Page 22

My head swam, the adrenaline that had kept me going finally ebbing away. The world began to blur, edges softening and colors bleeding together. I tried to focus on Anderic’s face, on the determined set of his jaw, but even that started to fade.

A sudden thought clawed its way to the surface—I needed to tell him. About the tattoo. About how the assassins from that day weren’t just mercenaries but members of the Red Cross Gang. Or at least, half of them were.

My lips parted, but the words never came. Darkness swallowed me whole.

* * *

I awoke to the familiar softness of silk sheets against my skin, a luxury I’d almost forgotten during my time in that Godforsaken cell. My eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the warm glow of candlelight that bathed the opulent guest chamber. For a moment, I wondered if I’d dreamed the whole ordeal.

But then the pain hit me, a dull ache that seemed to radiate from every inch of my body. I let out a soft groan, my throat parched and raw.

Oh, it was real. Very real.

As I tried to push myself up, my gaze landed on the figure slumped in an armchair beside the bed.

Prince Anderic, his golden curls tousled and his usual immaculate attire rumpled, was fast asleep.

His jacket was gone, leaving him in just his shirt, the top few buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. My breath hitched slightly, and before I could stop myself, my gaze lingered.

Ilyana! Not the time for that.

Heat crept up my neck in a slow, mortifying blush. I forced my attention upward, away from the distracting glimpse of skin, and instead studied his face.

As he slept, the dangerous edge he always carried had dulled, his expression free of its usual sharp intensity.

He looked… almost harmless. Almost. But I knew better.

Still, the thought didn’t bring the same unease and fear it once had.

Strangely enough, it brought something else—something I wasn’t ready to admit… yet.

But one thing I could admit, at least to myself, was that Anderic had wormed his way past my defenses. Somewhere along the way, without me even realizing it, he had become my safe place.

Swallowing against the dryness in my throat, I reached for the water glass on the bedside table. My fingers, weak and trembling, barely brushed against it before it tipped, toppling over with a loud clatter.

I let out a string of colorful curses even my brother would be proud of.

Anderic jerked awake instantly, his hand flying to his hip where a sword would usually rest. His sharp, alert eyes locked onto mine, scanning me as if assessing for danger.

“Ilyana,” he breathed, relief evident in his voice. In an instant, he was by my side, helping me sit up and reaching for the pitcher to pour me a fresh glass of water.

I accepted it gratefully, taking small sips. “Your Highness,” I rasped, wincing at the sound of my own voice. “Don’t tell me you’ve been playing nursemaid all this time. What would the court gossips say?”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “They’d say I’ve finally lost my mind, no doubt,” he murmured, his voice lower now, almost thoughtful.

Then, his gaze darkened, something unreadable flickering in the depths of his golden eyes.

“Perhaps bespelled by an enchantress,” he added, his tone softer, more dangerous. “What else could explain it?”

The air between us shifted, thickened. The intensity in his gaze sent warmth curling through me, creeping up my neck like fire licking at dry kindling. I should have looked away. I should have said something witty, something to break the tension.

Instead, I found myself holding his stare, lost in the heat of it.

Then, his expression sobered, though that intensity never faded. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice quieter now, as if the answer mattered more than he wanted to admit.

“Like I’ve been trampled by a herd of wild horses,” I admitted. “But I’ll live. How long was I out?”

“Three days,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “Your injuries were worse than we thought. The physician said you needed rest.” He hesitated for a moment, then exhaled, as if releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

I blinked. Three days. No wonder my body felt like lead.

Anderic’s gaze remained fixed on me, sharp yet unreadable.

Tilting my head, I asked, “Now, are you going to tell me how you found me, or do I have to guess?”

Anderic exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled curls.

“When Laurel told me you’d been captured by the Red Cross, I nearly—” He cut himself off, his jaw tightening before he took a measured breath.

When he spoke again, his tone was calmer, more controlled.

“Anyway. Since we didn’t know exactly where Red was keeping you, it took me almost a week to find you.

” His eyes darkened. “If I’d had access to that gap-toothed brat, it would’ve been a lot easier. ”

His gaze flicked to me, narrowing in accusation.

I blinked innocently. “Tommy. That brat’s name is Tommy.”

Anderic huffed but continued. “We had to blow our entire covert operation on the gold smuggling case just to smoke out the Red Cross.”

I stared at him, startled. “You knew?”

His answering look said, Of course I knew, you dolt. Instead, he said, “And now the Red Cross knows too.”

I swallowed, shifting uncomfortably, but before I could say anything, he added, “I could ask how you knew about it too, but it’s not like you’d answer.”

I avoided his gaze.

Anderic sighed, pushing himself up from the chair. “Well, I should leave. You need rest.”

