the marble tiles, the brilliant gold fixtures, cushioned chairs and innumerable pots of make-up ready to be used.
Grabbing a comb—ivory and gold—I worked it through the wig, taming the worst of the mess.
Once I fixed my hair, refreshed the lipstick I’d stolen from Moll’s vanity, and stowed my bag deep in the trash bin, I was as ready as I was going to get. They wouldn’t be checking invitations on the way out of the palace, after all.
I exited the powder room and hung a left, the music almost on top of me now. Massive, double doors were swung wide to reveal a ballroom the size of fifty houses in The Hollow. And despite that, the place still managed to feel crowded. There had to be a thousand people in attendance.
Talk about finding a needle in a haystack. Maybe that was a good thing, though. If I couldn’t get a bead on Moll, maybe the Prince Regent wouldn’t either. Hope flared in my chest that I was overreacting. I’d take a scolding from Moll all day long as long as she was okay.
A pair of young women passed me, heads pressed close together as they giggled and made their way toward the powder room I’d just left. They barely spared me a glance, which was exactly how I wanted it.
I shook off the worst of my nerves and stepped up to the doors. No one stood guard or tried to stop me. In fact, there was a long, purple carpet laid out, beckoning me in.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I whispered.
I ambled down the runner, keeping my back as straight and elegant-like as possible in case anyone was watching me. They weren’t, though. They were far too busy enjoying what had to be the most amazing party ever.
It took everything inside me not to stop and gape at the fancy stuff around me. The ceiling was at least a hundred feet high, and from it hung countless fairy lights suspended by whispers of magic, as I could see no lines holding them aloft. They twinkled merrily, like snowflakes, only it wasn’t cold because crackling fires dotted the walls of the room every dozen yards or so, flanked by twenty-foot spruce trees decked out in ribbons and bows. The musician-less orchestra played on its own, facing a dancefloor brimming with partygoers. A rainbow of streamers whipped through the air, wafting to and fro on a magical breeze.
It was awe-inspiring and infuriating all at once. We had precious few Whispers—those who had magic in their blood—in The Hollow, and even at that, they knew better than to flaunt what little magic they had. Here, though, behind the Cradle, wealthy Whispers were permitted to show off their party tricks without fear of persecution.
Must be nice.
Anger-fueled adrenaline coursed through me but drained away in a rush as I sniffed the air and turned. I realized with a start that, perched above every one of those crackling fires, hung some sort of game, roasting on a spit. Juices sizzled as they bubbled and dripped, giving off an aroma that nearly had me drooling. Using every ounce of discipline I had, I turned and walked away without even plucking a morsel off the tenderloin closest to me.
“You’re a fucking champion,” I muttered under my breath as I slipped into the crowd. I’d infiltrated the enemy. Now to find Moll and get the hell out of here before someone realized two of these things didn’t belong and they decided to end the night with a double hanging.
When minutes turned to an hour, though, I started getting desperate. Not only hadn’t I caught sight of my friend, but the prince was also nowhere to be found. Weird, since the party was being thrown in his honor. Or maybe not so weird, if he was taking advantage of someone.
My lips started to go numb as I rounded the corner and saw a smaller room just off the west side of the ballroom. A group of men sat around an oval card table groaning as a blond man wearing a gem-encrusted crown stood and leaned forward, sweeping more gold coins than I’d ever seen in my life into a pile in front of him. Then, he retook his seat, stacking them into neat rows.
I glanced around quickly and caught sight of a server adding flutes of champagne to a tower.
“Excuse me…Is that, Prince Heinrich?”
He followed the direction of my finger and nodded.
“He was crowned a couple of hours ago, so it’s King now, but yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
Relief flowed through me, and I slumped, any concerns about proper posture out the window. Wherever Moll was hiding, Heinrich the Molester wasn’t with her.
Another server balancing a tray of canapes passed by, and I reached out to snatch a few in celebration. Shrimp puffs, by the looks of them. My mouth watered as I popped one in, whole. The puff pastry crackled and then melted to mingle with the succulent shrimp and fresh dill.
I pondered my options as I chewed, the best I’d felt since Wayne had opened his trap back at the house earlier that evening. Heinrich might be as evil as Wayne said he was. For the moment, though, he was in plain sight, seemingly content to gamble, which was a huge load off my mind. Now, I just had to find Moll and figure out how to get her to leave without giving me too much grief.
I tossed another puff in my mouth and let out a groan of pleasure as I chewed.
“Excuse me, miss.”
I turned to find a handsome stranger dressed in black sidling up next to me. His dark brown hair was flecked with gold and his broad shoulders seemed to be straining against the confines of his perfectly cut waistcoat. Fully aware that my cheeks looked like I was storing nuts for the winter, I chewed faster, not sure whether it would be ruder to talk with my mouth full or just ignore him altogether.
