Page 17 of Maneater
The hands holding the barrel in front of me loosened, and a man’s voice asked, “You think we should leave this one behind?” A thump echoed as his hand slapped the top of the barrel.
“Not sure. Might be best to check with the prince, eh?” the other man replied.
“Aye, I’ll ask His Highness.”
The footsteps of both men seemed to fade, as though they were walking away.
My mind raced as I weighed my options. I could stay hidden here, clinging to the hope that this barrel would be left behind, then wait for the carriages to depart and try to sneak on board.
But there was no guarantee the barrel would be overlooked, and if it wasn’t, my cover would be blown.
If I left now, what if I ran into another problem with Gadriel? He had told the men he’d be back soon. Or worse, what if the watch guards arrived? Moving too soon would only give them more time to catch me .
Fear gripped me, and my nerves felt like they’d shattered. I had to make a decision, and fast.
My hands shook as I crouched forward, just enough to peer around the barrel. I closed my eyes, exhaled, then opened them again, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. The gods seemed to be on my side. There was no one in sight, neither at the carriages or the gatehouse.
Before doubt could take hold, I moved, swift and silent, toward the four waiting carriages. They were only twenty or thirty paces away, and my feet carried me faster than I thought possible as I rushed toward the fourth one.
I froze when I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps.
At least three or four. Panic surged through me.
Where could I hide? I was completely exposed.
There was no way I’d make it to the carriage in time.
It was so close I could almost feel it, but all I had around me were cobblestones and dirt.
No barrels, no columns, nothing to shield me.
A wave of nausea hit me hard. I was fully vulnerable with no place to go.
“Oi!” a voice shouted. “You there! Halt!”
My legs turned to lead, threatening to give way beneath me. I did the only thing I could think of, the only thing that might give me a chance.
“I said stop!” the voice demanded again. I counted three sets of footsteps approaching.
My hand flew to my chest in surprise, then I turned to face the three figures.
My hood obscured my features, and under the cover of night, I knew I could pass for Leya.
The darkness would blur the finer details.
My black hair could easily be mistaken for her dark brown, and my obsidian eyes might appear as her ochre ones.
The common folk rarely saw a royal courtesan or consort, and if they did, they likely couldn’t tell us apart.
Right then, I had to convince them I was her .
“Yes?” I asked, pitching my voice to sound more like Leya’s. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
They studied my silhouette, their eyes lingering on the quality of my cloak and the way my fingers nervously rested against my chest. Their gaze shifted to the fourth carriage I seemed to be approaching.
Gradually, their expressions softened, and I saw the flicker of recognition in their eyes as they pieced together that I must be the prince’s courtesan.
“Ah, pardon me, my lady,” one of them muttered gruffly. “It’s not safe to be out here in the dark. The carriage master instructed that you stay in the coach. It’s almost time to leave.”
“Oh,” I replied softly. “I wasn’t feeling well, so I stepped out for some fresh air. I’ll be heading back to my coach now.”
As I turned and began walking toward the carriage, I heard a muffled grunt, someone being elbowed, followed by a flurry of hushed whispers. Moments later, their footsteps began to trail behind me.
“My lady, I must apologize,” one of them began hesitantly. “But, uh, would you mind removing your hood for just a moment? You see, Gregor here was assigned to watch the royal coaches and make sure no one stepped out. He prepared your coach earlier and handled your belongings.”
“What is the meaning of this?” I questioned, raising my voice slightly, making sure to sound as if I were offended. “I will do no such thing.”
“Erm, w-well... there are strict rules, you see,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
“A lady of your stature might not be aware of the risks during travel preparations. Master Wilkin is... particular about who enters and exits the coaches. There are certain dangers, you see, such as stowaways and the like.”
“Never have I been subjected to such impropriety,” I said coldly. “As the prince’s courtesan, I will not tolerate this vulgarity.” Straightening my posture, I commanded, “Bring Sir Regis to me at once.”
I covered the twenty paces to the fourth carriage at a steady, unhurried pace, though every fiber of my being screamed to hurry. Every second counted.
My right hand disappeared into the pocket of my cloak, fingers curling around the sheath of my pocketknife. I unlatched it quietly, priming the blade as I approached the carriage door. When I reached it, I grabbed the latch with my left hand, and it gave way with a soft click.
In one fluid motion, I slid inside, the blade drawn before I’d even taken a full breath.