18. Charlotte
CHARLOTTE
E aston had suggested Charlotte could stay behind with Patti and Dane, but he didn’t argue when she refused. He must have already known the attempt was futile. There was no way Charlotte was remaining in the city while the false queen attempted to marry Henry to Gwen. And if everything went wrong, she would be the only one thinking of Henry first.
The count had commanded them to wait until the end—the last of the rebels to arrive in the palace grounds. Easton had protested that, reminding them he was supposed to help guide the other arrivals. But the count insisted Jett and Lydia could manage the task, pointing out that Easton was the most important of all of them. As the man Gwen loved, he was the only one who could free the mountain court from their enchantment.
Easton had reluctantly agreed, and Charlotte had been assigned as his companion. The two of them would creep in together, and they wouldn’t need a guide. But as soon as everyone else had departed, they made a slight adjustment to their plan. Instead of going straight to join the other rebels, they would find Gwen first. They were both desperate to see her for their own reasons, so neither needed much convincing.
They wore cloaks pulled up high over their heads as they strode through the streets in the waning light, keeping to shadows wherever possible. The afternoon was already wearing down, and the city’s people had started dispersing to their homes. If they’d left their departure much later, they would have stood out on the nearly deserted streets.
It wasn’t their first time making the same trek together, but Charlotte had never felt so tense as they crept into the palace gardens. Last time, when they saw a patrol in the distance, Charlotte had made enough noise to draw their attention before fleeing back into the city before they could see her identity.
This time they both needed to make it inside. But Easton must have been right about the guard numbers. They didn’t even encounter a patrol as they wound a circuitous route through the gardens, staying out of sight of the palace windows. Charlotte even grew bold enough to stop and dig up her golden ball and Gwen’s harness. Who knew what need they might have for the objects before the next sunset.
Inside the building, Easton took the lead. But as they walked the corridors, something nagged at Charlotte. The route felt strangely familiar. A door came into view, and she instinctively slowed, half a beat before Easton did.
When he also slowed, stopping at the door, Charlotte’s eyes widened. The gardens and furnishings were so different that she had nearly forgotten the palace was the original version of her and Henry’s castle. And Gwen had the same room she and Henry had shared in the other version.
Chasing away a shiver, Charlotte slipped into the room behind Easton. As soon as he stepped aside, she gasped.
Someone had torn the room to pieces, leaving shredded stuffing, loose feathers, and torn material everywhere she looked. In one corner smashed glass and broken bottles lay shattered across the floor, and even the wardrobe had been toppled.
Her hand flew to her mouth. “What happened to Gwen?” she cried.
“What?” Easton whirled, his pale face fixing on her. But a moment later he relaxed. “Oh, you mean the room? She did it herself.”
Charlotte’s brows rose. “Wow. She really…” She shook her head. But part of her felt proud of her friend. Had it felt as cathartic as it looked? “That’s all right, then,” she added. “I thought someone must have attacked her.”
“I thought that at first too. But where is she now?” Easton looked around uneasily. “The state of the room doesn’t mean anything, but she’s not here. I thought she’d be here this late. Her bear form is supposed to be a secret.”
Charlotte shrugged, trying to chase away the tendrils of panic that stirred on the edges of her own mind. “We knew it wasn’t a guarantee we’d find her here. It isn’t quite sunset yet. And we can’t go blundering around the palace looking for her. That would be asking to be caught.”
Easton reluctantly nodded, but his body didn’t relax, the lines of his muscles remaining tense.
Turning abruptly, he strode to one of the walls and fumbled with something out of Charlotte’s view.
“It’s locked,” he said, clearly frustrated. Banging his fist on the wall, he raised his voice. “Gwen? Gwen? Are you in there?”
“Shhh!” Charlotte hissed. “What are you doing? Do you want someone to hear us?”
Easton slumped. “It didn’t use to be locked.”
“Is that a door?” Charlotte said, able to see the lines of it now she was paying attention. It wasn’t entirely hidden, but it had been designed to blend in with the wall. “I’m sure if she’s in there, she would call out and let us know.”
“We both wanted to speak to her,” Charlotte continued, “but it’s not essential to the plan. We should get to the others so they know we’re safe, and then we’ll come back at night when we know for sure she’ll be here. The count said we had to make contact with her.”
She could still read the reluctance on his face, and she suspected she knew the reason. The count wanted a rebel to make contact with Gwen, but it didn’t have to be Easton. Once they joined the others, it was unlikely Easton would be allowed out again until the crucial moment. But his importance was the reason they couldn’t put off going to the specified apartment any longer. If the rebels thought something had happened to Easton, they would risk going out into the palace to look for him.
