Chapter 17
Seventeen
DISCREPANCIES
The road into the village of Emberstead, in the remote outskirts of Lucerne, was too narrow. We had to leave our horses at the foot of the mountain before the path wound higher through the pass. Snow lay in uneven drifts along the stone walls and beneath the bare-limbed trees.
The village was tucked into a hollow of the mountainside, small and weathered and nearly swallowed by winter. Roofs sagged beneath layers of snow, shingles patched and re-patched over the years.
My breath ghosted white into the bitter air, and I tucked my fur cloak closer over my lab coat. I’d made sure to change back into my own clothes before we left the castle.
I tried to keep my gaze ahead, to keep my thoughts rigidly elsewhere, but I was all too aware of the crunch of the king’s boots behind me, the shape of him in my peripheral vision, the way his presence seemed to press against the cold itself.
I didn’t know what was infuriating me more. The fact that I had let him touch me again and liked it, or the fact that he was carrying on like nothing even happened—again.
I focused on Sophie’s white wool and fur, her golden hair braided beneath a hood dusted with snow, as she drifted subtly from one side of the road to the other.
Perhaps she and I had both been wrong this morning. Any goodness we saw in the Wicked King was likely the result of his powerful aura, his seduction spells. Perhaps I was merely too wrapped up in my old feelings for him that I couldn’t see what was plain as day.
Gregory’s staunch figure led the way down the isolated village paths.
Distrust was visible in the line of his shoulders, in the way he never let too much distance between himself and his sister, in the frequent glances he cast toward the king as one might watch a sheathed blade left too near the table’s edge.
His hand strayed often toward the weapon at his hip, then away again, likely a discipline learned and repeated.
We had come to the village seeking rumors of monsters.
But Gregory knew the only monster here was walking among us.
When his pace slowed, Sophie hurried him along with a touch on the sleeve. When the king drew too near her brother, she found a reason to occupy the space between them.
It almost worked.
For his part, the king held himself with a rigid stillness that did not read composed so much as contained, as though stillness was the only thing keeping something sharper at bay.
He was not simply unfamiliar with polite company.
It was as if he did not quite understand why it existed at all, and the absence of that understanding gave him an edge that felt dangerously close to violence.
Something moved.
His head snapped toward the rear corner.
A flicker only. Fast. Barely there.
The king leaned closer to my ear. “Stay close. There’s something wrong with this place.”
I shot him a look. “What do you mean?”
The strong line of his throat bobbed. “Do you not feel that?”
I reassessed our surroundings, trying to muster more suspicion. The wintry village seemed as innocuous as any wintry village I had seen on Wünder.
Sophie cast a glance over her shoulder. “There have been whisperings about this village. People have been speaking of… strange occurrences. They started a few moons ago.”
A vague notion clicked in my head. “How many moons ago?”
She shrugged. “Six to eight, maybe more.”
“Rumors are only rumors,” Gregory pointed out. “Let’s not find fault before there is anything to find.”
The king couldn’t help a scoff, triggering a clench in Gregory’s jaw.
It might have been na?ve, but Gregory trusted his people. He was the kind of person who saw the good in others first—except possibly the king.
“We’re wasting time.” The king’s impatience was not disguised.
Gregory’s suggestion was cold and flat. “What exactly does His Majesty propose? We round up all of these peaceful villagers and use Allie to interrogate them? Choke everyone here with your shadows? Shall we burn the village down before we even find out what we came here for?”
The king scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “It’s faster.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant for me to hear his mutterings, but I did.
“I don’t know how you run things in your kingdom, Your Majesty, but I cannot justify simply killing off my people over mere speculation.
” His hand gripped his sword tighter. “And I don’t burst into other peaceful kingdoms and summon chaos for no reason.
You are lucky there were only minor injuries caused by your tricks this morning. ”
“I already told you I had nothing to do with that.” The king’s response was through gritted teeth. “There is a credible threat, however.” His gaze fixed on the prince. “And it leads to your kingdom.”
“In that regard, then, do we not both accuse without proof?” Gregory huffed.
The king hissed, leaning in. “Oh, I have plenty of proof. I’ll show you some—”
Gregory all but growled in his face.
“Hey.” I waved my hand.
They both looked at me, and I held their gazes.
“We don’t know anything for certain yet.” I pointed back and forth between them. “This arguing? This is what’s wasting our time, alright?”
Gregory exhaled slowly, tension still evident, but he did not argue.
The king’s forehead was still creased.
The lane split ahead into two narrow roads, each swallowed by leaning cottages and drifting snow, both looking equally bleak.
Sophie’s gaze tracked from Gregory’s to the king’s and back. Her soft voice cut through the tension. “Perhaps we would be more efficient if we split up.” She pushed Gregory closer to me. “Gregory, take Allie. His Majesty and I will go down this way.”
The king jolted in his stance, eyebrows snapping together, mouth opening to protest.
I cut him off. “Great idea.” Eyes lighting up, I gestured Gregory down the left lane. “Your Highness, let’s go this way.” The king’s glare seared the back of my head, but I didn’t turn.
