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Chapter Nineteen
The yawning darknessstretched before him. His hand trailed over the damp, cold walls of the long-abandoned tunnel. No one knew of its location save his immediate family, including Francis. He prayed his brother forgot about it in his brush with death.
If he had not forgotten, then Crispin would be walking into a trap. Either way, ’twas the sole entry point available to him. He would be easily recognized if he encountered anyone within the castle walls.
He crept along the corridors, praying it had not collapsed over the years since he last utilized it. Their father once caught them using it as young boys and they were severely chastised. The tunnels’ purpose was solely for use in cases of life and death to protect the members of the royal family, which is why they were never allowed to disclose its location to another living soul. Even Henry did not know of its existence.
His fingers tangled in cobwebs as he reached the metal gate. A key. Damn. He forgot it was locked. But he also knew the padlock was old and weak. A few hard strikes with the hilt of his sword, and it broke free. That would certainly need to be replaced, not that it mattered.
The hinges creaked as he opened the metal gate. On the other side, he found a latch built into the wall. With a bit of effort, he shifted it into place. The door swung open under his weight, revealing the dark recesses of the wine cellar built beneath the castle kitchen.
He closed the false wall silently behind him, ensuring it latched completely before using the wall of kegs to lead him to the staircase through the darkness. Armed with his dagger and his sword, he climbed the stairs, being sure to hide his face beneath the deep recesses of his hood.
With his worn, borrowed clothes and scratchy woolen cloak, no one would look twice at his face. But he smeared ash on it before he entered the tunnel hoping it would mask his features enough should someone catch a glimpse of his profile.
Marian should have had enough time to lure Ruby away from the feast.
When he realized the bastard who stole his throne and his bride intended to celebrate with a feast while smearing his name and reputation in the mud, Crispin could no longer contain his rage. They could not wait for the castle to sleep. Crispin wanted to slit his brother’s throat in front of all his guests and show them the true king of Meradin.
He would need to expose his deception first. No reason to martyr the bastard. If he were able to reveal his brother’s duplicity, then it would turn the favor of the people back to himself. How could he draw him out? If only he could convince his mother of what he had seen, of what Francis had done to Ruby and Henry, of what he intended to do to his people. His mother still held sway with the privy council and the people of Meradin. Vivienne Saville was above reproach. Even as queen, her opinion often swayed hearts and minds much more effectively than any threats of violence and retaliation. If he could convince his mother, then he could unmask Francis.
Crispin clung to the shadows as he stalked through the corridors careful not to cross paths with any servants or guests who may be wandering. He climbed the stairs toward the raucous sounds of music and laughter. The further he climbed, the louder it became. He reached the small landing, crossing into the small balcony overlooking the great hall. From above he saw the guests among the rows of tables and the head table at the back of the room.
His gaze narrowed on Francis and an overwhelming hatred boiled within him. He would kill his brother for what he did to Ruby, and he would take pleasure in watching the life drain from his eyes as his blood stained his hands and his blade.
Pulling his attention from Francis, he scoured the rest of the head table. Both his mother and Ruby were absent. Perhaps Marian had been able to pull them both away even though her mission was only to draw Ruby away from the festivities and ensure her safety.
Crispin watched for a few moments but finally pulled himself away. His plan to have Marian lure Ruby to the postern gate seemed to have worked. He fully intended to slip out through the kitchen and rendezvous with her there, but his vengeance demanded satisfaction.
His conscience commanded he leave, take her with him and ride until they reached England. There they could make their journey to the continent and live in obscurity until they grew old together and died in each other’s arms. But Crispin could not bear the thought of his brother claiming victory. He rested his hand on the dagger at his hip.
A breath caught in his chest at the sight of his mother as she entered the great hall. She sat at the end of the head table, her attention focused on the guests before her and not the imposter to her left. Her wicked son.
If he could somehow get a message to her, he could warn her. But who could he trust? Marian had done her part and escaped with Ruby if all had gone to plan. Why would he linger and risk capture?
A guard approached Francis, leaning down to whisper in his ear. Crispin watched in anticipation. With a nod, his brother pushed away from the table and followed the guard from the great hall. Giddy excitement filled him. If he could confront his brother alone, then he could end this in silence and blame it on a rogue assassin.
As his mind filled in the details, Crispin moved swiftly to follow their path. He remained hidden in doorways and alcoves, following the sound of their heavy footfalls echoing down the hall. They were going to his private chamber.
The thrill of the hunt drew him into a haze. Crispin followed, rounding the corner as the door closed behind his brother. The guard continued down the hallway. Alone. In Crispin’s chamber. He could not have asked for a better ambush.
One swipe of his blade, and he could end it. Reclaim his throne and his bride without fear of reprisal. With Ruby and Henry to testify to his actions, they would have the proof they needed to convince the privy council they acted in defense of the kingdom.
Crispin drew his dagger and silently crossed to the door. He rested his hand on the latch and inhaled deeply, bracing himself for the glory of hiscoup de grâce. The latch turned beneath his hand.
The cold press of steel against his throat turned his molten blood to ice. His blade clattered to the ground and the door swung open.
Francis stood before him, a devilish smile twisting his deformed face into a mask of fiendish horror.
Crispin fought the urge to lunge at him and beat the smirk from his hideous face. The guard gripped his hood and ripped it back, revealing his face completely. Francis’s sardonic smile grew even wider.
“How predictable,” Francis drawled with obvious delight. “Perhaps I should behead you together.” He stepped aside revealing a mass of wool kneeling on the floor.
“Ruby.” Her gaze snapped up at the sound of his voice.
