Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
True to his word, Cedric had increased Nin’s security detail, and with it, her freedom withered. She caught another “illness” and was not permitted beyond her chambers.
Nobles started whispering in her absence.
The rumors slithered past her bedroom doors, of a fragile princess confined to bed.
If this continued, they would start seeing her as weak and sickly.
And Nin refused to be the reason Princess Marianne lost favor within the court.
It would be deeply insulting, considering the princess’s care for her brother. Nin must repay her better than this.
After a quiet week had passed with no signs of an assassin, Cedric relented and allowed her to attend only the necessary gatherings.
One evening, on her way back from dinner, she caught sight of one of Princess Adelina’s servants speaking in low tones with another mousy-haired servant she recognized but couldn’t name.
Nin slowed her steps, turning just enough to linger near a window, pretending to admire the view while she strained to listen.
She caught fragments—
“The delivery… under the palace…”
Then both servants fell silent. Their faces blanched. After a charged pause, they scattered in opposite directions, disappearing down separate corridors.
Something was wrong. A cold certainty settled in her gut—and her gut had kept her alive long before Cedric ever had.
After Lucille blew out all the candles and retired to her rooms, Nin lay awake in her bed for an entire hour. She waited, her mind a knot of anticipation and dread, as the golden clock on the mantel marked the passing minutes in the silence.
Bijou stirred when she swung her legs over the bed. Her head tilted as if questioning where she was going. Nin grabbed a letter opener and donned her robe.
“Stay here,” she whispered to the curious dog. “Guard the room while I’m gone.”
Bijou lay down, her chin settling on her paws.
Nin crept past the concealed door and into the secret corridors Cedric had made her memorize for emergencies. Tiptoeing, she pressed herself against the wall in the narrow passage, holding her breath when the sound of footsteps approached.
Instead of rounding the corner, they turned left, avoiding her completely. Nin let out a relieved sigh and continued her trek.
She pushed open a door just a crack, ensuring no one was occupying the linen room.
The smell of soap and starch filled the long and narrow space.
Rows of shelves climbed toward the ceiling, stacked with pressed servant uniforms and sheets.
Aprons and caps hung on pegs along the wall.
Nin padded over the wood floors and snatched a dress, apron, and cap.
She discarded her nightgown and robe, hiding them under the shelves.
Pinching the extinguished candle wick that hung on the wall, she smeared soot on her cheeks.
With a wicker basket in her arms to complete the disguise, she slipped through the halls, keeping her head down, and descended into the lower levels—determined to find out what underneath the palace truly meant.
She snuck through dim corridors, uncertain what she was searching for, until she came upon a door she had never seen marked on the map. Her heartbeat ticked faster. Anything could be waiting on the other side.
After a steady breath, Nin eased the door open and peeked inside.
Beyond, stone and dirt packed the floors, and water dripped and pooled in the corner. The low-curving ceiling pressed down on the damp room, and the walls were lined with stacks of wooden crates. A sharp, cold draft swept through her woolen dress, chilling her to the core.
Shivers threaded through her spine.
An eerie silence choked the air. Whatever was hidden was not meant to be found.
Nin moved closer to inspect the crates, crouching behind a pillar. What could be in them? And why were they down here?
Footsteps rang against stone. Nin whipped around, her back bracing the pillar. Panic flared with every beat of her heart. Two low voices echoed in the chamber.
“Which one is it?” a male voice asked.
“It’s this one,” the other said, his steps brisk before a knocking sounded against wood.
“What’s in the others?”
“A load of nothing. Just forgotten wine crates they dumped in here.”
Nin swallowed the nerves swimming up her stomach. This was her chance to discover their identities, but her limbs froze. She must move.
Now.
Nin forced her shaky legs to still as she crouched. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck as she glanced around the pillar once more.
A thin blond man holding a crowbar handed it to the brunette man with greasy locks pulled into a tie. Monsieur Ponytail, she dubbed him, thrust the metal into the corner of the crate.
With a grunt, the lid popped free. Monsieur Blondie reached in—
“Careful.”
Monsieur Ponytail caught his wrist before he could reach inside any further. He pulled out a small, thin paper packet instead. “You don’t want to tear one of these,” he whispered. “Unless you fancy waking up with no memory and a splitting headache. There’s only enough for two.”
Her stomach lurched.
Monsieur Blondie gingerly lifted out a second packet, then a small green vial. “This is everything?”
“It’s all we’ll need.”
A foreboding thought crept through her: Someone had already infiltrated the palace.
She attempted to edge closer for a better look, but her shadow flickered across the wall.
Monsieur Ponytail stilled.
“Wait—what was that?”
She muttered a curse under her breath as she retreated, but her slipper scuffed against the stone floor.
