29. Saint
Chapter twenty-nine
Saint
T he car's engine hums a low, steady lullaby as I park under the veil of night. There are no street lamps to give away our location, but I can't get close enough to set up proper surveillance.
I could probably hide myself among the ridiculous shrubbery and watch from closer, but it's fucking cold outside. I wouldn't be able to hear anything from there anyway and I can see enough from the safety and warmth of my car.
The princess's second-story window isn't illuminated, not fully anyway. There's definitely some light streaming from inside, enough to see her silhouette moving around, but it's dimmed.
I'm not even sure why I'm here. The Ice Princess is still untouchable and austere. Lately, though, there's been a subtle shift, a softening around the edges whenever she's with us. It's like watching the frost recede at the first hint of spring. My plan is working.
It's hard to deny the satisfaction I feel when I see the weight she's gained. Or the strange stirring in my chest when she smiles. But it doesn't mean anything, right?
She's still a job. A means to an end.
Whatever it is, the glow of Addy's window cuts through the darkness like a beacon, drawing my attention and refusing to let go. Inside the car, Chess’s fingers dance over his keyboard—a soft, rhythmic clacking that's become as familiar as my own heartbeat. Dre, beside me, leans forward in his seat, his ice-blue eyes lasered on the second-story of the Winthrop fortress.
"Anything interesting?" I murmur, not taking my eyes off her window, where shadows move and secrets hide.
"Same old bullshit," Chess replies without looking up. "Though, I did manage to—"
"Shh." Dre cuts him off, his voice low and urgent. "Something's off."
I turn to him, finding his gaze still fixed on the window. "What is it?"
Dre frowns, the lines around his mouth deepening.
I watch as the princess's silhouette move across the window. A shadow passes behind her, a male figure that stirs a primal alertness within me. I can't make out his face, but the sight sends a surge of possessiveness through my veins, a feeling I've got no right to claim.
"Who the fuck is that?" I mutter, the words coming out harsher than I intend. She's just a pawn in the game, the key to getting what we want from her so-called family. Yet, the thought of her plotting without me, possibly against me, it gnaws at my insides. Despite everything, I can't shake her from my thoughts.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel, leather creaking under the strain. I watch intently as the guy moves with a familiarity that sets my teeth on edge. He leans close to her, too close, and something flares inside me, raw and unbidden.
"Keep it together, Saint," I command myself silently. "She doesn't mean anything to you."
But who am I kidding? The more I tell myself she's nothing, the more she becomes something... someone impossible to ignore. I lean forward, trying to catch a glimpse of what they're doing, but the distance is a chasm I can't bridge from here.
"Damn it," I exhale, frustration simmering beneath my skin. The mystery man steps out of view, and the princess is alone again, her posture rigid, like she's bracing against a storm only she can feel.
"Princess," I say softly, though she can't hear me, "what are you up to?"
I can't just sit here, stewing in my own suspicions. I need to know. I need to see for myself what this is about. With one last look at the house that feels more like a fortress with each passing second, I cut the engine and step out into the cool night air.
"Time to get a closer look," I resolve, my heart pounding a rhythm of anticipation and dread as I move towards the shadows of the Winthrop estate.
"Let's do this then," Dre says as he opens his door, stepping out into the cool night.
We move like specters across the lawn, our steps silent, our presence nothing more than a whisper against the grandeur of the Winthrop estate. The ivy that clings to the side of the house offers a natural ladder, and we climb with practiced ease.
"Watch it," Chess whispers when a loose vine threatens to betray us with its rustling. We freeze, collectively holding our breath until the danger of detection passes.
My pulse pounds at my temples as we reach her window, its latch barely a challenge. With a careful nudge, it gives way, and we slip inside.
The curtain of blonde hair hides her face, but I catch the briefest glimpse of green eyes wide with something that might be fear, might be surprise. But it's gone before I can read it, hidden behind her ever-present mask of indifference.
