Chapter 2
Steel flashed in the candlelight as the guards and I stared at one another—two swords raised against a cloaked stranger caught red-handed in the absent prince’s chamber.
For a breathless moment, neither of us moved, the crystal shard—far too valuable to belong to someone like me—gleaming traitorously in my clenched fist.
Then they surged forward. I frantically fumbled for the latch to the balcony door.
The lock barring my escape finally yielded beneath the twist of my wrist, but I’d barely begun to turn the knob before a hand like an iron shackle seized my arm and yanked me away from the promise of freedom.
I gasped as I stumbled backward, staring wide-eyed at the tall, sandy-haired man who held me in his relentless grip, ice-blue eyes staring down at me expressionlessly.
Another guard slammed the window shut behind me, the bang echoing like a verdict. My lock-pick clattered to the floor, vanishing beneath the bed with a sharp kick from the guard, far out of reach.
I twisted, thrashing like a snared animal to escape the chain created by the muscled arms gripping me. “Let go of me!”
I kicked, elbowed, and managed to drive one boot into a shin with enough force to earn a hiss of pain…but the guard’s hold didn’t loosen, only tightened. Immobility wasn’t enough for me to give up; I continued my struggle…until cold steel pressed against the hollow of my throat.
I froze. The stolen object slipped from my fingers and hit the floor with a dull clink, rolling once before lying still.
My other hand that had been reaching for my pocket stopped, and I lifted both hands slowly in reluctant surrender that wouldn’t be enough to save me from such a condemning predicament.
A flint struck and candlelight bloomed. The second guard’s face loomed into view, his dark eyes sharp with anger against an expression carved in stone.
He was even taller than the one who held me captive, with skin tinted a deep olive, and looked every bit as strong.
The fancy epaulets on his shoulders told me that he was the one in charge here, and therefore the one I should direct most of my efforts towards.
“A thief,” he muttered darkly, with a shake of his black hair. “A suicidal one if you think you can break into this palace and steal from Their Majesties.”
He reached forward and yanked my hood back. Light fell across my features and a brief flash of surprise flickered across his expression. He blinked once. “A woman. That’s a twist.” His lips curled faintly. “But unfortunately for you…it changes nothing.”
I often thrilled at this moment of realization when my prey discovered whom they were dealing with, but my usual pride at my identity catching someone off guard was absent; unfamiliar icy fear crept in instead, thoroughly unwelcome.
This foreboding felt different from the other times I’d been caught.
A decade of thieving came with the occasional misstep, and I’d faced plenty of tight spots—back alleys that led to dead ends, escape tunnels where I’d taken a wrong turn, failed rooftop scrambles.
These errors had occurred frequently during my training as I learned my craft, which had provided ample opportunity to practice the art of a narrow escape, and eventually evasion…
though it had been years since I had been trapped like this.
But this wasn’t a merchant lord’s manor or a coin-heavy noble’s parlor, nor was I in the small village where I’d grown up, where the magistrate or local shops had often taken pity on the penniless orphan. This was the palace, and I faced off against the mostly highly trained men in the kingdom.
I forced myself to stay calm, reminding myself that it wasn’t over yet; I still had one card left to play.
I shifted in the flickering light, angling my face so the candle painted me in its softest glow.
I widened my honey-brown, dark-lashed eyes, lifting them slowly in my best expression of innocence.
My lips parted, showing a hint of vulnerability.
I softened my expression, tilting my head with the practiced ease of someone who knew how to make herself memorable and allowing a dark blonde lock to fall over my shoulder, gleaming auburn in the flames. It had worked before. Many times.
The dark-haired guard’s eyes narrowed as his gaze flicked over me, but the hardness didn’t fade.
No flush or sign of longing, not even a glance towards my lips.
Just unyielding steel, entirely unmoved by the beauty that up until now had been my saving grace.
The blue-eyed man who held me didn’t ease his grip even a fraction as I turned my most piteous expression on him.
I let the charm drop, irritation flaring through my nerves. Curse the royal guard and their rigorous discipline.
