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“And yet it happened, which is why the guards now search everyone’s room. We felt it prudent to do so before anyone had a chance to hear about the death and hide evidence.”
“And you came to join the search, Your Highness?”
“I came down here because I could not sit in my rooms, waiting. I was hoping to find the culprit myself.” He stretches our blanket out over the bed. “I didn’t know the guard’s name.” Remorse fills his voice.
“You’re a king. You can’t be expected to remember names.”
“My brother would have.” He glares at the low stone ceiling, but I sense his thoughts far away. Does he regret what he did to King Zander? Does he feel justified?
I hesitate. “What will you do to Sabrina?”
“I don’t know yet.” But his jaw tenses, as if the options are limited and all unpleasant.
I have yet to hear of a tainted mortal allowed to live since King Atticus took the throne.
My heart aches for the young woman.
“Come, this can be done quickly, and then you can go back to sleep. Or whatever needs you must tend to.” He gestures toward the bed, but his focus is on Suri, rooting for a nipple to clamp onto. The top buttons on my nightdress are unfastened for easy access, leaving the collar plunging to near indecency. In all the turmoil, I hadn’t fixed myself.
“Yes, Your Highness.” I lay her down and unravel the blanket that swaddles her little body until she’s in only her diaper. Unfastening the pins, I peel cloth away, leaving her naked to the cool night air. “Nothing hidden there. Though I wouldn’t even know what to look for.”
“A tiny glass vial of liquid.” He watches her as she kicks her legs, her face growing red with her wails. “I can’t remember the last time we had an infant living within the castle. Decades, at least.”
“They bring great joy and even greater worry.” Especially in this evolving world.
He sighs. “You can put her out of her misery now.”
I bundle her up, giving her my fingertip to calm her, while my other hand covertly tugs the sides of my gown together, so I’m less exposed. Is there any point, though?
“Everyone must be searched,” the king confirms, answering my unspoken question.
“Yes, of course.” But I remain frozen where I stand as dread takes over. This feels so much more intimate than having the guards jostle me and then move on.
“Gracen.”
My eyes flash to his. He remembered my name?
He towers over me, examining my face. “Would you rather I call the guards back in?”
I shake my head.
His head is cocked as he studies me. “How would you prefer this done, then?”
Not at all would be nice. “Could Corrin—”
“No.” The answer is so abrupt, it startles me. He sighs, his tone softening. “Corrin was Princess Romeria’s lady maid and loyal to my brother. The only reason she’s still alive and in her position is that she was equally loyal to my parents, and she runs the castle’s household better than anyone else. But I am not a complete fool. I only trust her so far.”
“That is fair.”
Blue eyes bore into mine, narrowing. “You still falter. Why?” There’s a hint of suspicion growing. It’s never a good thing to have a king suspicious of you when someone just tried to kill him.
My face flushes. “Mortals are far more modest than Islorians, Your Highness.” And I’m struggling to decide which would be less mortifying: having this Islorian male’s gaze on me, or his hands. My body hasn’t healed from childbirth yet.
And he is a king.
He nods slowly as if digesting my apprehension and searching for a solution around it. And then a twinkle sparks in his eyes. “Would it help if I …” He reaches for a button on his tunic, unfastening it, then another. Half were already undone when he arrived, and now they’re all undone, and he’s reaching for the hem to pull his shirt off.
“No!” My hands fly to his, clamping over them, stopping them from their work. The brief contact spikes my heart rate, but then I pull back as if burned, realizing I’ve touched him without his permission. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness.”
He doesn’t seem offended, though, his lips curved with amusement. “I was just trying to even the playing field.”
“That is kind, but there is no need for it.” And there’s no avoiding this. At least it’s dark. With a slow exhale, my stomach churning, I reach upward, to the collar of my nightgown.
“Stop.”
My hand freezes.
He sighs heavily and steps closer, until he’s looming over me, the heat from his body radiating against my skin. His eyes remain locked on my face as his hands fumble with the soft fabric folds of my nightgown, grazing my thighs in the process. “Are these the only pockets in this nightgown?”
