Chapter Fifty
Dietan
Breaking me out of the castle was one thing. Breaking me in is another one entirely.
The plan is simple yet intricately layered. Each step must be executed as perfectly as possible to get us in the door.
I slowly dress in commoner’s clothes, making sure they look plain and nondescript. I will need to be unassuming, forgettable, invisible.
I pick up the little dish of ground leaves that Aren set on the table for me.
I start combing the paste through my hair with my fingers, until my golden waves are convincingly chestnut brown.
Pulling a hood over my head, I tuck it low over my brow to obscure most of my face.
Hopefully, no one will be looking too closely at peasants’ faces, especially the faces of those who might be undead princes.
Over my shoulder, I catch sight of Aren as she finishes dressing, and I’m drawn toward her like she’s tangled up my heartstrings. She notices me watching and gives me a small smile. “Are you ready?” she asks.
“With you, my love, for anything.”
“Really?” Aren quirks an eyebrow. “The whole ‘my love’ thing? Still?”
“Well, aren’t you?”
She twists her hair back into a simple bun, securing it at the base of her neck. “But you only used to call me that because we were pretending to be engaged. You didn’t really mean it, so it feels weird now.”
“I see. What would you prefer?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why are you complaining?”
Aren smirks. “I just assumed you’d come up with something more creative.”
I swagger over to her. “What about my sweetheart, my Aren?”
“Hmmm. That sounds like you own me.”
Placing my hands on her arms, I pull her close and gaze deeply into her eyes. “You have it entirely backward. You own me, body and soul.”
I love how I can fluster her so. I like the way she blushes and goes speechless. She rolls her eyes, but I know I have her where I want her…and I want her very badly. “We’ll work on it later,” I murmur as I take her in my arms.
“But—the others?”
“The door’s locked,” I say. “And everyone’s already outside.”
“Won’t they wonder where we are?” she asks, looking over her shoulder to the window.
“Nah,” I say, lifting her skirt and maneuvering us so her back is pressed against the wall, away from the window.
“We’ll have to be quiet,” she whispers, even as she slides her hand down my trousers. “And fast.”
I grin, body heating like it does every time I’m with her. “As my lady commands.”
…
There’s no turning back now.
The eastern gate to the castle grounds stands wide, the portcullis raised, crowded with people.
Since arriving, it’s seemed to me that there were very few residents living in the city, other than the soldiers housed in the enormous barracks behind the castle.
So, it’s surprising to see hundreds of commoners file through the castle gates, carrying sacks of flour or pulling wagons full of spices and sweets under the watchful eyes of soldiers.
Clearly, they’ve been here all along. Existing just out of sight, undoubtedly, to avoid their king’s notice.
I assume most of these poor souls are family and friends of Namreth’s soldiers, lured to the middle of the desert by the promise of safety and prosperity.
Aren and I shuffle along with the crowd, keeping our heads low. At the southern gate, Marcus, Jared, and the others are doing the same, making their way into the grounds dressed in commoner’s clothes, trying to blend in, hoping no one will take notice of them.
I lower my gaze as we approach the guards. A tall fellow with an even taller spear grips the shaft when he catches my eye. His fingers tense, turning white. “You there!”
Fuck. I clench my fist as he pounds the butt of the spear hard on the bare earth and thrusts it forward to halt progress. But the shaft comes down behind me, not in front.
Quickly, the guard pulls the poor fellow at my back from the crowd as he cries out. “What did I do?”
“Traitor,” the guard accuses, then spears the man right through the gut in front of everyone waiting to be allowed inside the castle. The man dies at our feet, blood pooling from his chest, and the guard scowls at the crowd before declaring, “Let that be a warning to you all.”
The man was chosen randomly. My veins are ice cold with fury at the cruelty. But by chance, I live, and by some twist of fate, our plan continues.
Without even looking at Aren for fear of bringing attention to her, I begin shuffling along with the crowd again.
I wait with dread for the Rings to call out to me, vibrating to be used like they have in moments of danger in the past, but they remain quiet, marking their presence with just the faintest, steady hum.
I haven’t felt their heat under my skin since Aren and I were first imprisoned in that dark cell.
Each step toward the castle feels like I’m walking deeper into freezing water. I know what lies in those dungeons, what terrors are hidden behind the golden walls.