I was confident Sophie could handle herself. The two men needed a time-out, and I wasn’t particularly eager to be alone with the king again just yet.
Gregory led the way past split logs stacked in leaning towers, iron tools left half-buried beside sheds, rope lines crusted with ice, fences bowed outward where weather had won small victories year after year.
I focused on the snowy road ahead, squinting amidst the light snowfall. I was almost certain I could see lantern lights in windows, but they all darkened as we approached. “There is something odd about this village. Is it the weather keeping everyone indoors, or is it always this quiet?”
Shutters shifted, then stilled. A cart sat abandoned near the square, one wheel slowly turning in the wind as if recently disturbed.
He clicked his tongue, seeming remorseful. “I confess some of the more remote outskirt villages may be in a state of neglect, more than I would like. The kingdom is expansive, and I’m afraid I may have overlooked some areas.”
I gave him a sympathetic look. “I am sure you are already doing your best, Your Highness.”
“Please call me Gregory. Everyone does.”
His warm smile so very easily put me at ease.
I returned it. “Your entire court seems to have the highest respect for you.”
His grin turned lopsided, as if in embarrassment. “Sophie and I try our best to rule as our parents did—gods bless their souls. Not with fear, but with everyone having a voice. We endeavor to treat everyone as family. It’s been part of our culture, our upbringing.”
It made perfect sense.
Pursing my lips, I couldn’t help but rationalize.
Gregory and Sophie had been groomed to rule their kingdom since their childhood. They had been taught the royal graces, diplomacy, control, and the responsibility of authority.
The Wicked King himself had no training. This power, this title, this responsibility, had been thrust upon him not even a year ago. He had been doing everything by himself. No advisors. No council. No servants. No friends.
Before he was crowned king, he had lived his life as an assassin—predominantly alone. It was unreasonable to expect him to have the type of amiability that the prince seemed to possess so naturally.
Gregory’s countenance bore no vanity, no overconfidence. I could tell he still thought he wasn’t good enough. It was rare to see such humility in a powerful leader. He would make a truly excellent king.
“Well, it’s working.” I gave him an encouraging shrug. “I am sure your parents are proud of the man you’ve become.”
“Thank you for saying that. Coming from such an accomplished woman, I take that as the highest compliment.”
I didn’t know about “accomplished.” I stifled a derisive chuckle. “You barely know me.”
Eyes gleaming, his smile widened. “I know you are a scientist. I know you are clever and strong. I know somehow you hold your own against the most ruthless king Wünder has ever known. That by itself is already an unmatched feat across the land. But I also know you are kind, courageous, brave…and beautiful.”
“Oh.” My mouth dropped open.
Gregory dropped his gaze for a moment.
I tensed in my stance.
His emotions brushed against my heightened senses—wariness held tight beneath discipline, protectiveness warming when he looked into my eyes, and a notion he was debating whether or not to conceal.
I took a step back—wrong move—
Behind me, a rough hand shot out from the shadow of a doorway, yanking me backward against a hard chest.
I yelped as I struggled to pull away, only to gasp, every muscle locking, when a knife flashed cold against my throat.
Oh shoot.
Gregory’s eyes were wide in shock. Stopping several paces away, his hand hovered near his sword.
“Your Highness,” the villager greeted, low and hoarse. He smelled of sweat, damp wool, and malice. His grip cinched tighter around my waist, binding my arms to my sides, as he dragged me another step back, the blade pressing down just enough to sting.
Gregory put his hands up, his eyes never leaving the knife at my throat. “Sir, I think it would be in your best interests to let the lady go right now.”
The wind moved between us, carrying the sharp scent of frost and smoke, while Gregory met the man’s gaze with a calm that felt deliberate, patient, as though he meant to talk this madness down rather than force it.
The man chuckled, walking us backward toward a snow-covered warehouse. He banged his elbow against the large, heavy door. “On the contrary, Your Highness, I think it would be in your best interest to walk away.”
As the door slid open, he dragged me past the doorway. The warehouse, no warmer than outside, was dimly lit, and looked empty at first.
Suddenly, trapdoors burst open beneath piles of straw.
False walls swung outward. More figures than seemed possible in the available space lunged out from behind stacked barrels and from the loft above, dropping into the warehouse, their faces gaunt and fever-bright, their hands clutching whatever weapons they could wield—pickaxes with splintered shafts, rusted swords, heavy sticks studded with nails, lengths of chain that swung in vicious arcs.
And in the center of the warehouse, a fantastical contraption sat on the hay-covered floor, its otherworldly glow casting eerie shadows across the walls.
Gregory’s mouth was still open, but he blinked quickly to recover. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. “Let the lady go. That is an order from your prince.”
“I’m awfully sorry, Your Highness, but we no longer answer to you.” The man gave a signaling nod to another villager, who approached the machine and flicked a few switches.
The machine released a hiss of steam and settled into a constant hum. The metal gears inside clicked once, then again. It was warming up.
Gregory’s eyebrow rose. “Who exactly do you answer to now?”
“Well, that there’s a secret,” the man replied, tugging me back again as if to elicit another yelp. “Just leave the girl with us. She’s not of Lucerne. She’s not even from this world at all.”