Page 39

Bronwyn

I t was pure luck that Jackoby was one of the first people Bronwyn saw when she arrived at the castle via hired coach. Since her dress had been rendered useless, she was hidden from neck to toe beneath a large and unseasonably thick cloak. It was the best she could find at Malik’s apartment; she wasn’t about to show up in just her underthings.

Thankfully, the butler didn’t judge, didn’t ask questions other than to inquire after her well-being, and he helped her avoid as much notice as possible as she slipped to her quarters within the castle.

The head housekeeper, Gwen, whom Jackoby had wisely sent to collect her soiled things in lieu of a random maid, had said nothing, either—though she had looked at Bronwyn like she’d lost her mind or left part of herself somewhere instead of just her clothes.

But the truth was, Bronwyn hadn’t felt quite so herself in a long time. For years, she’d feared that letting someone in would inevitably hurt her. They would crack the foundations that she so carefully held together, and the tower of herself would fall.

That wasn’t the case with Malik, though.

He wasn’t some weakness that would destroy her. He gave her strength. His words, his touch, his devotion—they patched up holes that even she herself had missed. And once they were filled? She was left basking in the glow of something new, wonderful, and perfectly made. A stronger and more beautiful tower of herself than she’d ever imagined possible.

She needed all that strength when, hours later, she stood before the open gate to Charlotte’s family manor.

Officers of the constable buzzed around the front yard, dressed in their formal crimson attire complete with the stiff little hats she had always found ridiculous.

One man stepped to block her path as she advanced on the gate. “Sorry, miss. No entry.”

This, she’d anticipated. “I’m Miss Bronwyn Kinsley, sister to the queen.” She held out a scroll bearing the official royal seal.

The man’s eyes widened, and he looked to another nearby, as if seeking help.

“My sister and the king are on their wedding moon, as I’m sure you well know, but surely, you recognize the seal? There’s a note from the king’s butler and chief aid within if you need further confirmation.”

A second man hurried over as the first stuttered, “This is an active investigation…”

“And let me guess, Miss Davies isn’t speaking to you regarding her brother?” Bronwyn arched a brow and attempted to remain calm despite the anxiety twisting her into knots. “I was in attendance at the opera last night and am well aware of what transpired.”

Much more so than these men, she’d guess, since they didn’t even seem to know of her involvement in Mr. Davies’s end. Either that, or they chose not to let it show. Though, given the first man seemed to show everything on his face, that was unlikely.

“Your Highness…” the second began.

Bronwyn sharpened her look, and he quickly fell quiet. “Trust me when I say there is no one who wants this resolved more than me. If you’ll just let me in to see your superior?”

To that, they acquiesced. The lead inspector was a thin, aged man who looked down his pointed nose at her from the grand entry hall of the manor.

“Miss Kinsley.” His frown deepened. “You received the message I left at the castle regarding my desire to speak with you? I would have come there as I did this morning, though it seemed you were out?”

She had received that message. And promptly ignored it. Her faith in the local authority outside the castle was limited. After all, what had they done to track down the dragons? Nothing successful, that was certain.

“You and His Highness both left before I arrived on the scene last night,” he continued.

“His Highness was injured. As was I,” she replied sharply. “Surely, you didn’t expect His Highness to bleed out waiting on you ?”

The man flinched at her tone. “Of course not.”

“Then you understand why we had to leave. Now, then, I am here to speak to Miss Davies.”

He opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. “Miss Davies has spoken to no one other than to collapse into tearful hysterics.”

“And this surprises you, investigator?” She crossed her arms and stared him down. The man might be a foot taller than her, but height was no impediment to putting someone in their place or getting them out of her way. “Her brother is dead. Of course she is hysterical and unlikely to talk to you.”

“You think she will speak with you?” he all but sneered.

“Worry not. After I speak to her, I will share anything of note with you.”

The man looked more than irritated but said nothing more. A harried-looking butler stood nearby, unable to hold himself still. It was to him that Bronwyn turned her attention.

“Can you take me to Miss Davies?”

“It’s as the investigator says, Your Highness.”

Miss Kinsley, she silently corrected him.

“Miss Davies is distraught and seeing no one.”

“Please let me try,” Bronwyn implored. “If she knows a friend is here, perhaps it will ease her?” The words tasted sour on her tongue. She’d thought Charlotte a friend. Once. But with all that had happened over the past few days, could she believe that?

The man let out a sigh. “Come with me.”

Bronwyn followed him deep into the manor. She knew which door was Charlotte’s the moment they stopped in front of it because of the sobbing coming from the other side. The sound tore at Bronwyn’s chest.

The butler knocked. “Miss Charlotte, there is a Miss Bronwyn Kinsley here to see you.”

The sobbing quieted, but no response came.

The butler raised his fist to knock again when a hoarse voice asked, “Bronwyn?”

