Sylvie?
We really have to stop meeting like this.
I wish she’d trust me. But I don’t blame her for keeping her distance. Not when trust is a luxury most women here have never been afforded.
“Are you even paying attention?” Alder says, voice edged with irritation. “Or are you planning to spill something else on me?”
My pulse lurches. I glance again, but the hallway is empty. Just a shimmer of torchlight, a whisper of movement that might’ve been real or might’ve been my nerves tangling with the shadows.
“Of course,” I lie. I have so many more importantthings to worry about than Alder’s most recent snarky complaints.
Even if Sylvie doesn’t feel confident with the full scope of the plan, she knows the stakes. She knows what we’re up against. What we’re fighting for. What we’re trying to stop.
I square my shoulders, bury the tremble in my spine, and lead Alder toward the trap he doesn’t know he’s walking into.
Everything’s in motion now, and there’s no turning back.
I step onto the staircase that leads to our shared chambers, nerves tight, breath shallow, my mind already racing through the next steps of the plan.
I just need to get him to the room. That’s it. One last performance. A little flirtation. Some false vulnerability. Keep him distracted long enough for Alderic to slip into the banquet and take his place.
I’ll keep Alder talking. Maybe I’ll pretend I want to help him change, maybe I’ll start undressing him myself. The thought makes bile rise in my throat. I’ve never been good at being a tease, but I’m going to have to become an expert now.
I’m halfway up the steps before I realize he isn’t following.
Alder keeps walking, unhurried as he moves past the staircase and deeper into the corridor, the soft scrape of his boots echoing off the stone.
I pause on the third step. My pulse flutters. A strange chill slips down my back. “Where are you going?” I ask, voice pitched too high. “You need to change.”
A small, amused breath escapes him. “Do I?”
“The wine…” I swallow hard. “Your outfit is ruined. I thought—”
He smiles. It’s not a smile meant for ballrooms or banquets or seduction. It’s razor-sharp and venomous. “Sweetheart,” he says, each syllable so quiet, so careful, it feels like it’s been dipped in poison. “Did you really think I didn’t know what you were doing?”
My stomach lurches, dread hitting in one nauseating wave.
From the shadows, they emerge. One masked figure. Then another. Then more—slipping from alcoves and side corridors like they’ve been waiting all along. Like they were always going to be here, just out of sight.
Like the plan was never mine to begin with.
Silver masks gleam beneath the flickering torchlight, blank and inhuman, their expressionless eyes locking on me. Their armor catches the light in jagged flashes, bodies silent, hands already reaching.
No.
No no no no no.
My breath stutters. I take one step back. Then another. My slipper catches on the edge of my gown. I stumble, one arm flying out, the other groping for the stair rail. The wrought iron bites into my palm as I steady myself, heart crashing against my ribs.
“You’ve been busy,” Alder continues. His voice is low, lilting, almost amused. “Scheming with the kitchen girls. Whispering in dark corners. Plotting to take down a queen.”
He walks toward me, casually, and the floor feels like it tilts beneath my feet. “You almost got away with it too.” His smile sharpens, slicing straight through me.
My heel slips. I jolt, nearly falling backwards up thestairs, clutching at the banister like it might save me. The gown tangles around my legs, and my pulse screams in my ears.
“Guards,” he shouts. “Take her.”
Panic claws at my throat. I whirl and run. The hem of my gown snags on the stone, tears at the seam. I don’t care. I don’t look back.
