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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Tessa

The door to the carriage slams, and I’m alone. My heart pounds in my chest. Again, too much has happened, and my world feels like it’s been turned upside down for the tenth time today. The pouch rattles with coins when I lift it, and the dagger is heavy. When I pull it free of its sheath, it looks sharp and ready. I try not to wonder if he’s ever used it on anyone.

I don’t trust Corrick at all, but this . . . ?this doesn’t feel like a trap. What would be the purpose? What would he have to gain?

I’m quick and sure-footed. This dress is dark. If the captain and his men are distracted, I could slip away like a ghost.

I couldn’t go back to Mistress Solomon’s, but I could find work in another city. Especially with a purse full of silver.

But then I think of my meeting with King Harristan. It’s easy to love your king when everyone is well fed and healthy. A bit harder when everyone is . . . not.

Hecares. What’s happening in Kandala weighs on him. I’m not sure how I can tell, but I can.

Despite everything, I can tell it weighs on Corrick as well.

I have never tricked you. I’ve been treating him like the man who everyone fears, as if his entire life has been one big trick. But he’s been progressively protecting me since the instant I arrived in the palace, from the way he provided me with food and a room to sleep in to the note he slipped me before his meeting with his brother. Prince Corrick has done a lot of terrible things, but his words rang true. Maybe I don’t understand things from this side, just like they don’t seem to understand things from mine. And maybe the king was just indulging his brother by allowing me to meet with the royal apothecaries, but it’s an opportunity to tell people who matter that they could be doing better with the supplies they’re given.

I can’t keep stealing to help the sick, but maybe I can help them in another way.

Maybe.

It’s a lot of maybes.

When Wes stood in front of me on our last night together, I said we needed to stop hiding and cause a revolution. Running now would be hiding. And this isn’t the type of revolution I was thinking of . . . ?but maybe I can bring about change. Maybe I can show the king how badly his people are suffering.

Maybe this is a chance no one else would ever have.

I leave the dagger and the coin pouch on the seat, then put my hand on the latch of the door. I open it boldly, stepping onto the cobblestones with no effort to be silent.

The captain’s head whips around. So does Corrick’s.

“Ah . . . ?forgive me.” My voice cracks, and I have to clear my throat. “Your Highness?” I curtsy for good measure. “It’s been a long day, and I’m rather hungry. You mentioned you were as well.”

Corrick looks at me across fifteen feet of darkness, his blue eyes dark and inscrutable. He’s gone very still.

My heart is beating so hard that I can nearly taste it in my throat. I hope I’m not making a mistake.

“Indeed,” he finally says. “We’ll discuss the pattern of those search lights another time, Captain.”

He walks back and looks down at me in the moonlight. In the dark it’s easy to remember him as Wes: the way he moves, the way the stars glint in his eyes. Brocade and silver have replaced homespun wool and rough leather, but he’s still the same man. This morning, I told Quint that my friendship with Wes was an illusion based on a trick, and he said, “Are you so sure?”

As always, I’m not sure of anything.

Corrick’s eyes skim my face as the cool night air streams between us. “Dinner awaits,” he says. Any trace of an edge has vanished from his voice.

A footman scurries forward to hold open the door.

Corrick offers me his hand to help me into the carriage.

This time, I take it.

We sit opposite each other again. A whistle and a whip crack later, and we’re rocking over the cobblestones. Corrick settles back into his cushions, regarding me. There’s no challenge in his expression now—simply consideration. He’s obviously waiting for me to speak, to explain myself, but my tongue is twisted into knots.

Eventually, his eyes narrow just a bit. “Did you stay because you truly wanted to, or did you stay because you do not trust me?”

“Oh!” That didn’t occur to me—but voicing either of those options makes me feel too vulnerable. “I . . . ?I chose to stay. I have obligations in the palace.”