Page 17 of Wicked Endeavors

THE HOURS BEFORE DINNER COMPRESSED INTO THE span of seconds. Marisol blinked, and she had tidied, bathed, and changed in time for a servant to announce their guests. She descended the stairs in a wine-colored velvet gown with pearl embroidery, a low-cut bodice that was topped by a jeweled partlet, and gold brocade sleeves that flashed like spun sunlight. Her black curls were parted down the center and pulled back, buried beneath the crescent-shaped bonnet that covered the back of her head.

Even without the transformation, she wouldn’t have recognized herself.

Marisol checked that her daggers were still strapped to her thighs before she stepped into the dining room. In contrast with Ruiz’s rented manor, his ancestral home had a closed dining room, the curtains decorative while bathed in light from the flickering candles in the crystal chandeliers that lined the ceiling. The kitchens were behind a sliding door that blended almost seamlessly into the wall, and two doors on either side of the room led out into the corridors.

Low voices greeted her as she entered, but the conversation eased to a stop as the boys turned her way.

Little had changed about them in the last year besides their clothing. Today, Prince Tomás was in burgundy with a gold circlet for a crown atop his unruly curls. His jerkin and doublet were the same color as his cape, but the cape was edged in gold that matched his crown. In contrast, Bas was in brown, wearing far fewer layers than his companion, and his hair had been cut even shorter on the sides than before. They stood close together, a united front that she would soon divide and conquer.

She curtsied. “Your Highness, it’s an honor to finally meet you.”

Despite being coconspirators, Gaspar had kept her away from the royal family until her training was complete. She had seen them, here and there, surrounded by more guards than they’d had in Rojanea, but there had been no formal introduction. Gaspar wanted the prince to wonder about her, until the flames of his curiosity turned to passion. Marisol would rather have seduced him—but, as Gaspar had pointed out, a solved puzzle had no intrigue left.

The more intrigued Tomás was, the more excuses he’d make to be near her.

The closer he came, the more opportunities she would have to kill him.

Marisol ducked her head to conceal her smirk. “My name is Marisol Vinyet, though I suppose you already knew that, my lord.”

“None of that, please,” said the prince. His expression was open, friendly. “If we’re essentially staging a coup, Lady Vinyet, I think you can call me Teo.”

“Marisol, please. And this is…?”

She met Bas’s intense gaze, hostile where Teo’s was pleasant. “Sebastjan Arroyo,” he said. “Bas. We met a few months ago.”

She waited for him to say more, but he seemed absorbed in studying her. There was something intoxicating about being the focus of his attention, overwhelming and dizzying all at once. She still wasn’t used to seeing him like this, older and more aloof. Her pulse skipped at the sight.

There was no flicker of recognition in his eyes, no sign that they knew each other at all, but he wore his suspicion like a cape of his own. Even now, he stood slightly in front of Teo, as though the prince needed to be protected from her.

“Bas is my closest friend and my personal guard,” Teo offered into the silence. “As Lord Ruiz knows, you can trust him as much as you do me.”

“We’ve only just met,” said Bas. “Trust needs to be earned.”

Teo snorted. “She does come highly recommended.”

“I’m more than capable of speaking for myself.” Marisol stepped forward until she had to tilt back her head to maintain eye contact with Bas. This should have made her less intimidating, but her chin was tipped up and her shoulders were straight, her posture more soldier than lady. Luxurious rooms like this were nothing more than gilded battlefields, and the weapons were bladed words. She’d been training for this. For him. “In a better world, we would have time to build trust, but the Coronet begins in three days and we are coconspirators. I have just as much to lose as you do if this falls apart—if not more—and I’m placing my fate in your hands anyway. I’ll shove you into a crate and ship you back to Esquivel before I let you make this impossible task more difficult with your attitude. Understood?”

Teo ducked his head, but his shaking shoulders gave his silent laughter away. Bas’s eyes had narrowed. Though she had worked so hard, the sight of him was still disorienting her. The image of the little boy she’d once called friend collapsed in front of the man before her, nineteen years old and unfathomable as the ocean.

“Prince Tomás is the most important person in the world to me,” Bas said, in a low voice that brandished the same steel as that in his eyes. “We take care of each other. And if that means surveilling you until I’m absolutely sure you and your plans are no threat to him, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

“You think the Vinyets would wish harm upon our prince? Or Lord Ruiz, for that matter?”

“I think that if you let someone close enough to stab you, you shouldn’t be surprised by the knife between your ribs. If you turn out to be that knife, then you should know I am the prince’s shield.”

Fury stifled any retort she could have made. How dare he stand here now, as close as a lover with the venomous threats of an enemy, telling her that she shouldn’t have been surprised? How dare he speak so confidently, so protectively, of the prince of a country he had hobbled theirs to serve? How dare he, how dare he, how dare he?

Traitor. Traitor.

“As entertaining as this is,” Gaspar said from behind her, stepping into the room with his most judgmental eyebrows on, “can this argument continue over dinner?”

Marisol could still feel Bas’s eyes burning into the side of her face, but she ignored him to smile at her guardian—a smile that doubled as a reassurance that she was still in control. “Of course. Whatever the servants have made smells delicious.”

Teo placed a hand on Bas’s shoulder, squeezing affectionately. Bas’s mouth quirked upward, and suddenly he was a boy again. Not a threat, not a predator, not a shield, but a boy, melting under the casual touch of a loved one. Marisol could feel her anger once again bubbling, waiting to overflow, and she forced it down where it couldn’t dominate her.

It was only the first day, and she’d almost killed Bas. Months of training nearly invalidated by his disrespect and her temper. Marisol maintained her polite smile, placing her hand in the crook of Gaspar’s elbow as he led her to the table.

One wrong move sees us both at the end of a noose.