Though the guard wielding his sword and the one trapping me in his relentless hold appeared entirely immune, their comrade who until now had waited near the heavy oak door cast me an uncertain glance and stepped forward.
“Captain Tomas? Rather than make an irrevocable mistake by acting in haste, perhaps we should hear her out.”
The guard hesitated before lowering his blade a fraction, but he didn’t relax his stance or take his deep brown eyes off me for an instant.
“You have five seconds to explain who you are, what you’re doing in this room, and what that object you tried to steal is to you before I run you through on the next breath. ”
I had no doubt he meant it. The candle’s glow cast a sinister sheen along the blade, taunting me with the sharpness I very much didn’t want to experience firsthand. A predicament with quite the dastardly consequence, but a thrilling challenge nonetheless.
I cycled through the tools in my arsenal to carefully select the next to employ. I slowly lifted my chin with a confidence I didn’t feel. “I wasn’t stealing.” With an effort I kept my voice firm.
The skeptical lift of the sandy-haired guard’s brow was immediate, while his taller comrade—Tomas apparently—barked a laugh, his blade still leveled at my throat.
“No? Then what exactly were you doing in His Highness’s room?
Admiring the wallpaper? You’re a persistent one, but it’ll take more than a pretty face and a fabricated fairytale to wriggle out of this. Only a royal pardon can save you now.”
“I’ve never stolen one of those before,” I mused. “Perhaps that should be my next conquest.” I batted my eyes with exaggerated innocence, but as before his stony expression didn’t so much as twitch.
“Vile woman,” spat the second guard, jerking me farther from the balcony, closer to the door that led to whatever fate they planned for me. “No respect for the crown, even while the royal family grieves. The prince is still missing, and you break into his chambers like it’s nothing.”
“Garrett.” Tomas’ voice was low with warning. “Keep your temper in check.” He turned his gaze back to me, as though waiting to see what answer I could give to this charge.
“Respect is a costly luxury,” I replied, tone light but laced with edge. “One not everyone can afford when it does nothing to feed empty bellies.”
I tilted my head, letting false innocence mask the fire behind my eyes. Tomas let out a derisive snort. “She changes faster than a spoiled noblewoman swaps dresses.”
“A thief wears many masks.”
Most would’ve given up after so many failed attempts—but a seasoned thief never relied on charm alone. If charm couldn’t sway him, then perhaps deceit could.
“I wasn’t here to steal,” I repeated, breath catching between words. “I came to pay my respects to the prince.” When these words had no effect, I pushed farther, just past the boundaries of a safe risk. “I hope to seek closure.”
That earned me a pause, a silence sharp enough to cut. The guards exchanged a glance, a flash of incredulous surprise that might have been amusement for such an implausible claim. I met their skepticism head-on, forcing myself not to flinch beneath their scrutiny.
“Seeking closure? Who are you to His Highness?”
I said nothing, but let their doubt widen the opening, saying nothing as they rushed to fill the silence.
The best lies weren’t forced—they were born from whatever truths my marks wanted to believe.
It was always better to let them lead the story, their own assumptions lending weight to my deception far more convincingly than anything I could fabricate.
Garrett narrowed his blue eyes. “You expect us to believe the prince had a lover the court knew nothing about?”
It took every ounce of discipline not to roll my eyes.
Lover? Of all the conclusions they could reach, they had to settle on the most inconvenient—as if they'd conspired to craft the most difficult lie for me, just to see if I’d stumble.
But I was a master player in the art of falsehoods and had danced through tighter nooses than this.
If they wanted a lover’s tale, then I would give them one—just enough truth to keep them guessing, just enough silence to let them write the rest themselves.
I slightly dropped my gaze and let a flicker of vulnerability creep into my voice.
“Before he vanished, we were…close. No one knew; they would never have approved.” I hoped the tremor in my voice could be mistaken for grief rather than fear.
I bowed my head and paused, just long enough for the implication they suspected to fully bloom.
My eyes met the shard of glass that lay forgotten on the floor, still calling to me.
Perhaps my story was a fabrication, but in that moment I’d held the broken remnant with its memories…
I’d felt a profound connection, as though I truly did know the prince.
What was meant as a lie felt strangely true.