“What’s the plan?” Urtzi asked, dark eyes flashing. This boy was a lot of things, but mostly he was always ready for a fight.
“To wait,” Dunixi announced, and the Myrcellian’s face fell. “We’ll never get out of here cleanly with the two of them. But at the castle? Before the wedding night? Yes.”
“But there we’ll be in the heart of Pyrenee,” Urtzi surmised, brows cross. “Here, we’re in the open.”
“Have you learned nothing from our successful kidnapping of the stableboy to begin with?” Dunixi whispered, thin lips quick. “Castle grounds are all shadows and people lulled by the comforts of home. Their backyard is the best place to steal away what you desire, because no one is on guard.”
CHAPTER
42
THEYsent no party ahead. No rider to prepare the Bellringe for the arrival of Prince Renard and his crew. Amarande understood this completely—the prince aimed to catch his mother off guard. The last thing he wanted was to give Dowager Queen Inés enough warning to set into motion her supposed plan to steal his kingdom.
It was smart, tactical, and it lent credence to why Renard had gone so far in seeking Amarande’s hand.
Renard seemed certain his mother hadn’t stayed at the Itspi to wait for him after he’d gone into the Torrent after Amarande. The princess wondered if Dowager Queen Inés had expected her son to fail. Or maybe to find himself and his brother tossed into one of the Warlord’s fire pits, allowing her to reach her aim without blood on her hands. She’d have a tragic story of her brave sons and live the rest of her life ruling in their stead, a martyr by proxy.
And so the group rumbled toward the Bellringe as one on the thin mountain trails, winding up and up, to the glimmering snow-white castle at the summit of a mountain named King’s Crest. Amarande was squeezed between Renard and Taillefer, the brothers exchanging places as the road funneled down to its narrowest points. Taillefer and Luca went ahead of the princess, while Renard rode at her back. Amarande knew this was because they thought she might attack Renard from behind.
The knife pressed against her ankle indicated that they were not wrong.
She watched Luca’s back as they trudged up the mountain. He’d glance over his shoulder as often as he could, stealing moments before Renard would yell, “Eyes off the princess, stableboy!” and he’d be forced to turn around until he was brave enough to try it again.
Each time it made Amarande smile. This boy who would be king, so afraid of a mere look from a commoner. Power was relative, and Luca had a kind Renard never would.
One final switchback and the seat of the Pyrenee rose before them, its doors yawning open, aubergine-clad guards in motion on the ground and from the walls above. The Bellringe was carved from quartz-pocked rock, which meant its spiraling towers and dramatic turrets glimmered like diamonds in the high summer sun.
They’d been moving since just after sunup, eight straight hours into the heart of Pyrenee. Now it was past noon and Amarande laid eyes on the castle for the first time in four years. She’d last visited after King Louis-David’s death, making the same sort of procession that had just taken place in Ardenia less than a week ago. Then the Bellringe had seemed a dreamlike place—glittering and bright, as if the stars themselves were born in the walls before flying into the skies above. To a twelve-year-old girl, alone while the princes mourned, the secrets and corners of this place seemed celestial, wrapped in clouds and starlight, even under the pall of funeral rituals.
Now, rather than stars, the palace seemed to be carved of ice—cold, suffocating, an end.
As the road widened into a yard running an apron up to the castle, Renard took the lead. He trotted ahead, chin up, a look of triumph stretched upon his face. He’d made it a point to scrub himself clean and change his clothes before they left camp that morning, hoping to look every bit the definition of the new king he would be by day’s end.
He was right—his mother and her ambitions were waiting for him, looking down from the ramparts, over the parapet, surrounded by her advisors. Dowager Queen Inés and her honeybees swung into motion as soon as it was sure that the group approaching was indeed her two sons and the princess they’d promised to find.
Renard slowed enough so that Princess Amarande could come up alongside him for a grand entrance. The prince leaned over to the princess, smiling as if they really were lovers sharing a secret. He kept his face forward, speaking to her sideways, so that she was left looking at his profile.
“Now remember, Princess, I saved you from the stableboy and you cannot wait to marry me. Any murmur of dissent from you and your stableboy’s life grows more difficult.”
She wanted to rip his ear off and swallow it whole.
“The difficulty won’t be his; it will be yours. Harm him and I will kill you. I don’t care about the show you want to make for your mother, he will not feel an ounce of pain without you feeling it ten times over in kind.”
Renard met her with a look fleeting and cold.
“Smile, Princess,” was all he said.
Amarande did as she was told, only until the prince faced away. Then she allowed her features to settle back into blankness. It wasn’t necessary to put on a ruse for these people. Not a single person cared if she was happy. All they cared about was what transpired. Inés’s ambitions would not lessen with a smile from her son’s bride.
The party rode into the castle’s central courtyard, the guards and castle workers flooding the space to greet the party. As expected, the Dowager Queen and her group made their way down from the battlements and into the yard in a flood that parted the sea of onlookers like water. Surrounding her were clear members of her council. Their rich purple robes and stoic expressions were adead giveaway that they spent their days in drafty rooms advising on matters of life and death.
Renard made it a point to speak before his mother got the chance to find the right words, preempting her with his perfect smile and a projected voice. “Loyal subjects of the Bellringe, I have returned with Princess Amarande of Ardenia. Rejoice, for we will have a wedding tonight!”
The castle workers and onlookers exploded into a flurry of applause and motion, while the Dowager Queen and the Royal Council stood stock-still in the center of it all, practiced smiles stiff on their faces. But Inés’s eyes rounded just enough for Amarande to know she was stunned. Maybe Renard had told the truth when he’d laid out his mother’s plans and he’d finally surprised her with a move that she couldn’t easily overcome.
A thread of unease shot through Amarande’s stomach as the Dowager Queen approached her son’s horse—suddenly she realized that until the vows tonight,shewas the biggest threat to this woman’s ambitions. The moment they were married, Inés would have no way of gaining the throne of Pyrenee, no matter whom she coerced into wedlock. She’d simply be relegated to being the Queen Mother. Something to be trotted out for a smile and wave at all official occasions.
Renard dismounted and took his mother’s hand. The Dowager Queen leaned in, and when their embrace ended, her eyes danced around the party before settling on her son’s face.