"Saint?" she says, her voice steady despite the intrusion. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for answers," I reply, my gaze drifting away from her, scanning the room for clues. Something about this doesn't sit right with me, and I intend to find out what it is.
The room is steeped in shadows, and for a heartbeat, the three of us are nothing more than statues—trespassers caught in the silver of moonlight that sneaks through Addy's curtains. She's on her feet now, the furrow between her brows deepening as she takes us in.
The panic flickers again in her verdant eyes, a wild thing caged behind her cool exterior. "You shouldn't be here."
"Couldn't stay away," I admit, my voice low, feeling the weight of something unspoken heavy in the air between us.
Her gaze darts to Dre, then Chess, who remain silent sentinels by the window. She steps forward, her movements graceful yet tense, like a dancer anticipating a difficult routine. Her hand lands flat against my chest, and I'm aware of every point of contact where her palm presses into me.
"Please, you all need to leave." There's an urgency in her tone that wasn't there before; it's subtle but enough to make me question the facade she projects.
"Can't do that, princess," I murmur, catching her wrist as she tries to push me back. The contact sends a jolt through me, and my fingers move instinctively to her waist, holding her steady. She's as delicate as a bird in my grip, the feel of her bones beneath the thin fabric of her shirt sharper than I expected.
I suck in a breath, suddenly aware of how fragile she really is. It's like I'm seeing her clearly for the first time, beyond the icy walls she's built around herself. "You're not okay, are you?"
Her eyes flash with something fierce, a blaze that contradicts her frosty nickname. "I said go!"
"Princess..." The word is a half plea, half growl, torn from somewhere deep inside me. I can't seem to shake the way her vulnerability claws at the edges of my self-control. My grip loosens, but my hands don't leave her entirely. "Talk to us. What's going on?"
"Nothing I can't handle myself," she insists, pulling away, but there's a tremble in her voice that betrays her words. I'm left grappling with the desire to protect her and the knowledge that she's likely to reject any offer of help.
"Doesn't look like it," I counter, frustration simmering beneath my skin. I know what it's like to keep secrets, to live with ghosts nipping at your heels. I recognize the shadows lurking in her gaze because they're kin to my own.
"Trust is earned, Saint." Addy's whisper cuts through the tension. "You're in my room, uninvited. That's not how you earn it."
"Maybe not," I concede, backing off a step, but my eyes never leave hers. "But something tells me you need people willing to break a few rules for you."
"What I need is for you to leave."
I roll my eyes and let the silence settle between us, untouched and heavy with secrets. My gaze drifts from her to the room behind her. It’s sparsely decorated with most of the little knick knacks and things held in a built-in beside her bed. The closet is slightly ajar and I see walls lined with mirrors, each reflecting a different angle of this girl who's become an enigma I can't unravel. The pedestal in the center draws my attention—it's out of place, almost sacred in its isolation.
"Saint?" Her voice is a whisper, but it cuts through the stillness, sharp as ice.
I release her waist, slowly, feeling the ghost of her frame beneath my fingers. Dre steps up to take my place immediately. Chess is frozen by the window, his eyes on the mirrors.
Dre's arm snakes around her waist, pulling her protectively against him. His touch isn't hesitant or questioning—it's possessive, a claim that speaks volumes of his intentions.
What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into? Chess I'm not surprised at, but Dre? Demons don't feel.
I watch him press his lips to the space between her neck and shoulder before turning my attention back to the mirrors.
"What's with the mirrors?" I ask, stepping toward the pedestal, eyebrows knit together.
"Nothing. They're just—decorative." The word feels hollow, even to her, I can sense it.
"Decorative," I echo, not convinced, as I approach the object that seems to be more than mere decor. There's something about it that makes the air feel charged, like the moments before a storm breaks.
"Please don't," she pleads. "You can't be here. Someone could walk in at any minute."
"There's an easy solution for that," Dre smiles mischievously as he lets go of the princess and heads toward her door.
He stops short, drawing my attention. "What the fuck?"