“Yesh?”
He frowned and leaned in to study me more closely.
Please don’t ask me for my invitation.
Things had been going so well…my cover was about to be fucking blown because of a few shrimp puffs.
“I hope I’m not overstepping, but you have a little—” he gestured with his index finger, a few inches from my chin.
I swallowed hard, the giant wad of shrimp and crust getting caught somewhere in the middle of my chest.
“Oh. Thank you!” I said, swiping my hand over my lips and downward, only to realize I didn’t have a little of anything on my face. I was basically sporting a beard made of pastry crumbs.
Lovely.
“I saw you from across the room, and thought to myself, ‘That woman doesn’t belong here.’”
I must’ve looked as horrified as I felt, because he rushed to continue.
“Sorry. That came out wrong. I mean it in a good way. I just…I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so thoroughly enamored with a canape before.”
My cheeks burned.
“Yes, well, I didn’t have any lunch and, to be fair, it was an exceptional canape.” I looked down and realized I was still storing some of it in my cleavage. You could take the girl out of The Hollow but there was no taking The Hollow out of this girl.
“Duncan Westerly.” He stuck out a hand and cocked his head. “And you are?”
My brain skittered to a stop, freezing on the name.
Duncan Westerly. Second Prince of Alabaster, more precisely. Half-brother to Heinrich, although word about town was that there was no love lost between the two. Like Heinrich, who had traveled and wound up staying in Brynegarde until their father’s death, Duncan had spent much of his life far from Alabaster, in Valencourt. He’d come back a few years ago, but I’d only seen him once as an adult when the royal family had visited The Hollow to spread some sort of propaganda or another, and even that was from afar.
This time he was closer.
Really close. Close enough to see the exact shade of his smoky gray eyes.
Fucking hell.
“And you are?” he repeated, a glimmer of a smile activating the most amazing dimple I’d ever seen. I was still staring at it, and how it transformed his whole face into this open, sexy, invitation, when I finally found my voice again.
“Harmon-” I broke off, realizing my error, and coughed loudly to buy myself a second to think. “Ica. Harmonica.”
Double fucking hell. What the hell kind of name was Harmonica? He’d never believe it.
But his smile never wavered.
“Well, Harmonica, I was actually coming over to see if you would like to dance with me.”
I stared down at his still-extended hand, about to refuse. Then I looked up, right into the face of the server restocking the caviar station. And this face?
Was one I knew.
Genevieve Salim. Sister of Guy Salim, who ran a farm-stand down the street from my stepmother’s house. I hadn’t seen Genevieve in years. How the hell had she managed to work her way into the palace? She’d been one of the few plucked from The Hollow to work for a rich family in Little Alabaster around the age of twenty. She’d traded poverty and freedom for slightly less poverty, tucked away in The Smudge, with a side of indentured servitude.
Six helpings of one kind of manure, half-dozen of another, in my view. But I was in the midst of a shitstorm of my own, and Genevieve’s job satisfaction was the least of my concerns right now.
Her recognizing me would be disastrous. She could out me to her employers, gain a hefty, little reward for pointing me out. I didn’t know her well enough to know if she would care that I would hang for the offense.
I turned my head as fast as I could, took the prince’s hand, and worked up a smile.
“I’d love to dance, thank you.”
It was a two-fer. I could get some distance between me and Genevieve and use his royal highness to lend me some legitimacy as I looked for Moll. Surely, no one would dare ask me what I was doing there while in the arms of a prince?
The “band” had just started a lively new tune as he led me to the dance floor. I'd have been outed immediately if Moll hadn't forced me to play the role of Dashing Suitor for the past fifteen years. I was thanking the gods the whole way now for every agonizing practice session.
Yep, under the threat of violence, I'd learned every reel, waltz, and cotillion ever created. New dances, old ones, didn't matter. I was pretty much a master. Which made it super annoying when Duncan and I glided onto the floor and the whole affair felt more like a barroom brawl than a dance. We folded into the mix easy enough, taking our place in the crowd of couples moving clockwise as a unit. But as I tried to pull off a spin so I could get a full 360 of the dancers around us in hopes of catching a glimpse of Moll, we bumped knees.
Hard.
"Oh!" I muttered, flashing him an apologetic smile before quickly resuming my search for a certain redhead. "Pardon me! I can be so clumsy at times."
"Not a problem. But I must know...What or who are you so intent on finding? A better dance partner, maybe?"
Damn. I hadn't even considered that I was being rude, which was far less forgivable than my ill-fitting dress or sloppy eating habits when it came to pretending I belonged.
"Not at all! I'm just, uh, taking in all the gorgeous gowns. Did you see that gold brocade number over there? She looks like a living goddess."
