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The silence that follows feels like a test. Or a threat.
He lets it stretch before delivering the blade. “Tell me, girl. Do you consider yourself loyal?”
My gaze lifts, and I meet his for the faintest sliver of time. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
His smile spreads thin and slow, and something sharp lingers behind it. “And do you know your place?”
“I scrub the floors clean enough to see my reflection in them, Your Majesty,” I say, my voice even. “I know exactly what I am.”
“Good,” he says, his tone as light as silk but laced with something far heavier. “Let us keep it that way.”
With a flick of his wrist, he waves me off like nothing more than an afterthought.
I turn sharply, keeping my steps measured even though I want to sprint for the door. Only when the thick wood is solid against my back do I let myself breathe—this time, a sigh of relief.
It was only about the rumors. Stupid palace gossip. I haven’t been caught.
But the relief is fleeting. His words, his plans, cling to me like a shadow, sinking into the cracks I try to ignore. My chest tightens, the ache sharp and unfamiliar.
Because he reminded me of who I am.
And the warning found its mark.
The cold corridors do little to douse the heat in my veins, the king’s words churning in my mind like smoke, clouding any clarity I might grasp on to. He spoke lightly, but every syllable was weighted, a blade hidden behind velvet.
I’m still sifting through the layers of his implications when a sound pierces my thoughts. A scuff of movement. Behind me.
My body tightens in response, every one of my senses going on alert. The sound is nothing more than a whisper against the stone, a quiet echo in the dark, but it’s enough to send a pulse of readiness through me. I don’t react outwardly, but instinct takes hold, the rhythm of survival pounding in my heart as I shift course. My path veers subtly, leading me down an empty hall that branches off the Artery.
The sound follows.
Who would shadow me this late? It’s not someone from the Aviary, they wouldn’t be so obvious. The king’s warning sharpens my anxiety, but I refuse to falter. If I’m being followed, they want something. And I intend to find out what.
The winding staircase ahead offers a perfect lure. I climb the stairs two at a time, careful to keep my footsteps light against the worn grooves of the stone. The corridor I’m leading to curves into the east wing, where the halls tighten into deadened quiet and plenty of storage.
The faintest noise follows behind me. They’re keeping time with my steps now, patient, deliberate.
Just a little farther.
At the corridor’s end, I take a sharp turn, slipping through the nearest door into one of the supply closets. The hinges creak as I push it closed, leaving a crack to peer through. My breathing evens out as I press my back against the wall, listening.
Silence blankets the space, interrupted by soft footfalls beyond the door. My heart kicks hard in my chest as a silhouette steps into the corridor’s light.
The moonlight carves him in sharp relief. The tousled mahogany curls, wild as always. The faint glint of his circlet. His dark ochre eyes smoldering beneath drawn brows as his gaze sweeps the corridor like it could strip the walls of their secrets.
Gods damn him.
I grip the edge of the door, and in a fluid motion, I pivot, seize the prince’s wrist, and drag him into the closet. Darkness folds around us as I press the door shut.
“What do you think you’re doing?” My voice comes out breathless as I try to calm the frantic pace of my heart.
“I might ask you the same thing,” Kallias drawls.
“You were following me,” I say. “Why?”
A small flame sparks to life between us, its glow weaving light and shadow across the room. Kallias’s gaze drifts over the wooden shelves lined with linens before settling on me. “Do you always drag innocent men into supply closets?”
“I swear to the Anemoi, Kallias. Stop skirting the question.”
