Page 60 of Artemysia

“Delphine is always saving my sorry ass.” - Riev

A small army of guards lines the hallway outside my bedroom door.

I’m ordered to stay put and wait for Delphine.

Fuck that. She doesn’t need saving, but I can’t sit on my ass and do nothing.

I relish the thought of chopping off the prince’s fingers one by one, any finger that’s touched her, and that includes the hand that held hers in front of me.

Hell, I’ll burn this entire estate down before I let anyone touch her. The thought of this manor going up in flames soothes me, and suddenly, I have a plan.

Delphine is always saving my sorry ass to her own detriment. I won’t let the prince take advantage of her. Although she’s strong enough to take him down herself, she’ll need a distraction to escape the guards. We’ll get out of here tonight. Screw tomorrow. I have the information we need.

With that, I’m out the window, climbing down the bricks and ivy of the manor. I’m betting they never thought an uppity nobleman could ever escape out a high window, so no one bothered to secure it. Unluckily for them, I’m the furthest anyone can get from a useless noble.

Below me flows the East River, connecting all the way to South Kingdom.

When I tread through the kitchen as if I belong, the staff is too busy to notice, or else they don’t care to look a marquis in the eye.

Either way, I return to the ballroom through the staff entrance.

I plan to sneak back upstairs to the prince’s quarters, set fire to the hall, and clear out the fourth floor.

Free Delphine from that asshole’s grasp.

It’s an understatement to say that the thought of Toryl touching her fills me with murderous rage.

My hand wraps tightly around the knife at my waist.

This place is worse than Stargazer.

I snatch a blazing candle off a heavily decorated table of cocktails and little cakes. I have the insane thought of filling my pockets with those colorful cakes, knowing how much Delphine loves dessert, but there’s no time. I’m going to burn this whole fucking place down.

Prince, cakes, and all.

With those heavy fabric-lined walls and thick rugs, this manor will go up in flames like dry grass in the summer.

By the time they put it out, Delphine and I will be long gone.

As I slip through the crowd—most of them drunk by now on the king’s wine—a glimmer of silver hair like starlight catches my eye. A rush of adrenaline starts my blood pumping harder.

Delphine.

In the middle of the ballroom, in the prince’s arms. Dancing, slow and close.

When she smiles, she looks up at him as if she’s enjoying herself.

She’s wearing the black dress she slipped over herself when I found her naked, but now there’s a choker of glimmering diamonds around her slender neck. Who gave that to her?

A territorial surge of possessiveness crushes my chest. It’s difficult to fight the intense desire to drag the prince outside by his starchy high collar and have a talk with him, my way.

A fists and knives kind of way. That would be too easy.

I suppress my stabby tantrum and focus on Delphine.

She’d be pissed that I’m not doing anything for the mission right now.

But who is the mission for anymore?

Even in a simple dress, she outshines everyone around her. She doesn’t see me. She and the prince are chatting away like old friends.

She doesn’t need saving, I remind myself.

Realization dawns. What she doesn’t need is…me.

My boots feel as if they are made of lead. I stand rooted in place on the gold tiles of the ballroom. The scalding candle wax drips down onto my hand, blistering my skin, but I don’t move an inch.

I don’t care that the hot wax hurts. I don’t care that it burns me.

It doesn’t hurt half as much as the burning in my heart.