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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Corrick

Idon’t want to take Tessa to another room. I want to keep her here, right here, where I know no one can hurt her. Where she can’t take any actions that will force my hand.

I want to sneak her out of the palace and over the wall and back into the workshop, where we can stand in the quiet firelight as Wes and Tessa.

Where I can help my subjects instead of harming them.

What I want never matters, so I lead her down the hushed hallway, our feet making little noise on the velvet carpeting. She’s barefoot, her hair long and unbound down her back, her hand clutching that scrap of fabric against her shoulder. My guards have the good sense to keep their eyes forward.

Quint has chosen the Emerald Room, which, contrary to its name, is decorated in shades of red and pink, from the satin coverlets on the bed to the heavy curtains that line the walls. The only element of green at all is the massive jewel hanging from the neck of the woman in the portrait over the fireplace. My great-grandmother. It’s a good room, nothing too grand for someone who is ostensibly a prisoner, but definitely a sign that Tessa is not someone destined for the Hold.

Four guards have been stationed by the door, which feels like overkill, but then I consider how easily she got inside the palace and I say nothing.

We stop outside the door to her room, and she glances at the guards, her eyes a bit wide.

“They won’t harm you,” I say. “Unless you try to leave.”

“That’s it?” she whispers.

“If you wake early, the guards can call for food.”

“You’re leaving me here. Alone.”

“Should I not?”

She shakes her head quickly, then steps across the threshold and turns to face me, as if she thinks I’m going to grab her arm and jerk her back out.

“And I can close the door,” she says.

“I recommend it.”

She stares at me for the longest moment, then grabs hold of the door and swings it closed softly. After a moment, I hear a key turn in the lock.

I glance at the man closest to the door. I don’t know every single guard by name, but I know Lieutenant Molnar. He’s older, well into his sixties, with thick graying hair. He served my grandparents, and then my parents, and now us. He’s quiet, but he knows his job, and he does it well. He follows orders and doesn’t gossip—and he’s senior enough that he won’t let the others do it either.

“You have a key?” I say to him.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good.”

I should return to my own chambers, but I’m too rattled, too unsettled. I feel like I’ll never sleep again.

I hate you.

When she said it to Wes, she never meant it.

When she said it to Prince Corrick, I could feel her conviction in every syllable. I. Hate. You.

I walk past my chambers, guards trailing me as I stride down the hallway. They don’t usually shadow me everywhere, but I’m sure Tessa’s sudden appearance has their captain spooked.

I stop in front of Harristan’s door. His guards tell me he’s asleep, but I’m the only person they’d allow through without protest. I slip through the door like a ghost, carefully easing it closed so the latch doesn’t click. The only light in the room comes from the hearth, which has burned down to embers. A tray with teacups and saucers sits on the side table, but one is on the table near Harristan’s bed. Good.

I can hear his breathing from here.

Not good.