Chapter 15 Kieran
Kieran
That interaction didn’t go as I planned.
I had every intention of telling Gen everything I know about the rot.
I even thought of convincing her to join me at Huntley House, to see the state of the helachite mines in Naseria for herself.
She might just do it. She and Gabe both seem to want to know what’s really happening in this country, to hear the truth of how their mother has governed.
Yet once I was in her apartment, I had an inexplicable urge to make her hurt as much as she hurt me. I don’t like the way she makes me feel—so brash, so reactive. I shouldn’t be letting her affect me like this, not after living without her for so long.
The gardens are quiet as I tuck the key into my pocket.
I plan to make use of it before I’m through with Genevieve Ashcroft.
I sneak along the inner wall of the Ashcroft family gardens before ducking behind a large maple tree.
Using the low branches, I boost myself over the walls protecting the family’s private grounds from public view.
It’s the same old place I used to slip out as a boy, and the familiarity of it sends a pang through my chest.
I dust off my evening coat and make my way toward the main entrance from the gardens when I hear someone call out, “Blackwell! Is that you?”
It’s Leland and Pryor. Of course it is.
“What are you doing skulking about the gardens?” Pryor asks, suspicion sharpening his tone.
General Pryor has always been wary of me—and for good reason, I suppose.
He’s Leland’s closest friend and confidant.
I’m a nobody who’s risen to power and befriended a prince.
I never planned it that way, never had ulterior motives to get back at Genevieve through the Prince of Icelantica.
No, our friendship is genuine. Still, it won’t last much longer if he ever discovers my connection to Gen.
“Just taking an evening stroll. That’s allowed, is it not, General Pryor?”
He shrugs, taking a drink from a flask before passing it to Leland. “Rather odd, isn’t it? Walking so near the royal family’s private gardens. Almost like you were trying to find a way in.”
I scoff at his accusation as Leland hands me the flask. The amber liquid burns smoothly down my throat, warming my chest. Icelantican grogg, of course. They can’t get enough of the stuff—not with those long, lonely winters.
Leland gives me a mischievous smile. “Pryor and I have a running bet. He believes Princess Genevieve won’t go through with the wedding. I think she will. What are your thoughts, Morris? You seem rather observant of her. Care to share your own prediction?”
“I don’t see why she wouldn’t marry you. You both need the alliance if Wylan continues its abominations.”
Pryor looks at me like he knows what I’ve said is only a half-truth. “Yes, but she’s not attracted to him. It’s obvious. In fact, I think she fancies you more than Leland. She can’t keep her eyes off you.”
Leland lets out a bitter laugh, taking another long drag from the grogg. It isn’t like him to drink heavily, and I wonder if he suspects there’s more between Gen and me.
“That’s because I’m far more attractive than this scarecrow,” I jest, but the words fall flat.
Leland frowns, studying me. “I’ve seen how she looks at you. I don’t demand a love match—I knew that wasn’t going to happen—but I’d like my future wife to show some enthusiasm for me. Did you know she wouldn’t even touch me? She doesn’t want me to know what her gift feels like until we’re wed.”
An angry gnaw of jealousy blooms in my belly. The idea of Gen’s gift filling Leland, making him lust after her, makes me feel ill. I’m going to need to make myself scarce after the wedding, just to keep myself from losing my composure with Leland.
“Do you think the rumors about her gift are true?” Pryor asks. We’ve made our way through the manicured public gardens and are approaching the veranda that leads into our wing of the palace.
Leland lowers his voice. “She’s told me so herself.
I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, but what if marrying her is a mistake?
I would never want to make that commitment if her gift is something neither of us can tolerate.
I’m not capable of committing to a lifetime of celibacy like Kalise—but I’m not going to marry someone who’s repulsed by my touch. ”
“What did you expect? You knew her gift made men ‘fall in love.’ That’s a polite way of saying wanting to fuck her,” Pryor says.
“Enough!” I snap, and both men look at me in surprise. “There are servants everywhere. We don’t need to be overheard.”
I think about what Gen said in the glasshouse—how she’s suffered—and a gnawing dread fills me. What has she gone through because of that curse of hers?
The thought vanishes as a woman’s scream echoes down the corridor. We run toward the sound and find a maid standing over a prone male form dressed in the forest-green livery of a Naserian footman.
“He’s dead!” the maid cries, and I see the spreading rot consuming the body. No, this shouldn’t be possible.
There’s a nefarious misuse of helachite within Crawford, and it’s infiltrated the palace.
“Is it the rot?” Leland asks, pressing a handkerchief to his face. The smell is vile, but it’s nothing I haven’t endured for years. I roll the body over. There’s very little helachite rot can do to a man already poisoned by it as I have been.
“Blackwell, are you mad? Don’t touch it!” Leland shouts, but I ignore him. The rot seems to be coming from the servant’s mouth, as though it’s pouring from within.
“Get Princess Genevieve,” I order a nearby servant. Leland looks perplexed. “The queen will do nothing. Get Prince Gabriel as well. Tell no one else what you’ve seen.”
Pryor glances down at the spreading mess on the carpet. “I’ll get Queen Kalise. She should know as well.”
Leland steps closer to the body, but I wave him back. I can’t have the Prince of Icelantica exposed to helachite rot.
