Chapter Nine
The man’s essence pursued us through the last of the labyrinthine halls, all but chasing us out.
The unanswered questions pattered against my every thought, matching the force of the rain against the stately Royal Mews.
Warm hay and damp horse blanketed the muggy air as I eyed the small curricle with growing weariness. It was a two-seated carriage
that sat high on two large wheels—the sort toffs loved to race each other in, heedless of the rest of us who could be crushed
beneath them.
My nerves prickled at the thought of being made to sit beside Foxcourt, even for the short duration of the ride to Foxcourt
House. Yet even that misery paled in the face of the suffocating amount of polish some helpful fiend had doused the carriage
in, scrubbing it until it gleamed like a newly minted coin in the nearby lantern’s light. Not even pressing a hand to my nose
and mouth could stifle the sneeze that burned up my throat and erupted out of me.
The bleary-eyed groom startled at the sound, but Foxcourt merely went about checking the straps and harnesses, stroking a
hand along each horse’s flank as he worked. Eyes and nose burning, I moved past the men, climbing into one of the waiting
seats without Foxcourt’s assistance.
The horses pawed at the stone ground, as impatient as I was to leave the palace. After raising the curricle’s hood in anticipation
of the rain, Foxcourt climbed up beside me and took up the ribbons. I ignored his look of disapproval, and soon enough, we
were off.
An exhilarated laugh bubbled in me as Foxcourt deftly navigated us out of the mews, through a nearby gate, and onto the empty
street. Within a few moments, the rain eased, before mercifully halting altogether. Still, a deep gray clung to the sky like
a wet wool blanket, dampening the vibrancy of the coming dawn.
And yet, even those storm clouds seemed positively joyful compared to the one glowering on the seat beside me. It was a wonder the lightning strike of his furious gaze hadn’t reduced the road to a smoking pile of rubble.
With anyone else, I would have known exactly what he was feeling with a single breath. Being forced to decipher Foxcourt’s
moods was like reading tea leaves, deriving meaning from the smallest of unconscious tells. It was maddening and tiring, and
to the part of me that had never cowed in the face of a challenge, strangely exhilarating.
“Who was that man?” I asked again.
Foxcourt’s jaw worked back and forth. “It’s not for you to worry about.”
The sharp words were clearly meant to nip the bud of the conversation before it could bloom. Unfortunately, he was speaking
to me, and just then, very little would have brought me more joy than aggravating him.
“Eleanor—”
“Her Royal Highness,” Foxcourt interrupted, “is also not your concern.”
I released a shuddering breath. Exhaustion already had my temper on a short leash, and the stench of the polish was making
my eyes water. It drowned out even the heady blossoms of the orchid trees that lined Royal Park to my right.
“Who do you believe poisoned the King?” I pressed. “Is it him? Is that why you told Eleanor to lock the door? And if that
is the case, don’t you think it is for me to worry about?”
Foxcourt said nothing.
“I see,” I began bitterly. “I’m to know nothing beyond what task I’ve been given as your prisoner—”
“My prisoner?” he ground out. “Would a prisoner be allowed to negotiate an eye-watering reward for herself with a king?”
“What does it matter to you?” I challenged. “You’ll get what you want out of me regardless.”
I didn’t need to smell his disgust to feel it simmering between us. “Did it ever cross your covetous mind, even once, to do
something simply for the good of the kingdom?”
I sent him an incredulous look. “Of course not. What has this kingdom ever done for the good of me? Only the rich and titled can afford to work for charity, my lord.”
His eyes found mine with his next harsh breath, but he had no answer to that. A little thrill of victory moved through me
at having outmaneuvered him.
“And anyway,” I continued, rubbing at my burning nose. Another sneeze was coming on too quickly to stop it. “You don’t care that I’ve asked for the inheritance. You’re irritated that you didn’t anticipate I’d ask for it, and that you didn’t know Vernon and I were acquainted.”
There was a telling beat of silence before Foxcourt answered, a touch too coolly, “Is that so?”
“Yes, because you cannot fathom, let alone tolerate, anything being outside of your control—” I sneezed. Bloody polish.
“Bless you,” Foxcourt said begrudgingly.
Whorls of early-morning mist caressed the green of Royal Park as we rolled steadily alongside it. Somehow, the light’s gray
pallor drew out the glory of summer from the leaves and flower beds, making their scents sweeter and their colors more vibrant.
There was a magic to these quiet hours, when the world stilled and seemed to recall what it had once been before: a land not
of men but of fairies.