Easton knew the realities as well as she did, and he finally sighed and nodded. “Let’s go, then.”
Charlotte winced sympathetically, staying quiet since she knew any words of hers would be meaningless. She felt the same tension in her own belly, urging her to run off and find Henry. But she had already done that once with nearly disastrous results. This time she was going to follow the plan.
Easton’s pace had slowed, but he still led them steadily down corridors and around corners, presumably making for the apartment of the count’s son.
“It’s just up ahead,” he murmured at last, gesturing to the nearest corner.
But before they rounded it, they both pulled up short, exchanging looks. The tramp of boots sounded in the distance. Not the measured tread of a routine guard patrol or the casual stroll of a courtier—multiple people in heavy boots were running full pace in their direction.
Charlotte had only had time to panic when the running feet stopped. She didn’t even finish her breath of relief before the fear returned, however. The sound of an aggressive fist pounding on wood reached them.
“Open in the name of the queen!” a man called.
Charlotte and Easton exchanged horrified looks, both still frozen in place.
The fist banged again and then the creak of the door opening.
“What is the meaning—” the voice of the count’s son started in cold tones, but the first voice cut him off.
“Don’t bother, traitor,” he snapped. “You’re surrounded.”
Instant chaos broke out just out of sight, shouts, cries, screams, and pounding feet. It sounded like furniture was being overturned, and Charlotte could barely breathe, let alone move.
Easton sprang into action, however. Dragging Charlotte with him, he pulled open a narrow door that was almost hidden in the paneling of the wall, just as the one in Gwen’s room had been. He shoved her inside. Following behind, he pulled the door closed.
Enough light came in around the door for Charlotte to identify their location as a storage cupboard. Easton bent down at an awkward angle and pressed one eye against the wall. Charlotte stared at him in confusion until he pulled back and gestured impatiently for her to go to the other side of the door.
There was just enough room for her to fit, so she obeyed, eyeing him as he bent over again. From the new angle, she could see he was pressing his eyes against a tiny circle of light. A peephole!
Searching the wall in front of her, she found another point of light and bent toward it. She didn’t know how long she could maintain such an uncomfortable position, and she couldn’t imagine why anyone would put peepholes at such a level. Charlotte was short, so if it was uncomfortable for her, it wouldn’t suit anyone but a child.
Understanding dawned. Of course. Easton and Gwen had spent their childhood roaming these halls. Apparently spying from storage cupboards had been part of their childish adventures. No wonder Easton had known just where to go.
She positioned herself so she could see out into the corridor beyond. It was empty, but the distant sounds of a scuffle were dying down now, replaced with barked orders and the occasional muffled cry. They didn’t have to wait long before a line of people came into view.
The rebels had their hands on their heads, their expressions ranging from terrified to resigned. A line of guards marched on either side of them, swords gripped in their hands and faces stern.
Charlotte had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out when she saw Jett and Lydia marched past, and Easton went rigid beside her. But the worst was the very end of the line. The final figure was much too short, his movement out of step with the others due to the crutches beneath his arms.
Behind him, two guards hauled a man who wasn’t marching but instead struggling with his captors. When his face flashed in their direction, Charlotte recognized the count’s son—Emmett’s father.
“My son is not part of this,” he said in heated tones. “I don’t even know why he was home. He’s only seven!”
Emmett flinched, and it was easy to guess he and his mother had been sent away for safety but he had snuck back. The clack of his clutches didn’t falter, though, his head high as he followed in the line of prisoners.
The guards at the back were all turned toward the struggling nobleman, but he twisted in the direction of the storage cupboard, facing directly toward their hiding place.
Easton straightened, and before Charlotte knew what was happening, the door had flashed partially open before immediately closing again.
The count’s son went slack at the brief glimpse of Easton, his eyes fixed on the now closed door. Several of the guards also turned that way, following the direction of his gaze. There was nothing left to see, however, thanks to Easton’s quick movement, and the count’s son quickly resumed his struggles, distracting them.
“What was that?” Charlotte hissed at Easton, as quietly as she could.
He shrugged. “I saw an opportunity, and I took it. At least now they know we’re still free. And that we know what happened to them.”
“But how do we know they’re not all being marched off to be executed?” Charlotte whispered as the sound of their marching line faded from her hearing. Tears of panic and horror pricked at her eyes, and she could only imagine how much worse it had to be for Easton.
Easton slid slowly down to sit on the floor, his hands fisted and eyes blazing but the lines of his body broken and weary.