He spared the dress a glance before turning his full attention back to me as we rounded the next corner. His full attention was...a lot. The thick, wavy hair brushing his collar. The jawline that looked like it had been chiseled out of marble. The piercing gray eyes studying me with such curiosity. But it really was the solitary dimple that took it over the top.
This man might be a proper gentleman on the face of it, but something told me he was a rogue at heart—I didn’t know if it was his intensity, or the strength in his arms as he spun me around that tipped me off that I needed to be careful.
Or maybe it’s just that damn dimple.
My pulse stuttered and I went for the spin move again, promptly stomping on his foot.
"Damn it to hell," I hissed under my breath. "I am so, so sorry. Really..."
"Don’t worry about it," he said, a grin tugging at his firm lips, "But it might go a bit easier for us both if you let me lead."
I could feel the heat working its way up my neck as I realized he was right. In every fake ball or fete scenario with Moll, I'd been Prince Charming. I had no clue how to cede control.
"Don't think. Just feel. Ready?” He must've sensed my hesitation, because suddenly, he tightened his grip, and that dimple flashed. "Here we go!"
He didn't wait for a response. A second later, we were skittering across the floor like a pair of skaters on ice. At first, I tried to fight it, but then I let go. Relaxing my muscles, I let the rhythm of the music flow through me, felt the subtle pressure of Duncan’s fingers on my hips, urging me this way and that. It didn't take long before I was completely swept up, like a leaf on the winds of a wild, giddy storm. The music reached a crescendo and I realized with a stab of disappointment that the dance was almost over.
He twirled me left, then right, before bending me back into a low dip and staying there. Holding me steady, he stared down at me, eyes gleaming, his smile an echo of mine.
"That's more like it."
I was about to reply when I caught a flash of deep, red curls in my periphery, and I remembered myself.
Moll.
What the hell was I doing?
I tightened my grip on his forearm and tugged his sleeve, struggling to catch my breath.
"Excuse me, but I'm feeling a bit dizzy. Can you?—"
He instantly righted me to stand, concern knitting his brow. "Sorry about that. Should we get some air?"
"No. No thank you. I think I'll get a glass of punch and have a sit down for a few minutes."
But he insisted on navigating me through the swarm of dancers—none of whom were Moll—and walked me to the punch bowl.
"He's a very lucky man."
"What? Who?" I asked, sparing him a quick glance before resuming my search.
"Whoever it is that you've been looking for all night." He reached down and took my hand, his thumb grazing the inside of my wrist in a way that sent a hot bolt of lust straight to my belly. "If you don't wind up finding him, come find me. I'll make it easy. I’ll be by the buffet table until the clock strikes midnight. I don’t know what he’s got that I don’t, but if you’d give me ten more minutes, I’d make you forget all about him..."
His eyes were full of promise as he held my gaze and backed away, melting into the crowd.
"Holy hell," I muttered, swallowing hard. I'd never in a million years imagined I could be attracted to a noble. How could a woman respect a man who'd never known a day of hard work in his life? But I'd been here in Little Alabaster less than two hours, and here I was drooling after a prince with firm hands and a devilish dimple.
Pathetic.
I ran a shaky hand over my upswept wig and threw my shoulders back. I was here on a mission, and it was time to get back to that—I had to get Moll out of here. Then, I could go back where I belonged and forget all about this place and the people in it.
I did another round of the room, sticking close to the perimeter in hopes of not missing anything, but there were no more Molly sightings. I was starting to wonder if maybe she’d decided to cut out early and head home. One more walk through, and if I didn’t find her, I’d do the same. Now that I’d witnessed the sheer size of this place, it seemed very possible that Moll and Heinrich hadn’t even crossed paths. Besides, it was nearing midnight. The ball would be ending soon. Thank the gods.
I made my way toward the card room again, pausing to peek in. The King’s bounty of gold was still piled high, but his seat was empty. Pressing myself against the wall and out of sight, I focused in on the chatter of the other men at the table.
“Robbie is right. We might as well call it. He won’t be giving us a chance to win back our money. Not tonight, at least.”
“I knew as soon as he caught sight of the chippy with the red hair and those glorious tits, he’d be a goner.”
Red hair. Glorious tits.
Molly.
My stomach churned as I closed my eyes and strained to hear over the noise of the music behind me. What were they saying?
Maybe…something something…the gardens…something something…followed behind like a man possessed.
I jerked upright and made a beeline for the powder room to dig my bag out of the trash. Then, I headed for the open double doors I’d passed a dozen times by now.
Cold, fresh air curled through the opening. Just outside was a long pathway to the palace gardens. I hadn’t seen anyone brave enough to venture out with the chill in the air, but apparently, King Heinrich did what he damn well pleased.
“She’s okay. I would know. I would feel it if she wasn’t okay.”
