We spent a decent amount of time on Saturday going over what to look out for in the decree language, since I’d be the only one guaranteed a chance to examine Gisele’s. “No, it all looked typical.”
“We’re missing something,” Emeric says through his teeth as he hoists the elk head back into place. “Especially since he’s looking into inheritance law. His heir by Gisele could be eligible for the imperial throne, but Gisele would need to survive for significantly”—he ducks a branch of antlers—“longer than the wedding. And I can’t think of why he would want Sovabin’s immediate alliance.”
I shrug. “You saw yourself, he’s apparently been throttling trade routes. If he hadn’t bribed the von Falbirgs, I don’t know that they could even afford to come out for the wedding.”
Emeric goes very quiet. When I look up, he’s fixed me with the riveted stare of a cat that’s spotted a dangling string. Somehow he’s managed to acquire a charcoal smudge over a cheekbone.
“I never told you that,” he says. Each word is faster than the last. “I only put it in my notes.”
Scheit.
But he doesn’t seem angry. If anything, there’s a genuine bounce in his step as he crosses the room. “You read them, didn’t you? Did you
see my theories about the Wolfhünden? Iknewvon Reigenbach was—”
“I only read some of them,” I snap, biting off each word.
“Which parts? Do you think I missed anything?” Then he cocks his head, frowning. “. . . Miss Schmidt?”
I shove the list of names back into the book and jam it onto the shelf. “I read your notes on Sovabin and the von Falbirgs.” I can’t look at him as I collect the papers from the desk. “Didn’t miss a thing. You got it all completely right.”
Every bitter, festering detail.
I’ve done my best to keep this at arm’s length until now, to pretend he doesn’t know the old wounds under this uniform . . . but I suppose that was never going to last.
I dare a look up in time to catch comprehension break across Emeric’s face. He goes pale, making the scuff of charcoal stand out even more. I’m sure he’s enjoyed speculating and theorizing and reading the tea leaves, but—it’s mylife. They’re my scars.
And I will not,cannotstomach his pity. I think of snow, of frost, of a dark forest with a lone lantern at a crossroads, and I let that cold run down my veins. “Except for one thing. I don’t want attention.”
Then I hand him the notes and broken charcoal, and slip past, headed for the collection of bottles.
“Miss Schmidt—” he begins, and his voice is so startlingly soft it’s almost cruel.
But he’s cut off as a shouted salute echoes down the hall.
It’s the guards stationed at the entrance to the wing.
Adalbrecht is coming.
CHAPTER TWENTY- ONE
AnUnlikelyPassion
We scramble for the door. I toss Emeric his jacket from the floor as he douses the coin light. The guards are posted at the entrance to the wing, so if they saluted Adalbrecht on sight, we have just under ten seconds to get out of here before he turns the corner in the hall.
I crack the door open, let Emeric out, and flip the latch as I close the door behind me so Adalbrecht doesn’t wonder why his study’s unlocked.
A distinct voice echoes from down the hall: Irmgard.
We might not have another chance like this again.
I spot an unobtrusive linen closet a few yards away. The door’s unlocked when I test the handle.
Emeric wheezes a perplexedoofas I yank him in after me and pull the door mostly closed. “What are you—”
I plaster a hand over his mouth and whisper, “Eavesdropping,obviously. Irmgard von Hirsching is with him.”
Just enough torchlight creeps in through the open door for me to see Emeric’s brow furrow. I pointedly hold a finger to my lips as the voices grow louder, and try not to think about how cramped it is in here. It’s generous for a linen closet, but notthatgenerous.
