Chapter 25
Astrid
“Is this how you always feel?” The orchestra is warming up on the stage, and guests are conversing as they settle in their seats, but even at a whisper, my question feels too loud.
In the velvet seat beside me, the prince laces our fingers together with exaggerated movements. “What do you mean?”
I’m not sure there are words to describe my current discomfort as I sit in the crowded theater.
It’s as much our lack of direction as it is the hundreds of eyes on me.
I try for some levity, hoping it helps calm my building nerves.
“I feel like I won’t be able to scratch my nose without someone judging my technique. ”
He laughs softly. “As long as your finger isn’t going up your nose, I don’t think you need to worry.”
I elbow him in the ribs, then wince when conversations increase among the symphony guests as they stare up at the box where the prince and I are sitting. “This is mental,” I mutter. “I swear it wasn’t this bad when I came here with Freya, and she’s the queen.”
“Bodyguards are invisible,” he says, then pulls his phone from his pocket. He grunts, putting it away without responding to whatever message he received. This is the third time he’s done that since we sat down, and with each glance he looks a little more frustrated.
The last thing I need right now is for him to be distracted.
“Is everything alright?” I ask, leaning into his arm.
He sighs. “My brother isn’t fond of this plan.”
“Your brother isn’t part of this plan,” I remind him.
“Well aware. That’s the problem.”
As I search the theater for any of our players, I try not to think about how adding Sander into the mix would have made tonight unbearable.
The few minutes I spent with the twins together were confusing enough.
“I wouldn’t have minded your brother’s help last week, but at this point we wouldn’t be able to bring another player into the game even if we wanted to. ”
Hex squirms in his seat when his phone buzzes yet again. “That’s the part he can’t understand. He’ll be fine, as long as he doesn’t stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.”
On cue, my nose tickles, but I refuse to touch it, no matter what the prince says about scratching it.
Instead, I pull my phone from my clutch to check the time.
Once the symphony starts, most of the audience should, in theory, turn their focus to the stage, leaving us free to see who’s left watching us.
Maybe then I can figure out why that courier wanted us here.
Ever since the prince told me about the man who followed him last night, I haven’t been able to stop wondering why a symphony, of all places, is where we need to be. I hoped we’d moved beyond the cloak and dagger part of this investigation, but clearly I was wrong.
I don’t like being wrong.
Right before I put my phone away, Callum finally texts me back after a full day without responding, and I read through his message quickly.
Callum:
Nothing in Blackmere’s accounts indicates he has funded the anti-royalists. Vardane, on the other hand, has moved a significant amount of money around in the last six months. Small increments eventually going to the same place. Some of them match the amounts I traced before.
Vardane? The last thing I need is another person to watch—Vardane barely participated over the weekend—but I scan the theater boxes for the lord anyway.
Most of the boxes are rented by the aristocracy, with a rare few held by wealthy members of the House of Commons, so it shouldn’t be difficult to find the man if he’s attending tonight.
“I see Lady Vardane,” the prince says close to my ear, “but not her husband.”
I follow his gaze to a box almost directly across from us. Lady Vardane is there with a few of her aristocratic friends, laughing and fanning herself with an elegant lace fan. She looks like she’s simply enjoying her evening out, and I envy her for it.
I wonder if she knows her husband could be a part of a plot against the monarchy she says she loves. I didn’t think Lord Vardane was involved after he was so detached at the retreat, but at this point I don’t think anything can surprise me.
This plot has turned out to be bigger than I originally suspected.
“There’s an empty seat in her box,” I say, making a mental note to keep an eye on the box in case Lord Vardane joins his wife.
“Do you see who else is here tonight?” The prince narrows his eyes.
A few boxes down from ours, Blackmere smirks and raises a glass of champagne to us. Beside him, Crowell focuses on his phone with a bored expression, like he couldn’t care less about what has the rest of the theater so riveted.
“At this point,” I mutter, “I genuinely don’t know Blackmere’s goal. It’s like he wants us to know he’s the bad guy, but he’s not the one sending money to the antis.”
