Page 38 of A Court of Masks and Roses (Royal Scout #1)

KALI

M y eyes sink closed. The pressure of Trace’s mouth engulfs my world. His lips are smooth and warm. Hot. Trace’s damp hair, smelling of the creek’s freshness, falls across the groove of my exposed neck. I grip his arms, clawing my fingers into his flesh, dragging him closer.

Trace growls against me, his hand cupping the back of my head. His tongue claims my mouth and my core vibrates in answer. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. I want.

Trace jerks back. His eyes are wide, his fingers pressing against his mouth. “I... I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely.

I groan in frustration and pull him back down, feeling the noise he makes in the back of his throat all the way down to my ankles. He presses me into the tree with his whole body, running a hand up my side under my damp shirt, leaving a trail of heat from my waist to my ribcage.

This time, we both push away. He takes two steps back, just out of my reach. I swallow hard, the air suddenly cold and empty. We both breathe heavily, watching each other. Trace breaks the silence. “Stars. I didn’t mean to do that.”

My mouth opens. I shut it. The world spins and it’s an effort of will to keep my hands from grabbing on to his arms once more.

“No. Of course not. We... I didn’t mean it either.

Attacking you.” My voice sounds wrong. Everything I’m saying sounds wrong.

I am a better liar than this. I grab my walking stick.

Feel its rough bark. “Let’s just return to the palace, all right?

I... I won’t press you for secrets. Or reveal them.

Your decisions are your own. As are mine. ”

Trace nods but avoids my gaze, staying several paces away from me as we reclaim our way back in uncomfortable silence.

We say little to each other for the rest of the afternoon.

Too much has been said already. In the evening, we trap a rabbit for dinner and kindle a small fire to cook it over.

There is curiously little that two people experienced in setting up camp must say to work in harmony.

Eventually, however, we run out of chores, and the quiet stretches from practical to pregnant.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” Trace says finally.

He rubs his palm over the side of his face, where a bruise is blossoming in earnest, and adjusts the log he sits on for a more comfortable fit.

I have my own sitting log. And my own bed of gathered pine brush to sleep on.

Trace clears his throat. “About being owed anything. I was frustrated. The words slipped past better reason.”

I add a slab of firewood to the flames and watch them lap it up hungrily, changing colors in their bliss.

I don’t disbelieve Trace exactly. I just know it’s not really Kali he sees sitting beside him, but the woman he thinks I should be.

I choose my words carefully, as if handling eggs.

“I’m sorry about your face.” Truth. I regret his bruises. I don’t regret taking the swing.

Trace braces his forearms against his knees. “You didn’t know who you were fighting.”

I tense. “Someone who was trying to take my life. The specifics seemed of little importance.” Truth. Rising, I stack our remaining firewood into a neat pile. It keeps my hands busy.

“And now?”

“The specifics still seem of little importance.”

Trace makes a sound of disagreement.

I throw up my hands and turn to him. “It doesn’t matter.

It was just a fight, Trace.” I pick up a branch and start stripping it of its leaves.

“And just a kiss. I imagine it wasn’t your first—of either.

Don’t make an epic battle from a few glancing blows.

Would you even bring the bloody thing up again if I were Luca? ”

He crosses his arms. “What we did wouldn’t have happened with Luca. Either part.”

No, it wouldn’t have. I rather doubt Luca would have started that fight at all, much less ended it entangled in Trace’s lips. “I’m not going to Everett. If that’s where this conversation is heading, save your breath.”

“I’m just asking that you listen. The decision is yours.”

Fine. I raise my brows expectantly.

“It was five years ago that Viva captured me. When I escaped, I knew that my death would serve my family better than news of my capture and questioning. So I ran.”

I drop the stripped branch back on the pile and put up a hand. “Trace. Drop it. I’m not running away or doing anything stupider than usual. I’m—”

“Shut up and listen. This isn’t about you.

” His voice is hard and shadows play along the angle of his jaw.

A trick of the fire. When I look into his eyes, though, there is no steel there.

Just resolve and fear in equal measure. I shut up as he asked and wait for him to break the silence.

He draws a breath and stares into the flames.

“For the first two years, I ricocheted from one master to another, the harsher the better. Trying to get tougher, stronger, faster. Then I went to the Monastery of Qilar, in part to train, in part to test myself, and in part to pay penance for my weakness.”

I start to nod but halt myself, lest I interfere with his words.

“Meanwhile, Bahir’s power continued to grow.

We’d suspected he could manipulate magic for years, but the trail of blind devotion and self-righteous hate that he sowed in his wake took even pessimists by surprise.

It was time to return to the duties I was born to fulfill, even if I had to fulfill them from a different role. ”

“Wait,” I frown. “Born?”

“Yes, born ,” Trace snaps. “I needed to learn where the true threat to my kingdom and my people lay. And how to stop it.”

The implication of Trace’s words brushes my hackles, shifting and turning as it tries to arrange itself in my mind. “So you joined Firehorn’s Royal Guard?” I say.

“So I joined Firehorn’s guard,” Trace echoes in unapologetic agreement. “To keep an eye on the Dansil king and the magic-wielding Bahir, who was ensnaring Delta in an ever-tightening noose.”

My breath catches, as though a draft horse struck my chest. “Princess Raza isn’t your lover, is she?” I’m only half-surprised at my words. Of all the things to ask just now, this is by far the stupidest.

“No,” Trace agrees, and an owl hoots her assent as well. “Raza is my sister.”

