Page 15 of The Crimson Throne (Spy and Guardian #1)

“Out of our way,” Darnley growls.

Ah, he speaks in the royal “we.”

Prick.

His gaze is livid as it bounces from me to Callum. “That thing assaulted us, in broad daylight! It will be punished.”

Anger runs icy fingers up my spine. My vision goes a bit spotty, my curse wanting so bad to break free.

I could clock this arsehole in the nose easily. Lay him flat out, give him a moment of true fear.

The image of Darnley lying on the ground, clutching his nose as blood streams down his face, gets temporarily overlaid by the memories of that night with Cecil’s rival. His blood smeared on the floor.

It should temper my lust for violence.

But instead, for the first time in a long while, all I feel is longing. And it should scare me. Should .

“Oh yes,” I say with a bright smile. “Boy!” I look down at Callum and give him a flash of wide eyes. “Run off now. Get out of Lord Darnley’s sight. The lord shouldn’t have to deal with the likes of you.”

Callum throws off my cloak, grabs the bridle, and vanishes in half a beat.

The crowd has stopped their chatter to watch us, doing a poor job of pretending they’re still busy unloading the carriages.

Alyth, back from me about a yard, puts herself in front of the path Callum took, and that movement drops her in something like a fighting stance.

Her eyes hit mine just briefly, and it almost feels supportive.

She wouldn’t be quite so supportive if she knew how vividly I’d imagined attacking her queen’s husband.

Or maybe she would.

To Darnley, I say, “I’ll personally see that the boy gets what he deserves.” Which will be a platter of the best cakes in Stirling Castle.

Darnley looks briefly stunned.

But he recovers, his pride not letting him falter too long, and he eyes me with renewed interest, like he hadn’t truly seen me until now.

“You.” He tips his head. “You’re English.”

I should stitch it on my shirt, apparently. “As are you.” I bow again. Do men like him realize how easily they can be controlled with subservience?

When I straighten, Darnley’s focus is on my neck.

That damn amulet has swung free of my shirt.

I go to tuck it back in, but it might be too late. Did someone else see?

Darnley’s eyes brighten.

I pause, hand to my collarbone.

What’d Cecil say? This symbol would be a way for others loyal to Elizabeth to identify me?

But—no. Queen Mary’s husband?

Darnley’s smile is puffed up, nearly cheeky now, a violent contrast to his fit from earlier.

“Samson, you said?” he clarifies.

I nod, dread racing through me.

Darnley beams. “We will call on you, Samson.”

His pause is confirmation. He might as well wink at me, the idiot.

Darnley is loyal to Elizabeth? Enough that he knows the secret symbols Cecil devises?

Why the blazes didn’t Cecil tell me that Mary’s husband would be an ally? Not that I trust Darnley a bit after meeting him. And the fact that he’s presumably on my side—England’s side, at least—has me fighting to keep the contents of my stomach down.

“Very well, Your Grace,” I say, unable to keep my mask entirely, so my teeth grit. I drop into another bow. “Until then.”

Darnley hums approval. His eyes flick past me once more, not seeking Callum but taking in Alyth.

His sneer is back, all violent, overpowering disgust, and it has me cutting into his line of sight, blocking Alyth from that sneer with my hands balling tight.

He doesn’t get to look at her like that. Maybe at all, while I’m here at least.

But she’s not mine to defend, is she?

“Be careful the company you keep,” Darnley tells me. But he dismisses me by turning sharply to yell at another servant.

I back away as fast as I can, spinning on my heels—

Alyth is still behind me, but she doesn’t seem to care about Darnley’s appraisal of her. She’s watching me. And her expression says she caught Darnley’s responses to me. The oddity of them.

My necklace is tucked back away, and I don’t think she saw it; my back was to her when it fell free. Maybe she’ll write off the interaction as Darnley being himself? Maybe she’ll let it go?

I barely know her, but I doubt that.

The rest of the servants and crowd move around us again. But honestly, the whole of the damn island could be rocking right and left, and I’m not sure I’d notice.

Alyth’s dark eyes pierce mine. Hold me in place like a knife stabbed straight through me.

“Thank you for saving Callum,” she tells me in a voice utterly devoid of emotion.

That lack of emotion aches, but I swallow past it quick.

It’s better for her to hold me at a distance. She’s got enough self-preservation to trust her instincts with me, and her instincts have to be screaming that I’m bad news, now more than ever after that oddity with Darnley.

Good girl , I think, though it’s a bruise on the way I notice her flushed cheeks from the cold wind, the bit of grass clinging to a piece of her hair I want to pluck out just to touch her.

My gaze flashes beyond her, but Callum’s long gone. “I should check he’s—”

“I’ll look after him,” she interjects. There’s her emotion now. It’s different from her earlier rage. Whereas that was distrust brewing at me in general, this is sharpened.

She steps closer. “I look after everyone in Scotland,” she continues, eyes unblinking, face stone set. “And I won’t let any harm come to those under my care.”

I want to promise I won’t hurt anyone here. That she’s got nothing to fear in me. I should lie; I’ll only be here for a few weeks at most, then gone again, tugging threads of instability Alyth’ll likely have to deal with in my absence.

I dig deep for that mask. For the game I need to play.

The cure for my curse could be in the very castle behind me. I could be days out from holding whatever fae item doomed me in my hands.

For all I might like what little I know of Alyth, she’s a stepping stone. Nothing more.

My smile is properly charming. Suave and smooth. “That’s an awful big responsibility for a lady to take on, innit?”

Alyth studies me. Lets a beat of silence pass. “Who said I was a lady? Secretary.”

Then she walks off, and I hold my breath in her absence.