Chapter 26 #2
“You don’t have to speak to me,” he said. “I’ve gotten rather good at reading you anyway. Like right now, you’re trying to decide if you should send me away.”
No. I hadn’t been, actually. Quinn hadn’t set foot in my chambers since the night of the assassination attempt. I was trying to decide why my heart was fluttering now that he was here. Too much wine after all, I supposed.
He must have read that in my expression, because he took another step. Then another.
“Alana.”
The way he said my name…soft, reverent, slurred from drink....
He was close enough now that I saw his chest rise and fall, heard his breathing stutter.
His hand rose, hovering near my face without quite touching.
Gods help me, I wanted to lean into it. I was utterly immobile, frozen still by morbid curiosity and a helpless fascination with the man. “Sometimes I…”
He trailed off, eyes dropping to my lips. The stare lingered, heavy with unspoken want as he swayed slightly closer. The magnitude of his desire caught up to me like a punch to the gut, and now I was in the compromising state of being too startled to react.
“Desesmie,” he whispered in his native tongue, barely more than a breath.
For a heartbeat, I thought he’d close the distance. His fingers finally touched my cheek, feather-light and unsteady, like an unsure heathen laying claim to something sacred. His eyes fluttered closed.
The door burst open. Air came surging into my lungs, and I barely suppressed a scream.
“Oh, good, you’re both here.” Florence stood in the doorway, her breathing stable despite clearly having run to get here. Her perfect appearance was slightly mussed, a suspicious mark blooming on her neck.
Quinn jerked back as if scalded. He looked lost, like a man waking from a dream he wasn’t ready to leave. The color drained from his face. His attention snapped back and forth, settling on me. “I—forgive me, the wine, I should—”
“Stay,” Florence ordered. “You’ll want to hear this.”
She closed the door firmly, moving to pour water from the pitcher.
She hardly seemed to notice the charge in the atmosphere.
“The duke was remarkably forthcoming. He spoke of active separatists among the Hadrian nobility. Lord Castel of Hiellas, Viscount Montevi of Alessa, even the head priest of the capital Orsino, all corresponding about potential successors to the Crown.”
The clouds dispersed. Quinn propped a hand atop the hilt of his sword. “I’ll arrest him tonight—”
“There’s more,” Florence cut him off, her eyes finding mine.
She took a long drink of water, exhaling slowly.
“He spoke of a plot seven years ago. How certain nobles were prepared to assist with said plot. How they waited for word that never came.” She paused, pinching her brow.
“Just what have you gotten me into here?”
I put out my hands in a gesture that pressed for urgency.
Florence’s frown deepened. “Among those conspirators was Shaun Balden.”
The silence was deafening. Quinn’s grip on the hilt tightened, his voice slightly raised in pitch. “Winnie’s father?”
A knife twisted into my ribs. I braced myself on the ledge of my bed; I hadn’t met Shaun, but from what little I knew about Winnie’s elusive past, the man had lost his status due to some scandal among the court. Was it related to this?
Quinn recalled this at the same time. “The man was derogated already for his ties to the Gallaean secession movement. This is common knowledge.”
“Shaun Balden was to assist with hiding the prince’s body after Alphonse Montford killed him in the woods…
though the duke claimed Balden recanted after the merger stabilized.
” Florence’s mouth twisted. “The duke himself took no side, the coward. Said he watched to see if the boy was ‘meant to be king’; if Nicolas survived, it was the gods’ will, and if not… ”
She shrugged, the gesture eloquent in its callousness, but time had stopped for me. Not only had she pressed for incredibly damning information, but she’d uncovered Nicolas’ secret without my involvement at all. I tried to swallow and couldn’t.
Then there was Shaun Balden. If what she said was true…
Quinn turned for the door. I stormed after him, clasping his hand before he got away.
“I owe my allegiance to Nicolas,” Quinn spoke, cold and harsh, as if reminding himself of the fact. He couldn’t face me, not directly, though his head did turn to where our hands met. “He must know.”
I pleaded with my eyes. If he saw my desperation, surely he would at least consider waiting, discussing an alternate plan of action. Perhaps there were sides we hadn’t heard to the story, or maybe the duke was lying.
Quinn pried my fingers away. From his side profile I could see the grim conclusion he’d drawn, but he took no satisfaction in what must be done about it. “You should find Winnie.”
