Chapter 17
Hex never came to my room. My phone said he read my text soon after I sent it, but he never responded, and exhaustion overtook me soon after. I woke just before dawn to find the text unanswered and Hex’s bedroom door shut.
With the retreat wrapping up this morning, I’ve been collecting the bugs I planted around the house and texting Callum about what I heard last night, but I can’t help feeling like the retreat was a failed mission.
Maybe Hex will have something to report, or maybe Callum will find something on Hex’s phone when he’s no longer on an assignment from Virek.
But my stomach is in knots, as much from the moment in the closet as from the lack of any clues to tell us where to go next.
None of this weekend went how I expected it to.
As I grab the last listening device from the library, my phone buzzes with a text. My ridiculous heart hopes it’s finally a response from the prince, but it’s a text sent to my civilian number.
Greywick:
I’ve been told the weekend went as planned. Thank you for your assistance, Miss Storme. You are free to return home at your leisure, and we may request your services again in the future if you are available.
Maybe this was all really just a security job and I’ve gotten paranoid and too reliant on my gut, but I can’t let myself believe that.
Even without any definitive proof that anyone in this house is involved with the anti-royalists, we followed a distinct path to get this far.
Crowell’s comments and questions—to both Hex and me—were too pointed to be random, and Rourke is nervous for his aristocratic clients.
Someone out there wants to see Freya fall, and it’s starting to feel like I’m the only one who can stop them.
That would be less daunting if I had any idea how to do that.
Finding Lord Fennor alone in one of the sitting rooms, I give him a bright smile as I approach the sofa he’s leaning against with a glass of water in his hand. “Good morning, my lord!”
He winces and puts a finger to his lips at the same time someone groans from the other side of the couch. “A tad quieter, if you please, Miss Storme. He’s not recovering well this morning.”
Expecting Northam or Bellgaard, I peer over the back of the sofa with a sympathetic expression. Then I gasp. “Hex!”
He scrunches his face, eyes shut tight as he lays motionless on the sofa. “Did you miss the ‘quieter’ part of his order, Storme? Vitte, I didn’t know you were so chipper in the morning.”
“He’s hungover,” I say, though that’s obvious.
Fennor chuckles as he hands the prince the water. “He and Blackmere had quite the night. I found them in the billiards room after midnight, though I doubt either was sober enough to notice me.”
Realization hits so hard that I almost laugh, and I have to bite my lips to keep from smiling.
Smart, getting Blackmere drunk. I lean over the couch and study the prince for a moment, wishing he could tell me his plan this morning, since he clearly isn’t finished yet.
I’m guessing he’s playing the martyr to gain Fennor’s sympathy, and I don’t want to get in the way.
I haven’t forgotten what Rourke said about Fennor’s influence; he might have information that could help us.
“I didn’t think you would drink so much, Prince,” I say lightly.
He winces and grumbles something unintelligible.
Fennor touches my arm, gesturing for me to join him several feet away. “It isn’t really my place, Miss Storme, but perhaps you should leave His Highness be this morning. He was rather distraught after you shot him down last night.”
After I what? I don’t ask that question out loud, but I have no idea what he’s talking about. Crowell and Blackmere were both pretty convinced Hex and I were sharing a romantic moment in the closet, and that was the last I spoke to the prince. When would I have turned Hex down?
“I can’t call His Highness and myself good friends,” Fennor continues, frowning at the supine prince, “but I know he’s one of the best men out there. If you’re setting your sights higher, you’ll be disappointed.”
“She deserves better,” Hex mumbles. Clearly we did not go far enough for our conversation to be private. “What do I have to offer her, anyway?”
Fennor rolls his eyes. “You’re a prince,” he says with exasperation. “You can offer her the world, mate.” Then he looks at me and grimaces. “You’re allowed to choose, Miss Storme, but I wonder if you chose wrong in this instance.”
I’ve been trying my best to play up Hex’s interest in me so the nobility see me, but this is going far beyond that.
Pretending to drink away his misery after I snubbed him feels…
wrong. Very un-Hex-like. Fennor doesn’t seem to suspect anything is amiss, and hopefully Blackmere didn’t either.
But what does the prince hope to gain by carrying on the ruse without Blackmere nearby?
“Have your other guests risen yet?” I ask Fennor.
He nods. “Northam is the only one still here, and I invited him to stay a few days longer. Poor bloke is…going through some things, and I don’t want to leave him on his own with all the…” He trails off and looks at me, his brow furrowing. “We Candorans look out for each other, don’t we?”
