Page 46 of The Crimson Throne (Spy and Guardian #1)

I shudder, remembering the way Samson’s aura evaporated when he was controlled.

“And after that, I will contact my father,” I say. “I will demand reinforcements.”

Mary’s lips twitch in a snarl she’s quick to hide.

She doesn’t like being reminded that I’m royalty too.

I don’t like remembering my father either, but I can no longer hope that he’ll notice me and my message and deign to grace us with his presence.

The threat is here, I’m certain of that, and we need more than just a human army to fight them back.

The fae may be oblivious to human time, but my father can’t ignore me if I drag him back here by his pointed ear.

I send Cockburn and Strathglass to warn the others.

Not just here in Stirling but in all of Scotland.

Every Leth has their own connections, like I do with Moyra.

Magic tied to the land means they have the strongest links close to their homes, and no doubt my warning will set all of magical Scotland on high alert.

Moray and Argyll also leave at Mary’s command to assign more watches for the castle and examine the troops at hand. It won’t be enough, but at least they’re all taking the threat seriously.

When the men are gone, Mary meets my eyes and draws closer. “Not exactly the night I was expecting,” she says.

I laugh ruefully and turn to leave the chapel. All I want to do now is see Samson. I cannot get that pained look he gave me when he woke up from the spell out of my mind, the horror in his eyes as he traced the red line cut across my chest, inches above my bodice. I want to tell him—

And then I notice the smug twinkle in Mary’s eye, the way her lips twitch as if she has a secret and is simply dying to share it. Her aura flashes with that same satisfied strand again.

Even now, she somehow misses the gravity of the situation.

I sigh. “What?”

Mary’s eyes widen at my tone. “Well, now I’m not going to tell you.”

“We’re not children, Mary, and lives are at stake here. Your kingdom is at stake. What plan have you got up your sleeve?”

She sniffs imperiously. “I’m not an idiot,” she says. “And while you may not think so, I am perfectly capable of taking care of problems when they arise.”

Well, now she has my attention. “What did you do?”

She takes her time in answering me, smoothing out her skirt and adjusting her necklace before she deigns to speak. “I had been planning on waiting until after Christmas,” she finally says.

“Waiting for what?” I ask.

“I have told you that I need Darnley taken care of. Divorce is out of the question. We’re not heathens like my cousin in England.”

“You’re actually going to murder Darnley?” I ask. That smug grin on the queen’s face grows. “And that’s somehow less barbaric than divorce?” I shake my head. This is all petty nonsense compared to the real problem, and Mary seems determined to recenter everything on her.

“Well, considering that’s at least twice now my dear husband has attempted to injure me…” Mary’s jaw clenches. “Or at least didn’t care if I were murdered along the way to get to you… An eye for an eye seems apt.”

“Right, well…” I gape at her. I suppose it’s expedient at least.

“Bothwell helped me design the plan,” she continues.

Bothwell…who she dismissed with a significant look.

“Now?” I gasp. “You sent him to murder Darnley now?”

“He’s clearly not going to stop,” Mary says. “I had been planning for February or so, well away from Christ’s mass, but the attack tonight means I cannot delay. The Lord will forgive me.”

“How?” I choke out. “How are you going to kill him?”

“Well, now, that’s where you’re going to be happy,” she says, smiling. “No one will think it’s murder at all. It’ll look like an accident. But Bothwell assures me it will be very effective.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Tell me everything.”

“You can just trust me—”

“Every. Thing.”

“Darnley’s been exiled to Kirk o’ Field,” she starts.

I wave my hand, telling her to hurry. I already know the king consort is going to be spending the rest of the year at the estate near Edinburgh Castle.

“Bothwell has stored ample gunpowder in the house.”

I blink, unable to process this. It’s not enough to kill the arse; she intends to explode him.

There’s that smile—childlike glee painted all over the queen’s face. “Efficient, yes?”

“Yes.” The word is strangled from my throat.