Stars. Prince Rune. I knew as much many moments ago, but hearing the confirmation.

.. I stand. Pace. Stop. Sit back down. Feed more wood to the fire that I’m bloody sharing with Everett’s long-dead crown prince.

Except he isn’t dead. He’s a spy. “That night outside the Wandering Dog—I was right when I said your hatred of Wil was personal, wasn’t I? ” I say finally.

Trace shrugs. “I know the damage an heir’s recklessness can do firsthand.”

“And the prisoners...” I sort through my memories, examining my conversations with Trace anew. “Since you—your kingdom—has been watching Bahir, did you know he uses Viva Sylthia to collect whisperers? When I said the Holy Guard was expecting prisoners, did that mean something to you?”

“I did not know about Bahir’s connection with Viva Sylthia, no.

Did not even suspect it until you mentioned Samuels—and even then, I had little reason to think you were correct.

” He stretches, cracking his back. “But yes, I did know that Bahir’s guards round up whisperers for forced labor.

I’ve helped several escape to Everett over the years—it was the best I could do. ”

My memories of watching Trace disappear into the forest at night take on a new light.

I thought he’d been trying to find his lover.

But now... Trace is Prince Rune. Of course he’s been doing something at the palace these past years besides protecting the king of Dansil.

I idly wonder whether, like me, he was supposed to have not interfered.

Right. I blow out a long breath and brace my forearms on my knees. “All right, Trace. Rune. Why did you just tell me all this?”

“Because we need to stop Bahir before he strangles Dansil and starts in on Everett. Because there is something about you that threatens him. You may be the key to peace.” Trace swallows and I know there is something he’s not saying, though what he does utter is potent enough.

“I’ve tried asking and intimidating and demanding.

And now... now I’m begging you. Showing you what I’m willing to risk for your trust and for your consent to go to Everett. ”

My chest tightens, but I’m back on familiar footing now.

I’m a tool, like I’ve always been. Except now I’m a tool with enough potential for Trace, for Prince Rune, to find it useful.

I summon my own stony expression and still my face.

“Thank you. That was... helpful. I will think on your request and give you an answer once I report my own—and only my own—findings to my king. You must agree that’s fair, as one spy to another. ”

“Kali—”

“Kalianna. My name is Kalianna.” I move away from the fire and curl onto my sleeping pallet of sweet pine.“Let us get some rest while we can.”

The following day, Trace and I finally near the edge of the North Wood, where the forest opens to the palace’s back courtyard.

“Wait.” I hold out a hand to stop Trace’s advance.

The familiar smell of sap mixing with the spices of the palace’s latest deliveries tickles my nose in welcome.

I close my eyes to draw a deep breath and feel my muscles tighten instead.

Something feels wrong. It’s too loud. Not shouting or banging or anything in particular—just an increased volume of the regular, everyday din that I’m used to hearing from this spot.

“I don’t hear anything unusual,” Trace says when I share the observation.

“You are not the scout who’s spent days sitting here.

” Finding a wide-branched tree—one of Kal’s favorites from his days of watching the palace traffic—I swing myself up to survey the palace grounds.

The now-familiar sights splay out before me, from the royal stables on the castle’s eastern side to the keep on its southwestern side.

The rich colors, the flowers that house those bloody wasps, the scurrying servants, strolling courtiers, patrolling guards—all is as it was. But there is something else too.

“There are too many roses around,” I tell Trace as I scurry back down to the ground, my forehead tight. “They are everywhere—an extra two hundred men, at least. Like there were after the Viva Sylthia attack.”

Trace’s brows pull together. “Another attack while we were gone?”

I shake my head. “The Royal Guard’s numbers are standard for this time of day. Just more roses. A lot more.”

Trace raps his knuckles against the tree trunk. “All right, then we adjust. You stay here, I go fetch Lady Lianna’s clothes, and then you enter in her persona. There is no reason to risk the roses catching sight of Kal just to get you into your rooms.”

“Nooo,” I drawl, a small smile touching my lips and growing as Trace rolls his eyes to the stars. “On the contrary. Let the bastards catch a glimpse of risen-from-the-dead Kal in the keep. It will send the lot into a tailspin that may tell us something. Kick up dust.”

Trace curses.

My grin widens. “Chin up, Prince. They can’t kill Kal right then and there in the middle of the keep, and we won’t linger long.

” Adjusting my clothes, I widen my stance to fall into Kal’s male stride, claiming more space.

“I wasn’t making a suggestion,” I tell Trace over my shoulder as I start toward the keep.

Despite my swiveling neck and rising pulse, the roses we pass on our way to the barracks are preoccupied and apparently unaware of Kal’s recently attempted murder.

We are ten paces from my door—with me contemplating walking up to a random holy guardsman and starting a conversation, just to stir up some action—when someone finally approaches.

“Where in stars’ name did you two disappear to?” Luca demands of Trace and me, a mix of fatigue and frustration weighing down his words.

“Kal had family matters,” Trace says dismissively. “I ran into him—”

“Tell me later.” Grabbing Trace, Luca manhandles him into the closest of our rooms, which happens to be mine. Ignoring my torn, bloodstained clothes, Luca wheels on Trace. “The Holy Guard has been searching the whole bloody palace for you since yesterday. They are trying to arrest you.”

“Arrest him for what?” I ask.

“Last night, two young girls—both runaway whisperers—killed a rose,” says Luca. “When caught, they claimed to be working with Trace.”