Page 85 of Level Up for Love

“My lady. May I have the next dance?”

Sindra turns and fixes Antoni with a shining smile. “Of course, Captain.”

Sindra and Antoni sprint through the hallway opposite the one Vadrien disappeared down; they can’t afford to waste even a moment. They’d kept up the appearance of waltzing only until the dance carried them toward the ballroom’s nearest exit.

“The others?” Sindra asks between panting breaths.

“Successful so far,” Antoni reports. “The map Zevor supplied was correct. Vera navigated Moss through the castle’s tunnel system, and you saw as well as I did how successful Mortimer’s distraction was.” He huffs a breathless laugh. Turning Vadrien’s undead against him using strong necromantic magic is serving as more than just a distraction—it also keeps the hallways clear as Sindra and Antoni rush through. “Now, if all goes according to plan, we’ll find Moss just around this—”

A loud, demanding meow interrupts Antoni’s words.

Standing in front of a set of heavy double doors is a sleek black cat with sparkling green eyes. Around its neck, a ring of keys clinks merrily. It again yowls its triumph, and Sindra rewards Moss with a playful ear scratch as she retrieves the keys.

“Very well done, my friend,” she says, her voice thick with relief. “Now, go check on Vera, will you?” She prays she’s waiting in the tunnels as promised.

The cat lets out a chittering sound that resembles a laugh and disappears around the corner.

Antoni glances down to the map in his hand, then up to the doors. “This should be it.”

It’s tradition, they learned from the bard, to keep the crown in the armory. It honors Moros’s history, as the crown is the last remaining piece of Queen Abella’s armor—the armor she used to defend the realm and drive out the devils. When Sindra unlocks the door and pushes it open, she’s momentarily stunned by the impressive collection of suits of armor, weapons, and beautifully wrought shields.

But the captain has eyes only for the sparkling gold crown sitting atop a dark pillow on the room’s central pedestal.

He regards it with slate-gray eyes shining with unshed tears, his creased face slack with awe. Sindra watches as he extends a shaking hand to reverently touch the diamond set in the crown’s center.

A moment passes, and Antoni’s brows knit in confusion.

“Wait. No.”

His fingers tighten around the crown, its spokes digging into the meat of his palm; with his other hand, he clings to the sun-shaped amulet hanging from his neck.

“What is it?” Sindra asks uncertainly. “What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t Abella’s crown.” His voice shakes with barely concealed anger. “It’s a replica. A fake.”

“How do you know?”

Antoni’s stormy eyes flash to hers. “I know what the presence of my god feels like—and there is nothing of him in this.” He grips the crown again, as if to assure himself of the truth—then flings it against the stone wall. The illusion shatters like glass, and when the crown falls back to the floor, it’s little more than a dull brass circlet.

In the back of her head, the gears of cold logic begin to click into place. They’ve known from the beginning that Vadrien could never have worn the crown; he was not of Abella’s bloodline, never mind that, according to Antoni, Garren would have smote any cursed undead creature who attempted to don a holy relic.

It doesn’t make any sense. “Why have a fake at all?” she asks aloud.

It takes Antoni a long time to answer. He keeps his gaze fixed on the floor, his hands shaking at his sides. “There were rumors.” His voice is hoarse. “Rumors that King Ursan was not blessed by Garren—that he was too cruel, too selfish to don the crown, despite having Abella’s blood running in his veins. But they had said the same thing about his mother, too. Surely…surely they wouldn’t—”

Sindra gives voice to the words he can’t find. “Do you think the Callasters created the replica? So that they could keep the throne?”

Horror washes over her in a wave. If that’s true, then the true crown may be lost for good. At the very least, they wouldn’t know where to look—not in time to stop Vadrien’s coronation.

A dark laugh echoes from the hallway, followed by the sound of slow, measured footsteps pacing into the room. Vadrien regards them with a sharp-toothed smile as he locks the door behind him.

“I thought I might find you here.”

When Sindra turns to meet Antoni’s gaze, she watches the last light of hope gutter out of his eyes.