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Rupert makes a muffled sound, like a half-sob of relief.
Capillaries are bursting across the King’s eyeballs, painting the whites in spidery red. His skin is darkening, turning a bluish purple.
He’s dying. The culmination of a long scheme concocted by his own servants.
“This is for the concubines,” I whisper, as guards rush up the steps to the throne and someone shouts for a physician. “For the eunuchs. And for me.”
Then I seize my tray and hurry back down the steps, like a simple maid scared off by the ruckus. Out of the corner of my eye I see Rupert retreating as well, now that his leash has fallen free of the King’s slack hand.
Rupert moves out of the way as the guards crowd around the King, who is slumping lower in the throne, while a strange burbling sound issues from his mouth.
I pause just inside the door through which I came, peering at the scene of panic in the throne room.
An older servant bustles up beside me. “Hurry back to the kitchen with that, girl!”
She thinks I came from the palace kitchens. She has no idea that an hour ago I intercepted the palace maid who was originally supposed to deliver the King’s food and bribed her to let me do it instead. Nor does she know that these treats actually came from the kitchens of the House of Bounty.
I don’t want her getting suspicious or asking questions, but I can’t leave this hallway just yet. I need to buy myself time until Rupert can get clear of the dais without drawing too much attention. He has to join me here, and then I have to lead him out of the palace along the prescribed route, while Mistress Moorne and her rebels make their move. The rebels are standing in the throne room right now, blending into the crowd—servants, guards, and even a few nobles, all waiting for the signal to act.
“Do you think His Majesty is alright?” I ask the older servant.
“Never mind that! Go on, off with you!” She propels me farther down the hallway.
There’s another maid standing in the passage, holding a crystal cruet of amber liquid—probably a favorite liquor of the King’s. She looks younger than me, so I balance the tray on one forearm, snatch the cruet, and shove the tray into her chest. She grabs it reflexively.
“Take this back to the kitchen,” I order. “The King doesn’t like any of it, so you can give it to the other guards and servants.”
“I—well, alright.” She trots away obediently.
It’s the same trick I used to dispose of the charmed cupcakes. Servants and guards will never say no to free food, especially not food prepared for a king. Thanks to the targeted nature of the poison, it won’t hurt them, and all remaining evidence will be eliminated.
The pushy older servant moves out into the throne room, drawn by her own curiosity. From my current position a half-dozen paces down the hall, I have a partial view of the dais, but there are so many people clustered around it I can’t be sure what’s happening. The noise level of the court has definitely increased.
A tall, well-toned, half-naked figure darts into the hallway, and my heart nearly stops.
Rupert. Or Rahndek, or Akos, or Rumplestiltskin…
Mine.
He’s still muzzled, still dressed like a debauched slave. But his eyes burn blue, and he reaches for me, like he wants to pull me into his arms.
“We can’t!” I whisper, casting a terrified glance up and down the hall. “Quick, quick! There’s a place we’re supposed to go, to wait until they can get us out of the palace safely. Come on.”
He arches an eyebrow, but he can’t very well protest. He’s bonded to me now, after all.
He follows me as I dart down hallways, turn corners, and scurry down stairs. I have to consult the hastily-scrawled map in my pocket a few times, but finally I see it—a faded old tapestry depicting a dragon and a lamb slaying a knight. It’s heavy, and when I pull it aside, dust leaves the coarse fabric in a gray puff.
I cough a little, waving my hand to clear the air. Rupert takes over holding the tapestry aside while I pull out the key Mistress Moorne gave me and unlock the small door behind the tapestry.
“In here.”
Rupert hooks his eyebrow even more dramatically, and I roll my eyes.
“Get in,” I tell him. “There’s going to be a coup, and I made a deal for both of us to be out of the way while it happens, alright?”
With an expressive frown, he crawls through the low doorway. I follow him on hands and knees, pull the tapestry back into place, and shut the door.
The space we’re in is pitch black, but from the feel of the air, we’re in a larger space than one might expect, judging by the small size of the door. After a moment, I become conscious of a blue glow—Rupert’s eyes, shining in the dark. They don’t do much to illuminate the space, but it’s better than nothing.