Mind you, I’d felt something , or I wouldn’t be here in the first place. Even so, I kept the low litany of positive affirmations going as I took a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching. Then, I slipped out the doors onto the garden path. I kept my eyes glued to the ground in front of me, trying not to think about how there were two sets of prints pressed into the frost. One big, one small and very obviously a set of heels with the shape of the imprint. I just kept moving, one foot in front of the other. And soon enough, a woman’s frame was silhouetted in the distance.
I wanted to call out, but that would be foolhardy. Instead, I walked as fast as I could, hands icy with dread. The rest unfolded like a bad dream.
“Moll?” I called softly, my voice so hoarse it was almost unrecognizable.
The figure didn’t budge. Was it a statue maybe?
I moved closer, but I didn’t have a chance to repeat her name. My attention shifted to the man lying on the ground a few feet away. The low shriek that escaped my lips was camouflaged by the peeling of the bells as the clock in the chapel tower struck midnight.
The man’s face was pale and lifeless, body limp. Blood, so red and thick it looked black, spread over his bright white waistcoat, the stain growing bigger and bigger even as I watched. And protruding from the center of it, one, very familiar looking, crystalline slipper, its stiletto heel buried to the hilt.
Worse than that?
If there was any doubt that it was King Heinrich, the crown still jammed on his head over his blond hair left no doubt.
And he was dead as a fucking doornail.
“H-harm?” She whispered my name.
I turned back to Molly, who stood a few yards away, trembling from head to toe. Her dress was torn to the waist, one of her breasts exposed and bleeding from what looked like scratch marks. Her eyes were all pupil and out of focus as she blinked up at me, her face almost as white as the full moon shining above us.
"I-I think I did something bad."
Her voice was reedy and thin as she swayed toward me. My palms were clammy, and my head began to throb. I found myself wishing Druzilla was here to slap me. Instead, I focused on my friend and crammed the sensation back to the darkest recesses of my mind.
Don't look at it. Don’t think about it. Focus on the task at hand, and only the task at hand. This is an extraction mission now, so get to it.
"Nope. It's okay, Moll. You didn't do anything wrong,” I murmured, already scoping the surrounding area and formulating a plan. “We're going to fix it, okay? Me and you. You just do what I tell you, and we’re going to be fine. Got it?"
She clenched her chattering teeth and nodded. “G-got it.”
“Did you tell him your name at any point?”
“No. He thinks I’m a noblewoman named Francesca visiting from Bryngarde. The Gris Isles.”
“Did you see anyone you knew? Genevieve Salim?”
She shook her head. “I saw her near the food when I first got here and made sure to avoid her. She never saw me.”
I hoped she was right. “Okay, that’s good. We’re going to exit the gardens from the back way and cross the moat to get off palace grounds. No one will come looking for the two of you for a while. It will be like we were never here. We’ll be back in The Hollow before you know it.”
But first…
“Turn around for a second, okay, love? Cover yourself while I…tidy up.”
She hesitated and then nodded, giving me her back. “Okay.”
The breath sawed in and out of my lungs as I approached Heinrich’s body.
It’s just a dummy, made of straw, I told myself. This is all fake. A test to see if you pass.
I stepped over the body, one foot on either side of his hips for leverage and then took hold of the shoe and yanked with all my might. Other than the blood running even faster, it didn’t seem to budge. I tried again, this time putting my back into it. For a second it seemed to give, but then stuck again, catching on his sternum maybe? Hell, I lifted his body with the force of my pull, before he hit the ground again with a thump when I released my grip.
“Son of a—” I was interrupted by a sharp, familiar cry overhead, and I recognized Fetch’s call. He’d followed me? More than that though, his cry cut through me.
A warning.
Not a moment later, the sounds of horns, and a voice called out, deep and resonant.
“King Heinrich, it’s time for your speech!”
My stomach dropped as distant footsteps grew closer. We were out of time. There was no way I was getting this fucking shoe out. Damn Xavier and his fucking craftsmanship.
“Harm?”
“Yup. All set, let’s get going,” I whispered, reluctantly releasing my hold on the shoe and rushing back to Molly’s side. “Give me your other shoe,” I demanded.
She handed it over without question. I did my best to help her cover her bare skin even as I dragged her with me, toward the south side of the palace. Luckily, I was right about one thing. There was an exit at the back of the gardens, and we hurried through it. Once we reached the moat surrounding the palace grounds, I scooped up a heavy stone, wrapped my wig around it and the slipper, tying the loose long ends of the hair around the weighted bundle and hurled them into the water without slowing down.
Please sink. Please, gods, let that bundle sink.
We’d almost reached the scaffolding to cross the moat when screams cut through the night air, and lights flooded the space behind us.
“It’s the new king! Gods above! He’s been attacked!”