As we approach, guards stand at the ready, surveying the crowds. One man cracks a whip, and I flinch, ducking my head. I breathe deeply, evenly, to calm myself.
The soldier strikes a commoner, who falls to her knees. He cracks the whip once more in the air. A threat to anyone who steps out of line or moves too slowly. No one dares so much as to look at him.
My eyes burn with fury, but I keep my head down. This misery must end. Tonight.
I feel Aren tremble at my side. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “Almost there.”
A few paces ahead, the castle doors are a welcome sight, despite the cruelties I know lie within. I again notice the strange magic shimmering off them that seemingly only I can see.
One by one, guards inspect and admit the new hires, permitting them entry. It’s a slow process under a hot sun. One girl is admitted, the next denied. Twenty are ushered inside while two others are sent packing.
When it’s our turn, the guards look us up and down. The soldier in charge, a hard-faced woman, chews at something awful and brown, then spits it out onto my feet, watching carefully to see how I’ll react.
Every muscle in my body tenses. Every bit of breeding I have tells me to put this guard in her place, but I tamp down the feeling, holding it in check.
“You got a problem?” she asks when she sees my fingers move, a drop of perspiration on my brow.
“No problem,” Aren says, taking me by the arm. “Just a bit tired.”
“Then go on. Keep moving,” the guard says, already bored with us. She turns to whoever is next in line.
The next set of guards is more thorough. “Security check,” says a guard in black leather armor, sword hanging in a scabbard from his belt.
I press my palms against the cold stone wall.
The guard pats me down roughly. I keep my face neutral, and my head bowed low.
Another guard pats Aren down, and she makes no protest, even when his hands linger too long on her chest. “Should we send this one to the harem?” The guard laughs.
The other guard snorts.
Rage fills my chest, blood roaring in my ears, but I can’t do anything about it. Not yet.
“All right, clear,” the guard declares.
They’ve found no weapons on us. My royal knife is safe for now. With a wave of his hand, he lets us enter, but not before smacking Aren roughly on the behind.
Aren catches my eye, pleading with me not to react, and it takes all my will to hold my temper. My vision tunnels, my hands shake at the effort, and I can feel the power of the Rings trickling through my veins like molten gold.
“Hey, I’m okay,” Aren says, keeping her voice low.
I clench my jaw. “That doesn’t make it right.”
“No, it does not, but this is also not the time or place for chivalry.”
I hate that she has a point. “I’m going to burn this place to the ground when we’re done here.”
“I’ll bring the matches,” she says.
The castle is loud and crowded when we enter through the servants’ doors.
My every nerve is on edge as I expect someone to shout an alarm, to stop us, but most of the soldiers inside have already begun partaking in the festivities.
Despite the early hour, wine flows from fountains in the atrium, smoke fills the high-ceilinged halls, and laughter and singing float through the air.
There is no sign of Namreth yet, but he is here somewhere, preparing to make a grand entrance when the banquet begins.
Lambert, Tess, and Arnfried arrived several hours earlier to disseminate the plan amongst the castle servants that they and Aren can vouch for.
Aren raises her hand to her ear in a gesture that means she recognizes the frazzled butler who supervises the new hires as one of them.
The butler nods, recognizing me despite my hair.
“You two are assigned to the kitchens and later to serve at the banquet, but first, you have to change,” he tells us as a guard watches on.
We are given fine servant’s clothes, embroidered silks, and masks that look like animal faces. Aren is given a fox mask, and I am handed a white wolf.
It’s a coincidence, surely, but the wolf is the sigil of the royal house of Alarice. The symbol is stitched onto every banner my grandfather will send into battle against the Usurper. Wearing it will give me strength. I tie it tightly around my head. I will not fail him.
We change in the servants’ quarters, and we now don our new clothes.
Aren secures the mask over her face, leaving only her eyes visible.
The animal masks are undoubtedly intended to remind us that to Namreth, servants are less than human.
My stomach churns when I remember that Namreth is my blood, and I once more struggle to quell the Rings.
Not yet, I think, and their agitation abates to a quiet hum.
Aren knows where she’s going, so I follow her, keeping an eye out for trouble. Most everyone we run into is too deep into their wine or their conversation, so we slip easily into the kitchens.