Margo could maneuver even the most powerful Ellyllon without them realizing they were being played at all. For someone without magic, she adapted like a shapeshifter, slipping into whatever role was needed to bend a person’s will to her own. Very few people got to see the real Margo.
Exhaling sharply, Emmaline stomped down on the scattered papers beneath her feet.Not like I’ll need them after this week anyway.
Then she straightened, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. She had work to do.
Caelith needed to be found or at least accounted for. Isolde, she worried about less. The woman would inevitably appear, drawn to the opportunity to sink her claws into the ball preparations like a hawk descending on prey.
Slipping out of her office, Emmaline moved through the castle corridors with practiced ease, keeping her steps light, her presence unobtrusive. She checked the usual places first—the dining room, the west wing balcony, the council chamber—but no sign of Caelith. She should check the stables too, but the thought of stepping inside, of facing that space, whereDeyricmight be, wrapped around her throat like a noose.
Turning down another hallway, she nearly collided with Jenni, one of the castle cooks, the one who had caught her and Deyric outside the storeroom.
Shite.Emmaline forced a smile, hoping to disarm any lingering awkwardness. “Hi. It’s Jenni, right?”
The small woman startled, her round face flushing a deep shade of red. But it wasn’t the flustered, good-natured kind of embarrassment Emmaline expected. No… this was different. She ducked her head, murmured something too low to catch, and hurried past without another word.
Emmaline watched her go, pressing her back against the cool stone wall. That was odd. Jenni hadn’t seemed remotely bothered that night, even after walking in on them just moments after they’d—
Her stomach twisted, and she pushed off the wall, shaking the thought away.
Deyric wouldn’t have said anything. Would he?
No. He wouldn’t. He was in just as much pain as she was.
She had to go to the stables. Caelith might be riding, and his favored horse would be the best indicator of his whereabouts if he wasn’t inside the castle. Unless he had already left the grounds, it was the only place left to check.
Her feet refused to move at first, her body recoiling, but she had to do it. One step. Then another. She could do this. Her pace slowed, though, as voices drifted from the stable entry. She knew those voices.Caelith. And… Isolde?
Pressing herself against the hallway wall, she held her breath, listening.
What the hell was the Lady doing there? She despised the stables, hating the way the hay clung to her skirts and how the scent of horses clashed with her perfumes.
Was Deyric inside, too? Her pulse hammered against her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut.
Inhaling through her nose, she opened her eyes and forced herself to move. She needed to get close enough to hear. Peering around the corner, she caught the faintest glimpse of them.
“You are certain she reported in today?” Isolde’s voice, crisp and clipped, carried through the stable.
Caelith plucked at a nail, exhaling dramatically as he reached for a saddle, tugging it toward him with all the petulance of a man convinced that doing things himself was a great injustice.
“Yes,” he drawled. “I watched for her this morning. She arrived about an hour after sunrise.”
Emmaline leaned back against the wall, brows furrowing. Were they talking about her? Did they suspect she knew what he’d done and wanted to accuse him? Was that why he invited her to the ball, to dissuade her?
“Good,” Isolde said. “If she had any suspicions, she would be running.”
Running? Suspicions?She clenched her jaw.What the shite are they talking about?
Risking another glance, she peered back into the stable.
Caelith twirled his fingers idly as if struggling to find the right word. “She’s… how did you put it?Fixatedon me.” His lips pulled into something just shy of a smirk, too pleased with himself to hide it. “Our night together only deepened her attachment. And, of course, Iinvited her to the Solstice Ball. She’ll be too busy planning her outfit or some other womanly nonsense to suspect anything.”
The air burned in Emmaline’s lungs. She slammed her head back against the stone wall, relishing the pain. She needed it to keep her from lunging into that stable and ripping Caelith apart with her bare hands. They thought she was nothing. That she was theirs to manipulate, to break, to use and discard.
She sucked in air, each inhale shaky, not with fear, but with the seething fire rising in her chest.
Let them think they had her trapped. Let them think she was helpless. By the time she was finished, Caelith wouldn’t have a name left to protect.
Emmaline gripped the rough stone at her back, fingers digging in as she forced herself to stay silent. To listen.