I reach for the chapel door, but it swings open so violently that I stumble back. Joseph’s eyes are wild, his breath ragged. He doesn’t even bother bowing to the queen—which she absolutely notices—and instead turns to me immediately. Which Mary also notices.

“The prisoner is gone,” he says.

“What?” I heard him, but my brain cannot seem to draw meaning from the words.

“Cockburn sent me. Told me to tell you. The guards who were taking the secretary to the dungeon were paid off.”

Mary sneers. “By my husband, I presume.”

Joseph nods.

“Darnley has Samson?” It comes out as a question, but I know the answer. We all thought Darnley had left already, but he must have been hiding somewhere nearby, waiting to see if Samson was successful. When Samson failed, Darnley took his weapon back.

Mary is focused only on how her plan has started. She’s as giddy as a schoolgirl at the thought of her husband’s imminent death.

But also…

My heart stops.

Darnley is going to a house crammed full of gunpowder…with Samson.

“No,” I groan.

“Darnley will be taken care of!” Mary protests. “It’ll be worth it.”

Worth it? If Samson dies?

I must go to a standing stone, beg my father to quit his idle court and come here with troops to help defend Scotland.

But all the closest stones are to the north. And Edinburgh is to the east.

“This is happening tonight?” I say, barely able to get the words out. “Bothwell is already on his way to lay the trap?”

“Of course,” Mary says. “The sooner, the better.”

How much time has passed since Bothwell left the chapel? Not much, but if he’s had a plan in place, it won’t take long for a series of hard runners to enact his explosive vision.

I turn on my heel and start running.

“Alyth!” Mary calls, but I don’t pause. I know I should be summoning the fae instead, demanding they cross through every portal with every weapon they have and fight, but…

Darnley can die; I don’t care. But he has Samson. And if the entire house at Kirk o’ Field is going to explode, there’s no way Samson can escape unscathed.

I bypass the Great Hall, racing to the stables, although I do pause to steal a winter cloak, throwing it over my gown. I need to go fast , faster than a horse, but how ?

I’m racing toward the stables when an icy winter wind slices through me, whipping the cloak around. I pause.

And a wild stag appears before me.

Beira , I think. She said she would help as she could. And deer are her domain.

A sob chokes my throat—not just at the idea that the Queen of Winter has given me aid but that this means she doesn’t see Samson as a monster either.

The stag stares down at me. It’s easily twice as large as any wild deer I’ve ever seen before, with antlers branching out in a massive display. Its reddish fur is shot through with silver—not a sign of age but a sparkling, glittering touch telling me this is from Queen Beira’s own herd.

“Thank you,” I whisper to the wind, to the wild.

The stag lowers its head, sharp antlers glittering like icicles in the starlight. Carefully, it bends a knee before me, offering me its back to ride on.

I approach it, deeply aware of the danger. Even a normal stag has the chance to impale an aggressor, and this one is not normal. “Please,” I whisper, “I must get to Edinburgh quickly.”

It snorts, a steamy cloud rising from its nostrils.

As soon as I’m settled on the stag’s back, it nimbly turns before leaping toward the road exiting the castle.

I catch a glimpse of Callum in the stables, eyes popped wide in shock.

But humans will think I’m riding a stallion; certainly the guards at the castle gate don’t seem to register that I’m astride a fae stag’s back, moving quicker than should be possible.

Just outside the castle gates, I remember the bird code Samson told me about.

Robins, I think as the dark landscape blurs by.

Robins mean danger, right? I cup my hand in the rushing air around me, combining it with my magic.

My power feeds off the wilderness, and perhaps Beira is still aiding me.

When I reach for the robins sleeping in their nests, my call spreading to every bird within twenty or more miles from me, I know they hear.

They hear, and they answer.

As I thunder through the gates, directing my horse toward Edinburgh, I see the robins who nest in the trees on the path rise, shooting like arrows through the night sky, zooming in the direction of Kirk o’ Field.

It’s hard to tell in the darkness, the wind beating against my watering eyes, but I can feel the birds, hundreds of them, answering my call to warn Samson.

I just hope he gets the message in time.