“Yes, Charlotte, it’s me. Can I come in?”

A wailing sob broke out. “I can’t. I can’t!”

“Charlotte—”

“It’s as I said, miss,” the butler said, trying to steer her back toward the main stairs.

Bronwyn stepped around him. “Please, Charlotte! Just speak to me. Just for a few minutes.”

“I-I I’m a mess! The room! I—”

“Through the door, then,” she said quickly. “I don’t have to come in.”

The butler found his spine, jaw set, and shooed her away from the door. But then Charlotte said, “Okay.”

Bronwyn wanted to weep with relief. The butler’s eyes widened, but he halted immediately. The sounds of scratching and groaning wood came from behind the door, as if Charlotte moved something heavy, but that made no sense. Even the butler seemed perplexed until the door cracked open the tiniest fraction. The room beyond— Bronwyn barely stifled a gasp. It was a mess. Clothing strewn. Furniture upturned. Goddess above, no wonder Charlotte did not want to see anyone.

“Can we have a few minutes alone?” Bronwyn asked the butler.

“I don’t think—”

“Leave us, Bernard,” Charlotte said. “Miss Kinsley will meet you back downstairs in a few moments.”

He grimaced but gave a bow and did as Charlotte ordered.

The door did not open further, and Bronwyn did not push it. Nor did she glimpse the woman beyond. Bronwyn waited for the butler to retreat out of sight before saying, “I am sorry about your brother.”

The beginnings of a sob slipped through the door, but it was quickly stifled. “He— They said he tried to kill you.”

“He did.” There was no point in hiding it.

“I didn’t know!” came a cry from within. “You must believe, I didn’t know! He was always reckless. Foolish. But I never thought—”

“You never thought he was involved with the dragons?”

Charlotte’s weeping drew silent. The soft tread of someone pacing echoed from within the room. “No. No of course not.”

Bronwyn closed her eyes in pain. It was a lie. A poor one at that. “I know, Charlotte.” She leaned against the wall, staring at the damask pattern of the wallpaper across from her. “I know about the spell you gave to the kitchen boy.”

The sound stilled, but no denial came. Then, suddenly, she screeched, “Is that why you’re here? To throw accusations at me while I grieve?”

“No!” Bronwyn leapt off the wall as if it burned. “I’m not here to condemn you. I need help. Please!”

A sniff and the hint of a high-pitched huff came from beyond.

“Charlotte.” Bronwyn reached for the door but dropped her hand just before it grazed the metal handle. “The dragon—the dragons—they have done more damage than you know. My sister … she’s…” Her throat closed up.

“She’s back from her wedding moon?” The innocence of the question struck her like a blow to the stomach, and her breath left her. Could she truly not know?

“No. Not that.” She should say nothing. It was what they’d agreed, to keep it a secret, but some risks were worth taking. “She’s in trouble, Charlotte. The dragons have gotten to her. She’s cursed. Dying.”

A sharp gasp came from the other side of the door. “She wasn’t supposed to— He— Why would he harm her?”

“Who is he , Charlotte?” Bronwyn’s pulse fluttered wildly in her throat. She knew. So few did, but Charlotte knew .

A fresh wave of sobs poured through the crack. “He’ll kill me. I can’t!”

“My sister is dying, Charlotte,” Bronwyn pleaded. “I cannot save your brother, but you can save her.”

“If he even finds out you’re here—” Suddenly, Charlotte’s tear-stained face filled the crack. She must not have even washed it from the night before because streaks of makeup discolored it like she was a painting doused with water.

“Please,” Bronwyn echoed.

“I can’t.” The door slammed shut with a rattle.

Bronwyn pounded on it to no avail. “Charlotte!”

There was a heavy scraping sound, the same as before, but now she knew what it was. Charlotte slid something heavy in front of the door. It wasn’t Bronwyn she was trying to keep out. Nor the inspector, she’d wager.

“I can keep you safe, Charlotte!” she called through the closed door. “Please! Just help me, and I’ll make sure that he’s no threat to you. I’ll get you a pardon. You won’t be held accountable. Just help me. Tell me who he is!” Give me anything!

Over the pounding in her ears, Bronwyn barely heard the reply when it came. “If the queen is cursed, it’s too late. I’m sorry.”

No! Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. “It’s not!” She rammed her shoulder against the door, but it did nothing except send a wave of pain shooting through her body. The butler had returned and was advancing down the hall, but Bronwyn was not deterred. “If I end him, it ends the curse. Please, Charlotte!”

“Miss Davies?” the butler called over Bronwyn’s desperate outrage.

“Bernard, see Miss Kinsley out.”

Her eyes flew wide. No. No, she can’t be this cruel . “Charlotte!” She rattled the locked doorknob one last time, but the butler corralled her toward the stairs.

Charlotte…