The prince grunts. “There are a lot of things I’ve never understood when it comes to Alaric Blackmere.”
“And yet you had that fling with his sister.”
“A lapse in judgment.” His eyes jump to mine, a bit of mischief shining in them. “I have definitely set my sights higher this time around, wouldn’t you say?” He lifts our clasped hands to his mouth and seems all too pleased when an unwanted blush heats my cheeks.
It’s bad enough that my feelings for this man will likely never go away; I don’t need him to know the full extent of power he has over me.
Desperate to take some control over the evening, I lift my hand and brush my fingertips over his freshly-shaven cheek.
“You say that as if a common girl like me can measure up to a prince of Candora.”
He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Did you already forget how determined I’ve been in my pursuit of you? You’re leagues above me, and I’ll make sure the whole world knows it.”
“You’re ridiculous, Prince.”
“Not when it comes to you, Astrid.” He kisses my knuckle again, something like conviction in his gaze. It sparks a fire in my belly that I do my best to ignore; everything he’s doing tonight is part of the plan to prove our unity. “How do you want to play this tonight?”
Whatever way gets me more looks like the one you just gave me. Shaking that thought aside, I start thinking out loud. “Greywick sent us those tickets for a reason, and we need to figure out why. The courier didn’t give you any hints last night?”
He shakes his head at the same time the orchestra falls silent and the audience begins clapping. The conductor walks to his platform and bows as the house lights dim, and then he turns and cues the orchestra to begin.
As the first notes of Beethoven’s Symphony No.
3 fill the air, my attention returns to the man next to me, who keeps his gaze on the nobility in the boxes as his fingers tap his arm rest. He didn’t tell me much about the man from last night except to repeat what the courier told him, but no matter how hard he’s been trying to hide it, the prince is nervous. And I don’t blame him.
Anyone who isn’t afraid to follow Hex Alverra down a dark alley is dangerous.
We’re quiet for a few minutes, listening to the music and holding hands with a tighter grip than necessary. Like we’re both afraid to let go.
“So,” I eventually continue in my assessment, “until we learn otherwise, we’re here to be seen. Together.”
The prince looks at me, his brow furrowing. “You set the pace,” he says, just like he did last night. “I’ll follow your lead.”
It’s such an un-Hex thing to say that my thoughts stall for a moment.
It’s not that he’s never said anything like that, particularly in the last week, but it’s so hard to believe that he would be perfectly content to take that step back and let me take command.
Especially with something like this, when he’s such a prominent public figure.
I can accept that there’s more to him than what I knew before, but this humble mentality doesn’t feel like him.
“Astrid?” He reaches up and brushes a finger along my cheek, the worry in his forehead growing more pronounced. “What’s wrong?” His concern is adorable and breaks through my wild thoughts.
Sighing, I cover his hand with mine and press his palm to my cheek. “I’m just wishing I had all the answers.”
“We’ll get them. Together.” He gently nudges my head closer and touches a soft kiss to my forehead. I could spend all night in this spot, tucked away in our dim corner, but of course he pulls away before I’m ready. “We—” He freezes, his eyes locked on something across the theater.
“What?” I ask and turn to see what he’s looking at.
He stops me, holding my head in place, and is so focused on whatever it is that I’m not sure he realizes he does it. There’s the slightest movement in his lips, like he’s saying something, but no sound comes out until a soft, disbelieving curse falls off his tongue.
That doesn’t bode well. Or does it? I can’t read him right now.
“Talk,” I command.
But he doesn’t do that. Instead, he weaves his hand into my hair and brings our foreheads together, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply.
“Hex.” It’s halfway between a complaint and a quiet plea for him to never let go.
The prince tilts his head and kisses my temple. “Lady Vardane,” he whispers against my skin, so quietly that I almost don’t hear him, “just told her friend that it’s time to test us and see if we’re ready to join the cause.”
I gasp and try to pull away, but he holds me firmly in place. “Are you sure?” I ask.