As Anderic turned to leave, the bed creaked dangerously under my weak attempt to sit upright. “Wait,” I rasped, my throat still raw from days without water. It wasn’t the most commanding plea I’d ever delivered, but it stopped him.

He paused mid-stride, his broad shoulders stiffening before he turned back, his golden curls catching the warm light from the lantern on the nightstand. His piercing blue eyes locked on mine, unreadable. “What is it now, Ilyana?”

“Red. What happened to him?” The last I saw of him, he was fleeing

His jaw clenched, the muscle in his cheek ticking like a drawn bowstring. My stomach sank. I already knew the answer before he gave it. “He got away.”

I gritted my teeth, frustration flaring through my exhaustion. “You have to find him. Remember the assassination attempt that day? The symbol on some of the arrows the assassins used? I saw the exact same tattoo on the members of the Red Cross gang.”

For the briefest of moments, surprise flickered in his eyes. It was gone too quickly. His lips twisted into a faint smirk, the kind that usually preceded some infuriatingly dismissive remark. “I’m impressed you noticed that. Most wouldn’t.”

I blinked, thrown off balance by his response. “Because I’m smarter than most,” I countered, squaring my shoulders against the wool blanket draped around me. “I’m sure the arrowheads had an identical mark to the tattoos those gang members wear. It can’t be a coincidence.”

He strode toward the bed, steps slow and deliberate.

My heartbeat picked up—not from fear, but from the heat in his eyes.

When he got close enough, he leaned down until his face was maddeningly close to mine.

“You’re mistaken,” he said quietly, his voice as smooth and unyielding as tempered steel.

“The symbols aren’t the same. They’re similar, but not identical. ”

I frowned, my mind racing as I mentally replayed the images I thought were seared into my memory. “No,” I said, shaking my head insistently. “That’s not possible. I remember…” My voice trailed off as doubt crept in. How could my memory—not to mention my damned pride—be wrong?

Anderic straightened up, a sigh escaping his lips. “I’ve known about the Red Cross gang for years, Ilyana. Don’t you think I’d recognize their mark if I saw it?” His words weren’t cutting, but there was an edge of finality to them.

Before I could sputter out a reply or argue further, he left the room, the door closing with a soft click.

Moments later, he returned, carrying a rolled-up sheet of parchment in one hand and, in the other, an arrow. He held both out to me without a word.

I grabbed the parchment and spread it on the blanket. There was the Red Cross tattoo sketch—arrows arranged in a circular design.

He set the arrow beside it. The mark near its shaft mirrored the tattoo’s pattern but with one arrow missing. The difference was too subtle to catch during the assassination attempt, but now it taunted me.

I touched the arrow, comparing the symbols as my mind raced. My throat tightened. This couldn’t be a coincidence. It couldn’t.

I looked up to find Anderic leaning against the bedframe, his arms crossed casually. His intense gaze pinned me in place as I handed the arrow and parchment back to him.

“You’re right,” I admitted, my pride stinging a bit. “But it’s still too suspicious to ignore.”

Anderic nodded, his expression grave. “It is. The information we gathered from Gareth and now your observation—it’s all very suspicious. But we need solid evidence before we can act.”

But I wasn’t listening; my mind screeched to a halt at the mention of Gareth. How could I have forgotten? They’d captured him too. My chest went tight with panic, every shallow breath a battle. Did he reveal everything about my father’s involvement?

I studied Anderic’s face, searching for any hint that he knew more than he was letting on. His golden curls caught the candlelight, creating a halo effect that was entirely too distracting. I must have stared a moment too long because his serious expression melted into a smirk.

“I know I’m very handsome, Lya,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “And I’d love to show you more than just my face—”

“What did you get from Gareth?” I interrupted, my cheeks burning. I’m going to ignore that for now.

Anderic sobered immediately, his smirk fading. “We got some very valuable information from him.”

I clenched my fists under the blanket, hoping—no, praying—that Gareth hadn’t revealed anything about my father.

“Gareth doesn’t know who the leader is,” Anderic continued, “but your instinct was right, Lya. It seems Prince Callum is also involved. So your theory about the symbol isn’t too far-fetched. Somehow you always end up getting everything right.”

“And… anything else?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

“No,” Anderic said, shaking his head.

So Gareth hadn’t thrown my father to the wolves yet. That was something. But how long would he keep quiet?

I exhaled slowly, relief washing over me. But when I looked up, I found Anderic staring at me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

“You don’t seem too surprised hearing about Prince Callum’s involvement,” he said, voice low, almost thoughtful. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing like he was testing me.

Panic flared in my chest. Damn it, how was I supposed to answer that? My mind raced, searching for a plausible explanation that wouldn’t raise more suspicions.

Then salvation came in the form of a thunderous banging on the door.