“I’ll need to go to Briarwood Palace today to retrieve a few things,” I said into the silence.
“What things?” Foxcourt asked.
“That is for me to worry about, not you,” I said, mocking.
His mouth flattened into an obstinate line. Good. Let him remember that there would be no peace between us after all he had
done to me.
“Tell me,” he insisted, looking more surly by the moment.
I smirked. Not used to being denied, was he? The suspense would be healthy for him, then. And, in truth, I wanted to keep
my objective from him for as long as I possibly could. Once I had my hands on what I was looking for, there’d be a risk of
him taking it or holding it over me in some way.
At the sound of the curricle’s wheels spitting up gravel, Foxcourt cast a distracted look toward the one on the left, his
frown deepening.
“My plan is to depart from Foxcourt House around luncheon,” I answered instead, “and to return before supper, for you to snap
the shackles back on.”
“I will make the arrangements for us,” Foxcourt said, in a voice he clearly believed brooked no arguments.
“You misunderstand me,” I told him. “I am going alone.”
“Then you misunderstand me,” he bit out. “I will be accompanying you at all times.”
“And yet you’d have me believe I’m not your prisoner—” I sneezed before I could stop myself—then sneezed again and again,
until my face ached and my eyes watered freely.
“What the devil is the matter with you?” Foxcourt demanded, glancing between me and the road.
“Charming,” I bit out. “It’s the linseed oil they used, if you must know—but back to my point, I am more than capable of taking care of myself—”
Foxcourt’s sharp inhalation was the only warning I received.
His hand shot up, pushing back the curricle’s hood, and then I was falling, my chest throbbing from the force of his shove.
I gasped as I landed flat on my back in the cold mud. The soft pink blossoms of the orchid trees shivered, sending a scattering
of leftover rain and petals over me.
I bolted upright at the sound of a metallic groan, twisting around in time to see that Foxcourt had somehow managed to dislodge
the horses from the curricle. They carried on down the street, dragging the steel shaft between them, as Foxcourt leapt to
the ground. His hat gone, his face wild, he bolted for me.
“Get down!” he barked.
“Have you lost your—”
The words choked off as he threw his massive body over mine. My cheek pressed to his soft, superfine jacket, my hands instinctively
wrapping around the narrow taper of his waist. The heat of him thawed even the cold grip of the mud soaking through my dress.
In the silence, I couldn’t distinguish the sound of his racing heart from mine.
It was only when I felt his lips move against my loose curls that I realized the fall had dislodged my bonnet—a bonnet that
was now as ruined as this dress I’d be responsible for replacing.
Gathering my wits back to me, I shoved at the wall of him, only for Foxcourt to curl around me tighter.
The explosion tore through the peace of the morning, shattering the body of the curricle and sending a tower of fire blazing
toward the heavens.
My ears rang, and my nose filled with smoke as burning debris pelted the ground. Foxcourt grunted, his body straining as though
he’d absorbed a blow. No more than a moment later, the smell of singed fabric stained the air.
And still, he didn’t move.
“You’re hurt,” I said, trying to push him off me to see. His grip on me turned desperate. “Foxcourt!”
He came back to himself all at once, drawing in a wheezing breath as he pushed himself upright. Cold air rushed between us, but it was the sight of him that chilled me.
“My—” His voice was hoarse. He took in the scene with unfocused eyes, blinking. “My apologies, I—”
I staggered up to my feet, gripping him by the shoulders to keep him from escaping. The back of his jacket was singed, torn,
and ragged in several places. I brushed ash and wood splinters from it, unable to tell if the latter was from the curricle
or the ruined remains of the nearby trees. There didn’t seem to be blood, at least—the man had the old god of luck on his
side.
“I’m fine,” Foxcourt said gruffly, shrugging away from my touch. “Are you all right, Lockwood?”
I stared at him. “You’re the one who was nearly flayed and seared like a cut of beef.”
Behind us, the trunk of one of the orchid trees gave out beneath its own weight, cracking like a bone before it slammed to
the ground. I winced, surveying the others tipping dangerously or uprooted entirely. Ash and scorched black blossoms swirled
around us.
My heart was skipping too quickly for me to catch my breath, struggling to release that delayed terror. The claws of realization.
We would have died.
We should have died. Exactly as William Rosebourne had been sent to hell before us.
“Someone . . . in the stables,” Foxcourt was muttering to himself. “Today—no—”
“How did you know?” I demanded, gripping one of his lapels to force him to look at me. “At least tell me that, damn you! I
deserve answers—who is trying to kill you? Unless . . .”