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Chapter Twenty-Four
Ihold my breath as I turn the finial on the bedpost one hundred and eighty degrees.
A click sounds, and one corner of my bed slides out from the wall, stone scraping against stone enthralling even as it raises the hairs on the back of my neck. Outside, the bell tolls marking the midnight hour.
My grin of satisfaction strains my cheeks as I take in the dark and narrow corridor behind it. I had nearly given up. Grabbing a lantern from my side table, its flickering light casting tall shadows around my bedchamber, I gingerly step into the schism.
And yelp at the two familiar faces staring back at me, arms folded over their chests like twin towers of intimidation.
“I believe you owe me ten gold coins,” Zander murmurs.
“Surely it’s the other way around,” Atticus counters. “You didn’t think she would figure it out before the clock struck midnight. I had far more faith in her. Besides, the bed moved before the twelfth gong.”
“Splitting hairs, are we?”
“Shall we call it even, then?”
Zander smirks. “I suppose.”
Atticus cocks his head. “She looks guilty.”
Now that my initial shock has worn off, my annoyance flares. “You two have been hiding in here all night, betting on how long it would take me to open this?”
They share a glance and then answer in unison, “Yes.”
“Well, not all night. We assumed you’d wait until well after Corrin’s last visit. It’s been a tedious hour, though.” Zander is in an oddly good mood. “Where are you off to dressed like that?”
Their gazes drag over my long, silky black nightgown—another favorite from Princess Romeria’s collection.
“Nowhere. Obviously. I was just curious how this worked.” I curl my arms across my chest, the cool air within the corridor chilling. “Doesn’t the king of Islor and the commander of the king’s army have better things to do than lurk in the wall behind my bed?”
“We do, and we’re late. Perhaps you can change into something more appropriate.”
My attention drifts to their outfits. I hadn’t noticed the plain, nondescript black garb, too shocked by their presence. “Appropriate for what?”
Even in the muted lantern light, Zander’s eyes dazzle with a mischievous sparkle. “For getting answers.”
“You’re faster than I gave you credit for,” Zander murmurs, peering around the corner of an unassuming door.
“You mean, when I can see where I’m going? Or when I’m not in one of those ridiculous dresses?” I counter, blowing out the lantern and setting it on the ground inside before emerging behind him. The tunic and breeches I found in my closet are fitted but comfortable, the navy cloak perfect to hide beneath. “And let’s see how fast you are in twenty pounds of chiffon and tulle, and wobbly heels.”
“As long as I can keep my sword.”
Zander led the way through the dark corridors and tunnels with the blind ease of someone who has spent years traversing them. I did my best to commit the turns to memory, but I’m not confident that I wouldn’t end up lost behind the walls of the castle if I attempted navigating through on my own.
Atticus pulls the door shut soundlessly behind him. The smell of hay and horse dung permeates the air. We’ve emerged in a courtyard, but it is not the same one as the day Zander paraded me around the market.
Excitement courses through my veins. “Where are we?”
“The eastern stables, outside the curtain wall.” Zander is swift on his feet as he moves toward the nearest stall, his cowl drawn up to hide his recognizable golden-brown hair.
A scrawny boy of no more than twelve is talking softly to a saddled horse.
“Silmar.”
The boy bows deeply, giving me a glimpse of the gold cuff on his ear. “Your Highness.”
Zander glances this way and that, I assume to check for bystanders.