“We can’t know for sure, but I doubt it. That isn’t the queen’s style. She won’t want to just eliminate her enemies. She’ll want to make sure no one else tries the same thing. She’s making a grand spectacle of this wedding—even some of the more prominent people from the city have been invited—so I don’t think she’ll miss the chance to make a show of this as well. Whatever she intends to do to them, it will happen tomorrow, in front of the wedding guests.”
“Tomorrow,” Charlotte said slowly. It was only a small reprieve, but it was better than thinking of all those people already dead.
“And surely she wouldn’t execute Emmett in front of a crowd,” she murmured. “That would hardly garner sympathy.”
“We can only hope so,” Easton said roughly, and Charlotte guessed he was thinking of his parents.
“She isn’t going to execute anyone,” she said in a bracing voice. “We’re still free, and we’ll find a way to rescue them.”
Easton gave a bark of humorless laughter. “How are we going to do that?”
Charlotte straightened. “We’re not. I am.”
Easton frowned.
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” she said firmly. “But the count already told you how important you are. Your role is to appear in the middle of the wedding. No matter what else happens, we can’t let that fail. And that means you need to stay right here in this cupboard.”
“You want me to just sit here while—”
“Yes,” she said, cutting him off ruthlessly. “I know I’m asking the hardest possible thing. I know it’s the last thing you want to do. But this is what is needed from you, Easton.”
“How can you save them on your own?” Easton shook his head. “Alone, and a stranger here no less.”
Charlotte drew herself up. “I won’t be alone. There’s someone else who knows this palace almost as well as you do.”
Easton scrambled to his feet. “We don’t even know where Gwen is. And if it’s too dangerous for me to get involved, it’s several times more dangerous for her.” He groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. “If the queen somehow knows our plans, she must already know Gwen is involved as well. Who knows what she’s done to her.”
“Stop!” Charlotte commanded. “Stop thinking like that, or you’ll drive yourself mad. Believe me. I have reason to know.”
Easton subsided, apparently remembering how long the queen had been holding Charlotte’s husband a prisoner.
“There’s someone else who knows these corridors and rooms,” Charlotte said more softly. “Or at least, a copy of them. Henry. Just give us a chance.”
Easton hesitated for a moment before he groaned and sank back to the floor. “Who has more experience at waiting than me?” he asked bitterly.
“I’m sorry.” Charlotte hesitated, but the best reassurance she could offer was to succeed at rescuing the other rebels. “I’ll come back for you as soon as I can. Promise you’ll still be here?”
He nodded, not looking at her, and she had to accept it.
Stooping to check the peephole, she confirmed the corridor outside was still empty before leaving the cupboard. She scanned the corridor, locking each distinguishing feature in her mind so she could find the place again.
Drawing the golden ball out of her pocket, she stared down at it. The godmother who had given it to her had said it would help her find her true love. She still didn’t know how it was supposed to work, but it was all she had.
She placed it gently on the ground and, feeling foolish, whispered, “Please take me to Henry.”
Nothing happened, and her sense of foolishness grew until suddenly, without visible impetus, the ball began to move. It rolled down the corridor, following after the departed prisoners, and she hurried in its wake. She was relieved the ball was leading her in the opposite direction to the apartment used by the rebels. It seemed likely there would be guards stationed there still, waiting in case she and Easton appeared.
But soon she didn’t have thoughts for anything except the task of following the ball. It moved at pace, and she worried about losing it every time it rounded a corner—almost as much as she worried about it leading her straight into a squad of guards or a group of courtiers.
But almost as if it knew, the ball led her only down deserted corridors, or through empty rooms. When it finally rolled to a stop, it bumped gently against a concealed door that looked almost identical to the one on the storage cupboard half a palace away.
She frowned at the ball. Henry was concealed inside a storage cupboard now? Tentatively she tried the door, and it opened without resistance. Peering inside, she saw only similar supplies to those that had filled the last cupboard, although these appeared to be finer in quality, the pillows and blankets soft and luxurious.
She went to shut the door, but the ball rolled inside. Confused, Charlotte followed. When she bent to retrieve it, it zipped away from her, rolling just out of reach. She stepped closer to try again, and it did the same thing.
Throwing her hands up, Charlotte cried, “Fine!”
Closing the door behind her, she crossed her arms. “I’ll stay in here if that’s what you want.”
The ball immediately rolled forward and bumped gently against her boots.
Charlotte retrieved it without trouble this time, considering what she should do. She could leave now that she had the ball secured, but where would she go?
Spotting the circle of light from a peephole, she bent to peer through it. Maybe it was worth watching for a while to see what happened.