“Oh, it’s fine for you to endanger your life, Blackwell, but not mine? I see,” he protests, though he stays back.
“The damage was done to me long ago. You know that.”
Leland shakes his head. “Right. Your former life in the hardscrabble mines of northern Naseria.”
Gen arrives quickly, dressed in a robe, her hair tied back in a loose braid—and I think back to the sheer nightdress she wore in the glasshouse. The swell of her soft, unbound breasts must be hidden just beneath the thick fabric she wears now.
Leland doesn’t seem to notice the precious jewel before him, and that makes my frustration throb inside me. He doesn’t deserve her if he cannot even see what’s before him.
“What’s happened? I was told there’s been an emergency,” Gen says as she approaches the body. She covers her ungloved hand and gasps as she studies the dead man.
My words come out harsh as I tell her, “You have a problem, Princess. A very big problem on your hands.”
She looks from me to Leland. “I see that. Did anyone witness who killed this man?”
“We found him in the passage. The servant girl was screaming,” Leland explains, just as Gabriel arrives.
Behind him, Queen Kalise carries one of her foxes.
She’s dressed in a robe, her short bob slightly mussed as though she’d already been in bed.
Her other fox circles her feet, then pads toward the body.
She gives a sharp whistle, and the fox tucks itself around her ankle. “This is unacceptable,” she hisses, fixing Gen with an icy stare.
“Well, it’s not Genny’s fault!” Gabe retorts. “How can we have a dead servant in the halls of Fairbright?”
“Dead from rot—because your country has allowed it to go completely unregulated,” Kalise counters.
“What would you suggest we do, Queen Kalise?” Gabe’s tone is cutting as he gestures toward the scene.
“First of all, grow a backbone and stop allowing one woman to make bad decisions. Leland, I don’t know if you should continue with this.”
I rise from my kneeling position, wiping my hands on my trousers. “You’ll regret not forming an alliance if the Wylan situation isn’t dealt with swiftly. You think this is a problem? Just wait.”
Gen frowns at me. “What do you mean, exactly?”
“He’s referring to the Wylan forces massing at the border,” Gabe interrupts.
I shake my head. “That’s not what I mean. They’re weaponizing helachite in ways that should never be allowed.”
Gen gives me an exasperated scowl. “Why didn’t you say so sooner, K—Mr. Blackwell?”
Leland looks between us but says nothing as Queen Penelope strides into the corridor. “No!” She glances around the group. “What are you all doing standing over this man’s body? Can’t you see he’s contaminated? Are my other children here?”
“Only Gabe and I,” Gen answers.
The queen gives an authoritative dip of her chin. “Get this mess cleaned up. Not a word of it, do you hear me?”
So the truth of a death—possibly a murder—in Fairbright is to be buried? I should have assumed as much.
“There needs to be an investigation,” Gen insists.
The queen’s eye twitches as she studies her daughter. She looks as though she’s about to rebuke her, but her expression softens. “Yes, you’re right. Of course. Gabriel, can you make a formal report?”
“I’ll take the body,” I offer. It should be me.
I’m the only one who can safely do so. No one protests as I move to lift the man.
It’s not the first time I’ve shouldered the weight of someone lost to the rot.
A servant I recognize from my years in the palace steps forward to help, but I wave him off and tell him instead to lead me to where we should place the body.
I deposit the deceased man in the palace’s medical clinic and wash up, scrubbing any trace of rot from my hands.
The servant brings me fresh clothing from my rooms, and I change.
It’s imperative that I keep all traces of the rot from spreading further.
After removing the key to Gen’s secret staircase, I toss my soiled clothing into the incinerator.
Once finished, I return to my own rooms, but I’m so filled with restlessness that I know I won’t be able to sleep. It’s not as though I sleep on a good night, anyway. The key to Gen’s room sits on my bedside table, and I keep looking at it, wondering if she’s still awake.
Wondering if she’s thinking of me, even now. I shouldn’t be having thoughts of her—not when I’ve vowed to break her heart and ruin her. Perhaps I’ve misjudged her influence in this country. Even so, her willful ignorance of her kingdom’s problems is inexcusable.
But I can’t stop thinking of her.
I pick up the key, study the old brass design, then set it back down. Only moments later, I retrieve it and slide it into my pocket before heading for the door.
I just want to see her, to know if she’s still awake. I could share what I know about the rot and how it spreads.
The night is late, and the palace is silent as I make my way through the gardens, plucking a few stray rose blooms as I go.
The secret door creaks as I turn the key in the lock, the stairwell humid and damp. At the top of the stairs, I ease the door open and step into the darkness of Gen’s bedroom.
I can make out her sleeping form in the middle of the bed, the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
Her hair is loose, cascading around her face and pillow.
She’s so beautiful—just like one of her rare flowers.
I place the roses on her bedside table and turn to leave when she lets out a little sigh.
A sigh that makes my treacherous heart thud. She rolls to her side and murmurs, “Kieran, don’t leave me.”
Does she know I’m here? Her eyes are shut tight, but how can I refuse her, even in her sleep?
“Never,” I whisper, taking a seat in the chair.
Sleep overtakes me with a gentleness I haven’t felt in years. When I awake, the watery light of dawn filters through the window. Gen still sleeps deeply in the bed, and I leave the room—a shadow cast in the night, gone by daybreak.