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This is the man trying to destroy Cassian.

25

“I was hopingto make a good impression on your bride, and you went and mentioned my wayward son,” Jameson laughs. “I assure you, he took after his mother.”

I don’t know how to answer that, so I just smile, glancing at Mihaela, hoping she’s about to say we’re on a schedule and she really must get us to our room. But she simply stands to the side, waiting for us to finish our conversation.

“Where’s Cassian?” Jameson asks.

We knew this question was coming, but no one is going to fall for our lie.

“He accidentally ingested a plant-based food,” Noah says casually.

Jameson laughs, and when he realizes it’s not a joke, his amusement becomes confusion. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid so.” Noah catches my eye. “There were pureed potatoes in his chowder. I talked to him when we arrived in Romania. He’s doing slightly better now, but he was still vomiting when it was time to head to the airport.”

“What rotten timing.” Jameson shakes his head like he can’t believe it. Then he smiles, his eyes slightly calculating. “So, he sent you to accept his nomination?”

“That’s right.”

“Thankfully, you didn’t eat the chowder as well, or his line would have been out of the running.”

A slimy sensation coils in my stomach, and I shiver despite the heat in this non air-conditioned castle.

Noah’s eyes narrow just slightly. “Yes, thankfully.”

“Best take care while you’re here,” Jameson says, looking like he’s about to start walking again. “It would be a shame if something happened to you before the nominations were announced.”

Noah tucks me slightly closer to his side. His body is rigid, but his smile is easy. “We’ll be careful.”

“Good.” Jameson turns his smile on me. “I’d hate for something unfortunate to happen to your bride.”

My throat tightens, and I’m tempted to turn tail and run out of this opulent castle. But I stand my ground, trying to look serene.

“Mihaela,” Jameson says, turning to our guide. “I’d like to sit next to Montgomery and his lovely wife at dinner. Do you think you can make that happen?”

“Of course,” she answers.

He nods, satisfied, and turns back to us. “Until tonight.”

Then he continues walking, heading toward the front entrance and his waiting car.

“Shall we continue?” Mihaela asks.

“Yes, please,” Noah says.

By the timewe reach our suite, I’ve decided this whole plan is a terrible idea. But I temporarily forget the purpose of our visit when I step into our room.

It’s magical. There’s no other word for it. The door opens to a small sitting room, and beyond that is the bedroom. I stand at the entrance now, gaping at it. The focal point is a huge four-poster bed with burgundy curtains tied to each post. The bedding is white, and there are at least a dozen pillows.

All the furniture looks antique and wildly expensive. Intricate whirls are carved into every surface, and the stain is dark. There’s probably a name for the style, but I don’t have the slightest idea what it is. Baroque, Neo-Gothic, plain everyday Gothic—it could be any or none of those. I don’t know.

But it is luxurious.

“I’m sure you’re tired from your flight,” Mihaela says. “Feel free to rest until dinner.”

“When are we expected to join the others?” Noah asks, eyeing the bed with the same longing I feel.