That’s almost the same thing Rourke said last night, and it warms my soul to know someone as high as Fennor can be so good of heart.
“Yes, we do,” I agree, then look over to the sofa when Hex moans again. “In that case, I should see that the prince gets home in one piece. He’s the reason Greywick hired me for this weekend, after all.”
“Greywick would have recommended extra security even without the prince here,” Fennor says, and there’s some bite in his tone. “Not for my benefit, of course.” He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Wearily. “Could I ask you a frank question, Miss Storme?”
“She loves frankness,” Hex says and throws an arm over his eyes.
I wrinkle my nose at him. Hopefully he isn’t this much of a pain when he’s really hungover. Then I smile at Fennor. “Of course, my lord.”
He drops his voice low and leans in close. “Do you know what you and Hendrik have gotten yourself into? Truly?”
That was not what I expected, and I’m not sure of the best way to answer. I’m ninety percent positive that Fennor isn’t supporting the anti-royalists, but there’s still that ten percent uncertainty. “What we’ve gotten into?” I repeat and tilt my head.
Fennor scans the empty room, a furrow in his brow.
“Candora is uneasy, and you have landed yourself in the middle of that unease. I don’t know if that was intentional or if you’ve simply been in the wrong places at the wrong time, but…
You once protected the queen, and there is nothing more honorable than protecting your country. ”
“You equate Candora with Queen Freya?” I can’t fully hide the surprise in my question.
Fennor lifts one side of his mouth in a wary smile. “No one loves this country the way she does. Anyone who can look past their own ego can see that.”
Putting my hand on his arm, I look at him seriously. “What do you know that I don’t, Lord Fennor? I can’t protect Candora with what I’ve got.”
To my dismay, any hope that may have been in his eyes fades into worry.
“I wish I had something to tell you, Miss Storme,” he murmurs, glancing toward the door.
“It took me longer than I’d like to realize my part in everything, though I’ve never been a willing participant.
” His eyes shift to Hex’s still form. “All I can say is that the prince and Blackmere seem to have…bonded…last night. You may want to be certain which side he’s really on if you decide to continue to trust His Highness. ”
I really hope that means Hex was an excellent actor last night, not that his loyalties have shifted.
“I…” I swallow the anxiety that rises in my throat, forcing a smile. “Thank you, Lord Fennor. I should get the prince back to the palace, but I’m grateful to know where you stand.”
I move to the couch and lift Hex’s arm from his face, rolling my eyes when he grimaces. “How did you get here, Prince? Do you have a car?” Please tell me he didn’t take a motorbike like I did.
“I’ve already called for his driver,” Fennor says. “I can have your bike sent to you if you plan to travel with him, Miss Storme. My people will take good care of it.”
My smile becomes far more real. “Thank you, my lord. That is…unexpected.”
He chuckles. “We’re not all like Blackmere and Crowell. Some of us try to be decent where we can.” Hex snorts, and Fennor frowns. “Er, let me help you. However strong you may be, I guarantee he’s heavier.”
“I don’t need to be carried,” the prince complains and rolls from the couch with only one foot beneath him, ending up on one knee with his palms pressed into the rug.
He groans and stares at his hands on the floor for a moment, and then he rises with a great deal of difficulty. “I’m not foxed; I have a headache.”
I watch him take one heavy step that nearly brings him back to the ground, then grab hold of one arm and tuck myself beneath it. “Are you sure about that, Prince?”
“Do you have to talk so loud?” he replies.
I laugh and start leading him to the front of the estate, Fennor right behind us. “And you wonder why I haven’t given in to your charms before now,” I mutter so only he can hear.
“It’s because you don’t know me,” he mutters back.
“Sure I do.” The lie doesn’t come as easily as I’d like, and with the way Hex squints at me as we walk, I wonder if he caught the fib. His dedication to the hungover act is impressive, I’ll give him that, but thankfully he’s mostly walking with his own strength. He really is heavier than he looks.
Thank the skies Fennor called for Hex’s car, which waits for us on the front drive. The driver opens the door after giving the prince a curious examination, and Hex practically falls inside and crawls to the far end of the seat.
I turn back to Fennor. “I’ll grab his luggage.”
“Already on its way down. Yours as well, Miss Storme.”
I smile. “You continue to surprise me, Lord Fennor.”