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Long live the queen.
My hand gripped the quill,hovering over the paper. The note had to be subtle enough to only cast suspicion after Graham disappeared. I hoped the fact that it was the stolen book’s page would be enough to link it to Bryn Yarrow because I figured an assassin wouldn’t sign her name.
I folded the note and tucked it into my corset before walking out of the bathroom into Graham’s room.
His brows furrowed and he tilted his head to the side.
I brushed my hand nervously over my corset. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “You just look . . . well . . . like a noble.”
He checked the hallway for servants and led me out when it was clear. We crept down the corridor with quiet steps, then down a set of stairs. At the end of the hall was an enormous set of carved doors.
I held my breath as we approached and entered the room. Graham closed the door behind us before going to his father’s bedside.
I waited by the door, hesitant and afraid.
Desmond Brennin slept in an enormous bed in the ornate room. Instead of looking grand in his surroundings, he seemed small and forgotten. His hair was gray, his body frail, and the gold-leafed headboard only accentuated the contrast between grandeur and decay. It was hard to believe this was the tyrant who’d destroyed so many lives.
My father would’ve thought I was crazy if he knew whose bedroom I was standing in. I felt exactly the same way, but it was too late to run.
ChapterTwenty-Two
Graham touchedhis father’s arm and greeted him gently. The king awoke with watery eyes and a weak smile. His gaze landed on me, but I didn’t know if his vision was clear enough to register my presence. Graham gestured me over.
“Father, you have a guest.”
I stepped forward toward the king timidly.
The king groaned and pushed himself up a little higher on his pillows. “Who?”
Graham glanced at me. “She’s . . . the friend I told you about.”
I smiled at the king and dropped into a curtsy, glad Graham didn’t give him a name. “Imperator Brennin, I came to thank you. You’ve done more for me than I deserve.”
The king blinked slowly. “What do you mean?”
Graham’s face fell in disappointment. Deeper than disappointment.
But then the king reached over and grasped my hand. “My memory does not serve me well at the moment, but you do seem familiar, my dear. I am glad I have done some good for you. It has been so long since I accomplished anything worthwhile.”
I swallowed, keeping my eyes on the king’s. I didn’t know what to say, so I muttered, “Thank you. I’m sorry to wake you.”
His grip on my hand tightened and he squinted, studying me. “You do seem quite familiar. Have we met?”
I shook my head.
“You remind me of someone from a former life, perhaps—but, once again, my memory fails me.” He released my hand and sank back into his pillow.
I wondered who he was thinking of. He wasn’t a good king—or a good person—but at this moment, I couldn’t feel anything but pity. His eyelids fluttered to a close as if he had no control over them anymore.
I backed away, giving Graham his space. He stepped closer to his father’s bedside, taking the king’s pale, veined hand in his.
I looked around the room, searching for somewhere to leave the note I’d written. A bag of doctor’s supplies rested on a chair. I backed toward it, but uncertainty weighed down my feet. The doctor would most likely give the note to Graham or the queen without telling anyone else about it.
I glanced back at Graham. He was adjusting the sheets over the king’s shoulders. A laundry basket on the other side of the room caught my eye. No one would be digging through that except the servants. And if the stereotype was true, servants loved to gossip. I casually edged my way over and took the note from my dress, dropping it into the basket just as Graham sighed and stood up.
“Sleep well, Father,” he said. “I’ll visit again soon.”
