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Chapter Twenty-One
Aika
This maid’s uniform was not designed for scaling balconies.
Knocking out Einar’s guard would have raised an alarm, though, so my only option was stealth. The suites next to his are unlocked, and then it’s a simple matter of shimmying along the ledge between this balcony and his.
Or, it would be, but the servant I pilfered this dress from was a solid few inches taller than I am.
I don’t turn back, though, because this is the only time I know for sure the king will be out of his rooms. There’s a customary welcome dinner the first night of any royal visit, and he wouldn’t give offense by missing it.
The real gamble is whether or not he took the giant cat.
My foot creeps along the icy ledge, and the adrenaline rush of being suspended several stories up helps me clear my head. I take a calming breath.
The beast stayed close to his side on the way into the palace, without a chain of any kind, which makes me believe it’s a companion animal of sorts.
In any case, he would hardly leave it in the rooms if it was liable to eat an unsuspecting maid.
Probably.
Nothing for it, though. I need to know what was in that trunk, and Mother instructed me to find everything I could on the king.
I leap the last few feet to the king’s balcony. The handle to the door is locked, and I begrudgingly raise my respect for him a bit. No one thinks to lock the outer doors of a third-floor suite.
Still, picking these is child’s play. I only need to use one hairpin.
As soon as I hear the click of the tumbler, I ease open the grand French doors of the balcony and poke my head inside. The main room is almost as opulent as Mother’s estate, but I don’t take time to admire the gold-embossed crown molding.
Instead, I search the vast space for signs of the cat.
“Kitty…” I call softly, but nothing stirs.
The prickling sensation of eyes on me follows each cautious footstep as I make my way into the room, leaving the door open.
As soon as I’m away from the doorway, the smell hits me.
Jasmine and cloves and something entirely Zaina.
I take a deep breath, wondering if my mind is playing tricks on me. It’s faint, barely even there, but I would know that scent anywhere.
My breaths come faster, and I realize that I am not half as prepared for this moment as I thought I was.
I have spent weeks avoiding her bedroom, the training room, anywhere traces of her linger.Why is it here?
Has he brought back some of her things?
And what is the king even doing here in Corentin, when she must have hated him? Did she play her part that well?
The Zaina I knew couldn’t have, not entirely. The fury burning in her caramel-colored eyes always gave her away.
I remember it well from the day I came to live with Mother, and the weeks that followed. The way Zaina’s eyes would blaze every time she spotted me, even while the rest of her features were carved into bland perfection.
Eventually, that anger gave way to something softer.
And then it turned to emptiness, sadder and stiller than the kind Mother holds.
I try to shake off the memories, the guilt, the grief threatening to overtake me, heading for the trunk the king had protected earlier. It’s bigger than the others, and not quite as ornate on the outside, almost as if it was designed to blend in.