“Oi! Stop there!”
They lunged.
There was no time to run. No time to think.
Nin drew the letter opener strapped beneath her stocking.
She slashed at one man’s arm and drove her heel into the other’s knee.
Then ducked beneath a wild swing, scooped up a handful of dust, and flung it into the blond man’s eyes.
He hollered, covering his face and doubling over.
The brunette swiped at her, and she dodged backward but lost her footing.
Instead of landing on her back, she rolled into the fall. She spotted some stray rope attached to one of the empty crates as she scrambled back to avoid a kick. Grabbing it, she pulled it taut when Monsieur Ponytail advanced on her. His foot caught, sending him crashing to the floor.
Her heart thundered in her ears, breath ragged with fear and resolve. She’d fought her way out of tighter corners before, but never in a palace, never with so much at stake.
She bolted for the door. Fingers closed around her arm and yanked her back. She twisted free, drawing her knee up to his groin—
Pain exploded at her temple.
Light burst behind her eyes.
Her body collapsed to the ground. Darkness swallowed her and spat her back into the throes of agony. Her fingers twitched over the stone. Shadows stretched over her, and rough hands grabbed her arms.
The world spun in dizzying colors. She didn’t know how much time had passed—moments or centuries—as her feet dragged over the ground, but something rumbled in the corridor. A thick haze clouded her thoughts, but she heard a crash. Deep commands and footsteps—purposeful and steady.
Please let it be him.
The door flew open—
“Take your hands off her!”
The hands recoiled as though she had burned them. She slumped to the ground, her skull raging with the stabbing pain of countless fiery needles.
“Apprehend them!” the familiar, commanding voice shouted.
Yelling and scuffling echoed through the cavern. Nin struggled to keep her eyes open. They weighed like lead, tempting her to surrender to the darkness once more.
“Nin!”
A presence, warm and familiar, was at her side. Strong, calloused hands cradled her cheeks.
Cedric’s face wavered before her, then split into two. Nin’s lips twitched into a faint half-smile. One Cedric had been more than enough, but two?
She would be in double the trouble.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, his voice tight with panic.
“You should see the other guy,” she murmured, the words slurring into a weak smirk.
He didn’t return it. Instead, his hands curled over her dress, and fury simmered just beneath the surface of his eyes.
In a seamless, fluid motion, he wordlessly lifted her into his arms. Guards moved aside as he marched through the halls. Her head lolled against his chest, and the uneven beat of his heart drummed against her ear.
Nin didn’t dare move under the covers as Cedric wrung a towel over a porcelain washbasin. Agitation rolled off his rigid form, even as he dabbed the material against her temple. Nin hissed when he applied the slightest pressure.
“You could have been killed,” he said, his voice lowering. His dark eyes bored into her, nearly swallowing her into their abyss. She bit her lip.
“If I hadn’t checked on you,” he continued, wiping the blood that had trickled down her cheek, “if I hadn’t tracked you down, you would be dead.”
Nin averted her gaze, hating how he was right. Despite her valiant effort, the two men had overpowered her. But that didn’t stop her walls from shooting up around her wounded ego.
She sat up, pushing through the dull throb in her head. Cedric’s hand fell to his lap as he stared, stony and unyielding.
“Maybe if you had allowed me to help you in the first place, we wouldn’t be here,” she said, folding her arms.
“Do you think this is a game?” he growled, clenching the towel in his fist. “Do you think your little stunt makes you a professional? You’re not trained for this—you’re not an assassin—you’re supposed to stay alive!”
Each word twisted like a serrated dagger in her chest.
“Well, maybe if you trusted me,” she argued, straightening. She despised how her voice trembled beneath her anger. “I wouldn’t have to sneak around.”
“I can’t keep protecting you if you’re going to keep acting like a petulant child!”
“Maybe you shouldn’t!” she shot back. “I never asked you to!”
The silence that followed was heavy. Raw.
“It is my duty to keep you safe,” he said at last, his voice lower now, tempered like steel. “Whether you like it or not.”
“Just duty?” she asked. “Is that all it is?”
Hope slipped into the question before she could stop it. Hope that there could be some semblance of something—
“What more could it be?”
Her breath stilled. The words struck hard and true, like a fist to the gut. The hurt settled low and sickening.
She didn’t know why she had expected anything different. Or why these nauseating emotions would haunt her at all? Yet, something in the back of her mind whispered what she had known to be true for weeks.
She loved him.
But he would never love her in return.
His expression shifted—something softer, regretful, flickered across his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but she was quicker.
“Please leave,” she whispered.
For a moment, his hands clenched and unclenched in silence. A part of her wished he would stay and take back what he said—that he would confess the same secret things brewing in her heart.
But he stood, turned, and walked away.