Page 66 of Kingdom Of Veil And Vow

I exhale roughly at the mention of Simon. “I think he knows that I’m lying, but he doesn’t have a way to prove it. Especially not with Miles gone. He shouldn’t be a problem for you anymore.” I swallow the urge to tell her what the king had told me to do with Immie’s head. How it was sent to Princess Rhea. It wasn’t that I wanted to hide it from her. It was that I knew she already blamed herself for not being able to save Immie. I didn’t see the point in telling her that the king had dealt yet another blow to the princess at the innkeeper’s expense. Staring at each other, I feel sadness creeping in along the edges of my mind. What I would give to spend a day with her that wasn’t under threat of death if we were discovered. I want to know her—know what lies beneath the masks that we both wear for survival.

But the reality of where we are snaps me back to the present, so I clear my throat and look away, striding to the hidden door. “I only have an hour,” I say, pulling it open and reaching my hand out for hers. Together, we make our way to the secret room, a fresh batch of supplies lining the adjacent wall.

“What is in there?” Siyala asks, already heading towards the basin for a bath.

“Clothing and shoes,” I tell her, and she looks at me over her shoulder.

“Shoes?”

I arch my brow back at her, a playful smile tugging at my lips. “You do remember what those are, yes?” At her flat expression, I chuckle, grabbing the bag and pulling out the provisions. “She had to guess on the size,” I say, speaking of another maid, Erica, as I set the clothes by the tub. Though Tienne hadn’t gotten worse, neither had she gotten better, and she now only worked a few hours in the morning before she required rest. Siyala grins, and she leans over to drag her fingers through the water. “Thank you, guardsman.”

She bathes quickly, and then she eats the small meal left by Grayson, forcing me to have a few bites so that she does not eat alone. We speak a little of Princess Rhea. I tell her that I haven’t heard anything new, and she recounts the time the princess asked her if she knew anything about men as they sat on the balcony of the tower.

Her face takes on a softer look as she speaks of the princess, and I, again, admit to myself that I don’t view the princess as the threat I once did. That, at some point, the fear that she would inflict harm on this kingdom had been replaced with the terror that the king would inflict harm on the female in front of me.

The hour passes far too quickly, and I miss the warmth of her hand in mine when we leave the tunnel to bring her back to her cell.

“Until next time, guardsman,” she says, staring up at me through her full lashes, a row of iron bars separating us.

“Until next time, shifter.”

Chapter Forty: Siyala

I leaf through Xander’s letters tucked into The Little Sun. There are only two of them, but my fingers trace over the edges where they are folded into the book, the scrawl of his handwriting seeping through the slightly transparent paper. He is going to help me escape.

Since being promoted to Commander of the Trusted, Xander’s been available less often. The small part of me still hurt from Kenji’s betrayal —and every man that came after him—whispers that he isn’t going to keep his word. That talk of escaping is nothing more than a way to keep me at ease so that he can still attempt to pull information from me. Fool, it whispers. He can’t be trusted. But a stronger voice drowns it out, one that replays every time Xander has done something kind for me. Every time he has carefully deconstructed the masks he wears to show me a small glimpse of himself. It screams to remember what he looked like when he barreled into the torture room, a rage-manifested maelstrom with a sword.

The thought has my fingers stilling against the book, canine dragging along my bottom lip as I remember the flex of his arms and the grip of his hand. The strength that I knew flowed through him in such contrast to the gentle way he cleaned my wounds and apologized for not coming more quickly. I glance down at my lap, grateful for the salve Xander had given me. It had done a marvelous job aiding the wound in closing more quickly than after I was shot with the arrow, leaving just tenderness and a scar. Or maybe your magic has grown stronger.

I frown at the thought. My magic has been more active the past few days, writhing within me as if to remind me of its presence, choosing now, when I’m finally close to being free, as the most opportune moment to beg for attention. I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, stuffing the feeling of it down. You’ll go mad if you don’t shift. At times, I feel as if I already have.

Shutting the book, I tuck it under the folded blanket at the edge of my cot and draw my knees in towards my chest. It’s quiet. Only a few of the prisoners that had filled the cells mere days ago remain, their whispers of escape and curses towards the king traveling to my ears. I know their fates are sealed, whereas mine seems to have been given a loophole. I wonder what Rhea might do in this situation, and then I sigh, because in truth, I couldn’t really guess.

