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Mother glanced from her to Farrendel. “Will you have breakfast with the family before you leave for Tarenhiel?”
Farrendel nodded. “Yes.”
It said a lot about the bond he’d built with her family that he agreed so readily. He probably would eat a first breakfast right away when he got up, then another one with the family later, but it was the thought that counted.
“We’ll see both of you there.” Mother stepped forward, as if she wanted to give Farrendel a hug but couldn’t with all the onlookers.
“Thank you.” Essie smiled, took Farrendel’s arm, and headed for the doors.
As soon as they stepped clear of the ballroom and turned the corner toward the family wing, she slid her fingers down Farrendel’s arm until she held his hand as she’d longed to do all night. “Sorry this was such a long night.”
“It was...” He trailed off, as if he couldn’t figure out a nice way to say it.
“Excruciating?”
That brought a smile to his face. “Yes.”
Essie leaned closer to him as they strolled across the green velvet rug covering this hallway. Various landscape paintings filled the walls. At this time of the night with the ball keeping everyone busy behind them, it was completely deserted, even of servants, leaving Essie free to relax and hold Farrendel’s hand without worrying about anyone seeing.
This was their last night together before he left for war. A night to linger and savor their time together. Essie wasn’t exactly sure how to go about telling Farrendel that she didn’t want to have regrets tonight. That if, tonight, their kissing led to more...
“Princess Elspeth! Prince Farrendel!”
Essie halted and turned. Lord Bletchly was hurrying down the hallway toward them. “Yes, Lord Bletchly? Did you need something?”
“I saw you leaving and just wanted to give my congratulations once again on your marriage.” Lord Bletchly turned to Farrendel and held out his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Prince Farrendel. I look forward to the growing peace between our kingdoms.”
Farrendel drew in a deep breath, probably bracing himself for yet one more handshake after he’d thought himself done with those for the evening. He gripped Lord Bletchly’s hand, the tight sleeve of his tailcoat riding up his arm to expose his wrist.
Lord Bletchly swung his other hand up and clapped something around Farrendel’s wrist. At the same moment, a door clicked open behind Essie, footsteps scuffing across stone.
Farrendel yanked his hand free, his other hand sparking with a weak blue fire.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.” Lord Bletchly’s genial tone turned hard, cold.
Something cold and round dug into the small of Essie’s back. She opened her mouth to cry out, but a rag clapped over both her mouth and nose, smelling of something chemical and sickly sweet. She was yanked backwards, the back of her head pressing into a stranger’s chest.
She scrambled, off balance, trying to get purchase for her feet so that she could stomp on her attacker’s foot or kick him up higher. She couldn’t reach her derringer, not without the men noticing.
Yet she needed to get free. To scream. To help Farrendel. To fight.
She couldn’t seem to find her balance, and only her attacker pressing her head against his chest kept her from sliding to the floor. The sickly-sweet stench coated her tongue, filling her throat. She couldn’t draw a decent breath past the press of his hand over her nose and mouth. Her muscles felt weak. Shaky. What was wrong with her?
Farrendel glanced from Essie and the person behind her to Lord Bletchly. His magic remained nothing but a faint swirl around his left hand.
“I was assured your power would be weak inside the stones of the castle, and that shackle should impede most of your magic. There’s nothing you can do, not without risking her.” Lord Bletchly stood all too sure of himself, as if he wasn’t only feet from Farrendel’s deadly, crackling magic.
Except that Farrendel’s magic didn’t hold the power it normally did. Lord Bletchly was right. There was a chance Essie was immune to Farrendel’s magic. But that was a chance Farrendel wouldn’t take. With the gunman standing directly behind her with a gun to her back, her body provided a shield.
Essie opened her mouth to scream. To tell him not to stand down. But all that filled her mouth, her lungs, was the chemical stench. A light-headed buzzing rang in her ears. She couldn’t gather her feet beneath her. The hands she lifted, trying to claw the man holding her, scrabbled weakly at his shirt. She couldn’t seem to raise her arms high enough.
Farrendel’s shoulders slumped. His magic winked out.
No. Essie tried to scream into the man’s hand.No. Don’t. Fight.
Nothing but a whisper squeaked out.
Lord Bletchly forced Farrendel onto his knees, shackling Farrendel’s hands behind his back. There was something about the shackles. They didn’t glint like iron, and when it clamped around his wrist, blood dripped, as if the shackle had sliced him.
