Page 86

“I’m not blushing,” she protests, but I remain silent, my gaze still pinned on her. She glances at me from the corner of her eye and scoffs. “Deke and I are just good friends.”

“Oh, absolutely. He certainly seemed to be…friendly with you.”

She makes a disgusted noise in the back of her throat, and I decide to take pity on her.

As we round a corner, two servants approach, their arms laden with linens. Their steps falter as their gazes flick to me, lingering a moment too long before they turn to each other. The whispering starts before they’ve even passed.

I glance over my shoulder. It’s happened more than a few times this morning—servants pausing mid-step, their eyes darting toward me before turning away to murmur in hushed tones.

“I did warn you,” Thena says. “It doesn’t take much for rumors to start.”

My stomach twists. “What are you talking about?”

She falls to a stop outside the infirmary door and fixes me with a firm look. “I don’t typically engage in court gossip, but…” She scans the hallway, then steps closer. “People are saying you’re sleeping with the prince.”

I force an embarrassed expression, letting my gaze drop to the floor as if I’m too flustered to meet her gaze. My mind races as I feel her eyes on me, waiting, watching, and I know I need to say something—anything—to nip these rumors in the bud and steer this conversation away from the truth.

“It’s not true,” I say, keeping my voice low and hesitant. Then, as if the words slip out without thought, I add, “I’m not involved with the prince. I’m…I’m with his guard.”

I lift my gaze as surprise flickers across Thena’s face before she schools her expression back into something more neutral.

“Maxim?” she asks.

I nod, forcing a sheepish smile as I shift the crate in my arms. “It’s…new. And we’ve been trying to keep it quiet. I guess people are bound to notice things eventually.”

Thena studies me for a long moment, until finally her shoulders relax. “All right, I believe you.”

Before I can respond, she turns on her heel and strides through the infirmary door.

I blow out a breath, hefting the crate in my arms before I follow her.

The low buzz of voices inside rises immediately. The room is a hive of activity, with healers moving briskly between beds and shelves.

Several of the beds are occupied by champion candidates nursing injuries from their relentless training for the second trial, an agility test set to take place in a week’s time. The tension in the air is palpable, a mix of determination and frustration radiating from the injured competitors.

My gaze catches on one of them—Tasos, the bronze-skinned man with tightly braided hair who’s become the court’s favorite. He sits propped against a stack of pillows, his ruddy cheeks flushed and sweat dotting his forehead. A healer frowns down at him, gasping as she presses the back of her palm to his brow and pulls away as if burned.

I tear my gaze from them, focusing on the task at hand as I follow Thena toward the shelves at the back of the room. But as I set the crate down, the whispers start.

My shoulders tense as I glance around, catching the quick, darting glances of a few servants before they turn away.

Thena sets her crate down heavily, her gaze sweeping over the room like a blade ready to strike. “I don’t know what you all think you’re whispering about,” she says sharply. “But unless you’re planning to do it while carrying a crate, I suggest you get back to work.”

The sudden authority in her voice startles me, cutting through the murmurs with a fierceness I didn’t anticipate. The whispers die instantly, and the servants return to their tasks with renewed determination.

A rush of warmth blooms in my chest as I glance at Thena.

For all her sharpness, her blunt words, she could have let the whispers continue and let me fend for myself.

Apparently, I had been too quick to judge her.

But the warmth is fleeting. This gossip is dangerous, dragging me into the light and making me a target. I need to get this under control. Because if I don’t, and if the Eagle catches wind of it, it won’t just be my life unraveling. Countless others will be caught in the crossfire.

The instant I shove the door open at the top of the hidden stairwell, it’s like stepping into the gaping maw of a furnace. Heat slaps me in the face, and the frustration that has steadily grown throughout the day fades as panic tightens my throat.

I dart toward the open door of the study, only to stumble to a stop at the threshold.

Flames crawl lazily along the edges of the curtains, casting flickering light across the walls. A vase lies shattered on the floor, its shards glittering amid a dark splotch of spilled water. Even the wax of overturned candles pools defiantly over scorch marks. And in the middle of it all, the Prince of Ruin himself stands like he might explode.