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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Corrick

For the last two years, every time a smuggler was caught, I’d be trapped with the secret terror of wondering if it was Tessa. I’d be called to the Hold, and the entire walk, I’d have to banish the thought of finding her broken and begging in a cell. Or worse, hearing about a corpse left in the dirt, the way Mistress Kendall was.

The past few days have been hell.

And now she’s here. In my room.

Tessa has good aim. Brandy splashes across the center of my jacket, but I snatch the glass out of the air before it can shatter on the floor.

She’s glaring up at me. Waiting for me to make good on my threat, I suppose.

I have no idea how to move forward from here.

I sigh and move to the side table, where I set the glass down next to the bottle, then unbutton my jacket and toss it over the back of a chair.

Everythingsmells like brandy now. I rub my hands down my face.

I don’t understand how this all unraveled so very quickly. Harristan is going to come crashing in here at any minute and demand to know what I’m thinking, and I honestly don’t have an answer to give him.

Steel rattles against the floor, and I look over. She’s coiled the chain between her palms again, and her teeth are clenched.

Oh. She really does think I’m going to cut her hands off.

I’m used to fear and defiance, but this is Tessa, and I don’t like seeing it in her. Shame swells in my chest, quick and hot and sudden. I drop into the chair. My emotions are a tangled mix. Anger that she was able to break into the palace. Excitement at seeing her again. Betrayal, because she clearly didn’t come here looking for Wes.

Fear. Weston Lark tried to keep her safe. Prince Corrick can’t show her mercy.

I brace my forearms on my knees and stick to business, as if she’s any other prisoner.

“How did you get in the palace?” I say.

“Why did you trick me?”

“Do you have any concern at all for your well-being? Tell me.”

She shuts her mouth and glares at me.

“What were you planning?” I demand. “They found powders in your bag.” I think of her words on our final night together in the Wilds, about how we should be riding at the front instead of hiding in the shadows. Tessa wouldn’t go for a weapon—but she has bottles and vials and powders and so much knowledge. I always worried she’d be caught for smuggling, but in a sudden whirl of panic, I wonder if she came here for something else altogether: assassination. It’s both disappointing and admirable, and my emotions don’t know where to settle. My tone darkens. “Why are you here?”

Her eyes almost glow with defiance. She says nothing.

I wish I could turn off the lights and pull the mask over my face and turn back time. I wish we were back in the workshop, where she didn’t fear me at all, and she’d answer my questions without hesitation.

Why did you do this?I would ask. Lord, Tessa. I told you of the danger. I showed you what was at risk.

There were times in the workshop where the distance between us was barely enough space to draw breath, and I crave that easy familiarity. That . . . friendship. That simplicity.

The distance between us now may as well be the width of Kandala. I’ll never have any of it back again.

A knock sounds at the door, and the guard outside announces, “His Royal Majesty, King Harristan.”

I stand, but my eyes flash to hers. There are a million ways this could go wrong, and a very short list of ways it could go right. “If you throw a glass of liquor at my brother, I really will have to cut your hands off. Keep your mouth shut.”

Her eyes are wide and alarmed and locked on the door, so maybe she didn’t need the warning. I don’t have time to tell her anything else, because my brother storms into the room like a tornado.

“Corrick. What are you—” He stops short as soon as he crosses the threshold and sniffs at the air. “How much have you had to drink?”