The parts of him that had come unraveled were snipped away, and the viscount was whole again. He walked in long strides until the last of him vanished beneath the stairs.
I turned to Florence. “Winnie was lingering at supper when we left. She may still be there now…”
“Then I suggest you run.”
The viscount hadn’t made much ground, but he did reach the prince before I entered the dining hall. I found him with his back turned, whispering something directly into Nicolas’ ear; the color drained from the prince’s features, and from that distance he met my gaze.
Nicolas stood quickly, pardoning himself from the few who remained, and rushed from the room at Quinn’s side. I searched for Winnie, finding no sign of her; likely she had gone to bed after I was excused.
The prince stopped at my side, eyes fixed ahead. “I see you’ve sobered.”
“My prince,” I said quietly, matching his pace.
Quinn followed, too close for comfort, and I had to keep my volume at an absolute minimum.
“Please, I must know, is Winnie’s life at risk?
” I took hold of his arm. He might not have shirked me away, but his lack of response was equally telling. “She had nothing to do with it.”
“Quinn will debrief me, Alana,” he replied. “I require some space from you at the moment.”
“From me? What have I done?”
We continued walking, but the anxiety made every footstep feel like I was sporting chains around my ankles. What could Quinn have told him? Had he mentioned our shared moment in my chambers?
No, that wouldn’t make sense. It would implicate him, not me, and the prince did not seem the slightest bit frustrated with his childhood friend.
“You sent Florence to retrieve the information, and now one more person knows the truth of my past,” said Nicolas, putting an end to my attempts at solving him.
The worry, however, was there to stay. “The entire kingdom believes Alphonse was killed by bandits. You’ve created another loose end; the only ones who knew the truth were either those I named, or those who were complicit in the matter.
I asked you not to betray me, Alana. Now… ”
I slowed. “You gave me little choice. There are Banewights in the court. This was the only discrete way to get the information we needed… If you had a better idea for how I might go about it, you should have offered it. Or would you have preferred I seduce the information from the duke?”
“You are so damned—” He stopped himself, growling. My spirits deflated with the possibilities of insult he’d concocted in his mind. “As I said, I require space. Begone. Seek out Winnie if you must, and then wait in your bedchamber.”
Quinn gently pushed past me, refusing to meet my eyes before he caught up to Nicolas.
I watched until their shadows disappeared, then veered off toward the north wing of the principal floor.
It occurred to me that, despite months of living in the castle, not once had I been inside of Winnie’s bedchambers.
I had no way of knowing which room belonged to Winnie, and I couldn’t exactly call out to her.
I licked my lips and made the only sound I could without using my voice, emitting a loud, tuneless whistle and waiting for response. Nothing.
I tried again, adjusting the sound so that it matched the syllables, the up-and-down of her name. I knocked on doors, turning with frustration for every sleepy-eyed noble to answer the call. Many of them were still out for drinks, their rooms emptied.
Feverish, I took hold of a decorative china vase and threw it to the floor. Its crash alerted everyone, each of them peeking into the corridor, but the manic play had worked in my favor. Winnie came out from her room in a night robe, a wild look about her, and stomped over to me barefooted.
“Gods’ graces, woman!” she hissed, quiet so that no one else might hear the improper address. “What in the hells has gotten into you?”
I seized her shoulders. Winnie’s features dropped.
“What…” she started again. “What is it, Alana?”
I took my lady-in-waiting by the hand and escorted her back downstairs, retreating into the safety of my own bedchambers. When I’d shut the door, I turned to find Florence still sitting near the window, her eyes fixed up at the moon.
“Florence!” I snapped.
“I thought I should be here,” she returned, turning to Winnie with an apology in her features. Winnie was disarmed by that, shifting her focus between us.
“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” Winnie pleaded. “I don’t appreciate the suspense.”
Gods, where to begin? I knew I didn’t have all night, but I couldn’t fathom jumping straight to the point. Not when her parents’ fate was the punchline.
“Prince Nicolas suspected Duke Augustine of treason. I had Florence investigate him, and he…he implicated your father in the secession movement.”
Winnie’s cheeks went red. She leaned on the wall, staring forward at nothing, and was so quiet, I almost thought she’d gone into shock. “I…”
Her lips quivered, and then she looked at me.
“I meant to tell you at some point. I suppose I assumed you would hear it from someone else, but that was unfair of me—”