“I read her lips.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
He groans. “Of course I could be wrong, but…”
But he probably isn’t. “What kind of test?”
With his fingers still tangled in my hair, he pulls back just enough to meet my gaze.
He shakes his head, lifting his lips in a warm smile, and kisses my forehead again with a look that says he can’t help it.
Anyone watching us would think he’s completely mad about me—I almost believe it myself.
“If I knew that,” he murmurs, “I would have led with that part.”
“Helena Vardane is supporting the antis?” I ask, taking care not to move my mouth too much in case the prince isn’t the only person attending the symphony with a talent for reading lips.
My heart starts pounding in my chest as I consider that possibility.
She hasn’t been on the suspect list despite her husband’s possible involvement, so I haven’t attributed any of the puzzle pieces to her.
How does she fit into everything? “But I thought she loved the monarchy,” I say breathlessly.
I need to calm down, but nothing about tonight has been by choice.
We have no control.
“So she’s said,” the prince agrees. “Many times. But it could easily be a cover, and her husband is one of our primary suspects. Would it be out of the realm of possibility that they’re both part of the scheme?”
“No. I just assumed…” Woman that I am, I assumed a man had to be the primary problem.
Have I ruined everything by being just as closed-minded as my boss?
“What do you want to do?”
I scoff, but really I want to bury my face into his chest and pretend I have a clue of what I’m doing. “Me? You’re the one they’re watching. The one who was followed. The one who can read lips well enough to see their plan unfolding.”
“You’re the agent, Astrid,” he argues. “And you were sent the symphony tickets.” He’s so calm that it’s infuriating.
Why can’t he be the same man who had a panic attack in a closet so I feel less pathetic about having no idea what’s coming for us?
“Astrid.” He takes my face with both hands, forcing me to look into his brilliant blue eyes.
“Breathe, yeah?” He inhales deeply, and I do the same, but it doesn’t help.
“There’s no way for us to know what this test is, so we’re as prepared as we can be. You’ll figure it out.”
“Ha!” Shaking my head, I put all my focus into keeping my expression neutral while my thoughts swirl.
Blackmere, Crowell, Fennor, Greywick, the courier, Lady Vardane…
They’re all involved, but we don’t know how deep any of them go or if we’re following the right trails or if the anti-royalists are too big for us to do anything about it.
Have we just been fooling ourselves into thinking we can protect the queen?
“You’ve always been good at improvising, Astrid,” the prince says and strokes my cheekbone with his thumb. “Since the day I first saw you.”
“I don’t know if you can call a researched debate improvising.
” Rolling my eyes, I glance at the stage when the music comes to a stop.
The orchestra picks up the next movement, this one more somber than the last, and I chance a look at Lady Vardane.
She’s focused on the orchestra, but her eyes flit over to me for half a second before returning to the stage.
Whatever her test is, it isn’t here yet.
We’re as prepared as we can be, but what if it’s not enough?
“That wasn’t the first time I saw you.”
I turn back to the prince. “What?”
Though he’s lost his smile, his sober expression carries the warmth he had before. “The first time I saw you, Professor Rookwood had just caught someone in her office while she was on lunch.”
I frown. “I never took a class from Rookwood, and I was definitely never in her office.” Thank goodness for that. Rookwood was notorious for failing students because her exams were so difficult.
The smirk he gives me catches my full attention.
“I didn’t say you were. But you were walking past the office while Rookwood was threatening to get the student expelled for stealing exam answers.
I don’t think you even knew what was going on, but you managed to get your hands on the exam in question and point out several ways each question could be misinterpreted.
Rookwood was so flustered that she let the student go. ”
I vaguely remember that. But it would have been during my first semester, and I didn’t have a class with Hex until our second semester. “How do you know that?” I ask weakly.
He entwines our hands again, his gaze boring into mine. “Because I watched it all happen from down the corridor, and you’ve been giving me reasons to watch you ever since.”
We might have some important test coming our way that we can’t afford to fail, but how’s a girl supposed to concentrate when a prince goes and says something like that?