I thought I knew Rhea, down to my core. In the intimate sort of way that only two people who had shared confinement for four years really could. But every time my mind circles back to the knowledge that Flynn lied about being a mortal guard, I am reminded that maybe I don’t know Rhea as well as I thought. Because the girl I knew in the tower would have been terrified to learn that she trusted a man who lied to her. That she willingly left behind everything she knew—left me behind—all based on something false. Yet Xander had said she looked well. That she leaned on the mage prince for support and he seemed protective of her in return. I am happy for her safety, of course, and all I have ever wanted is for her to live a life free from the king. But I am not sure where that leaves me, and that makes the prospect of escaping this cell, of allowing Xander to help me do it, somewhat daunting.

I do not want to be caged, but I do not know where my place is in this world. Is it back in the Shifter Kingdom? Where my mother and siblings wait—where he does? Is it here in the Mortal Kingdom? Forever on the run and terrified that I might be brought back to the king? Could it be with Rhea in the Mage Kingdom? Will she care about me still if she finds out I am a shifter? All that time in the tower, she could have been speaking to another person instead of a fox. Would that bother her?

There isn’t an idea that leaves me more settled than it does uneasy. Well, all except for one. You could ask him to go with you somewhere. I scrunch my brows together and shove the thought away. Of course my mind would consider him a viable means of companionship. He has been the only safety I’ve known since arriving here, but Xander’s role in this kingdom is far grander than me. I can sense it, even if he hasn’t told me exactly what it is he is doing. I am nothing but a distraction to that. I sigh, and lean my head back against the wall.

What I wouldn’t give to talk to Immie. To have her share more about her time as a maid in the castle. To have her speak more about Rhea’s parents so that one day, if I see Rhea again, I can tell her all I know. I shut my eyes at the pressure that builds behind them, and then I hear it—the clang of his armor, the cadence of his steps, but more importantly, the thrum of his heart. It settles that troubled feeling within me, wipes away the anxiousness resting behind my ribs. And then it places more there because once I leave, once we say goodbye, I will never hear it again. The fear keeps me rooted in place on the cot as I listen to him grow closer, the prisoners farther down begging for his mercy.

Coming to a stop in front of my cell, he glares at me through the mask he wears for the world, but I see the softness that peeks from beneath it. Remember the gentle way he held my hand as I told him about my father. About Kenji. “It’s time for you to talk,” he says gruffly, reaching for the keys to the cell.

Mustering up the energy to play my role, I push my sadness down and move to stand away from the cot. “Fuck. You.” My body sways beneath my weight—the lightheadedness likely just weeks and weeks of inconsistent meals catching up with me—and Xander’s jaw ticks, his regret evident on his face. You didn’t do anything wrong, I want to say as he pulls the door open and steps inside, grumbling something in protest to what I’ve said. I don’t want to leave you.

I freeze beneath the confession whispered in my head, standing at the center of my cell as Xander stares at me. Then his long strides are eating up the space between us, and his hand is gently but firmly gripping my arm.

Blinking away the surprising thought, I remember to struggle against him. “I’m not going to tell you anything!” I scream, tensing in his hold as we near the torture room, my mind lost to the idea that our time is coming to an end. Gods, I am pathetic. I should be elated, ready to go home. I keep quiet as we move through the tunnel, Xander ensuring the room is clear before allowing us to enter. “Thank the gods,” I murmur, looking at the bathing basin. “Please tell me that you have clean water for me to wash in.” A bath won’t solve anything, but it will feel nice and maybe quiet my mind of the unhelpful thoughts that plague it.

Xander snorts, striding to the tub. “It’s not warm—”

“It’s perfect,” I interrupt, heat rising to my cheeks for some ungodly reason. “Thank you.” He walks to the crates and takes a seat, his back to me as he pulls something out of his pocket. I stare at the broad expanse of his shoulders, once again thinking that he would fit in amongst the shifters with his size. Shaking away the thought and tugging on the hanging curtain, I quickly undress and step into the basin, sinking down until the water is up to my chin. The sound of metal scraping against stone makes my lips curl into a smile. Alexi would occasionally sharpen his blades in the tower, and Rhea would watch, fascinated by the action. “You do know that it’s slightly unsettling that you’re sharpening a knife while I’m vulnerable in the bath don’t you?” Sitting up, I reach for the nearby bar of soap.

“First, if you hear the sound of the blade against the stone, you’ll know I’m not trying to sneak a glance at you.”

I choke on my next breath, a nervous laugh mixing with it. But what if I wanted you to?

“Second, of the two of us, you’re the least vulnerable. Last time I checked, I couldn’t shift into a large fox.”