Page 43 of The Hood and his Thief

“And who would the first be?” Ansel asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Rhosyn’s own past was hers to divulge to Ansel, even if it was ill advised. But she wasn’t about to admit to Ansel that she had picked up her best safe-cracking tips from the King’s closest advisor.

To his credit, Ansel didn’t push her. Apparently, he was wise enough not to ask imprudent questions when somebody who was supposed to be his enemy offered their aid.

“Let’s say I take you up on this. I’m not just going to let you waltz out of here and up to the palace. I have no guarantee you wouldn’t just announce yourself and tell them of our plans.”

“Well, that’s good, because you know I’m terrible at waltzing.” The quip was out of Rhosyn’s mouth before she could remind herself this was a serious negotiation. Planning like this felt far too familiar. Despite being sprawled across a dusty floor, she could almost imagine she was sitting at Nate’s desk, her boots up on the polished surface no matter how much he frowned, planning another liberation mission.

To her relief, Ansel chuckled, and Rhosyn found a smile toying with the corners of her mouth.

“I’m not going to let you walk out of here alone either.”

“You have to let me out if I’m going to crack the safe. And I’m not doing it while Little John looks on.” Rhosyn searched for the right words, wishing for Contessa’s skill with a diplomatic turn of phrase. “I’m sure you’ll understand that I’d appreciate discretion with the Foxes on this.”

She shied away from the thought of betraying Chief Thorne in a way that had to be hidden, but she couldn’t risk one of the Foxes having a loose tongue and telling somebody that an officer of the Royal Police had helped them burgle the palace. After all, once Paul and Olivia were gone, she would have to go back to strictly legal activities.

Thankfully, Ansel understood her meaning without further explanation. “Then I’ll come with you.”

Rhosyn hesitated. Perhaps she should worry about what Ansel would do with the knowledge of the crime she was offering to commit for him. After all, it would make good blackmail material. But his words from when he first confronted her, tied to the bed upstairs, came back to her.

Perhaps we can come to some sort of understanding.

Maybe they would after all.

“Alright. We’ll do it together,” she agreed.

Ansel stood and stretched out a hand to help her up as well. She took it, and he hauled her to her feet, leaving her standing nearly chest to chest with him. Maybe she should back away, but he didn’t let go of her hand immediately, leaving them standing mere inches apart in the middle of the room.

Rhosyn’s breath stuttered as he smiled crookedly, simultaneously wearing the charm of Mr. Blakely and the promise of mischief of the Hood.

“Well,” he said, “this should be fun.”

Chapter nine

The floorboards creaked incessantly as Rhosyn paced back and forth across the small room. It was nearly annoying enough to make her stop, but she had too much energy to work out, despite her little brawl with Ansel earlier.

The past hours were the first Rhosyn had spent alone with her thoughts since being captured by the Foxes. Now that Rhosyn had offered her aid, Ansel had deemed it safe to leave her alone in his room, although he had locked the door. She supposed she should welcome the opportunity to regroup, but instead she only fretted.

After their conversation, Ansel had left again, saying he needed to make arrangements for their mission to the palace. Rhosyn knew that it would happen rather quickly, but when he said they would head out when he got back, her heart rate doubled. In just a matter of hours, she would be helping a criminal steal documents from the crown.

The thought shouldn’t make her palms sweat, but still, she ended up repetitively wiping her hands on her pants. It was hardly the first time in her life that she’d be breaking the law—not even the most serious infraction in her ledger. If things went well, they wouldn’t be spilling any blood.

She clung to that thought with a vice grip. By volunteering to crack the safe for Ansel, she was preventing the Foxes from robbing a family of their wealth and potentially being less scrupulous with their violence in the process. With her on the job, she could make sure the operation was as quiet and peaceful as possible. After all, wasn’t saving lives and preventing crimes her job as an officer of the Royal Police?

At that thought she stopped pacing in favor of flopping back on the bed in the center of the room, her hair spreading out around her in a chaotic splash of crimson. Since joining the Royal Police, she had been able to protect her city by following the law and ensuring others did too.

The end of the Inquiries had marked a profound shift, where Rhosyn went from seeing the police and the Crown as her enemy to her allies. When Contessa’s father, Chief Cook, had been leading corrupt law enforcement, breaking the law had clearly been in the name of justice, and Rhosyn had done it happily to be what the people of London needed.

When Chief Thorne took over, and the new King started taking steps to protect the Talented, the Royal Police were now on the side of righteousness, and Rhosyn had once again shifted to be what was needed—as close to a model police officer as she could be with her shadowed past. But if the law was no longer corrupt, why did she now feel like she had to break it to do the right thing?

With a groan, she dug the heels of her hands into her eyes so hard that lights exploded in her vision. Ever since meeting the Hood—Ansel—everything that had once seemed clear had become muddied.

A rustling at the window grabbed her attention. In a second, Rhosyn rolled off the bed, landing on the balls of her feet in a defensive crouch. After days on edge, her reflexes were primed to respond quickly to any unusual sounds.

The rustling turned into scratching, and she inched towards the window, staying low so as to be out of the line of sight of anybody at the sill—an impressive feat given that Ansel’s room was on the fourth floor.

A clicking and then a metallic scrape indicated that the lock had broken—forced open instead of finessed—and the window swung open on loudly protesting hinges. The muscles in Rhosyn’s thighs tightened like coiled springs, prepared to leap forward and dislodge the intruder as they clambered onto the sill.