Her return with his daughter was wonderful.
Her return and his forgiveness were nothing short of a miracle.
So why couldn’t he face her?
“Sire?”
By the sound of her voice, she stood behind him. Damn. She probably had seen the scribbling mess he made with this ink. Leon set the feather pen down on his desk.
“I need you to run an errand.”
“Fetch ya another sheet of parchment?” she asked, and the corners of his mouth lifted against his will.
When he turned, she was close enough that the scabbard of her sword brushed against his knees, and he inhaled deeply of the scent that was uniquely hers. Sweat, flecks of steel, and the tiniest amount of lilies.
“Your thoughts are far away this early mornin’.”
It wasn’t that her words were a whisper; more that he was so far away just then, the sound reaching out to him from a hundred leagues. “I’m sorry, Ida. Too many creatures walk my mind, too many not of my own making.”
She nodded. “What do ya need?”
Leon memorized her face. If he never saw her again, he wanted to remember it. Just as it was—every wrinkle and scar. “I need you to set out for the Shadian border as soon as you can ride. I must know if these tales about the Prince are true. Something factual. Anyone who can testify to the rumors’ validity.”
“The prince will arrive sometime tomorrow or the next day,” she said.
“I know, which is why I need you to leave today. I’d prefer he not cross you on the road into Alesta. Further out among those traveling the Meridi Pass, you’ll hardly be recognized in the throngs, but at the city gates, everyone knows you. Leave now. Spend no longer than a month away or send word of whatever you find before the wedding.”
“As ya wish, Your Majesty.”
When she turned, he caught her arm and pulled her closer to him. “I-I can’t completely forgive your role in all of this, but I’d like the chance. Return to me, Ida. Don’t risk yourself more than you have to.”
Leon was the first to break eye contact, and she pulled away from his grasp. Her footfalls were heavier than normal as she retreated. “Wait,” he called out, but she’d already fled the room.
Neither of them was ready for things to be normal between them. But maybe, once all of this was behind them, they could find their way back to one another.
No candlelight left the windowless room pitch black. Adelei thought it night until her sister’s scream reached her. The near hysteria spurred Adelei forward. She paused at the door when the cries grew less shrill. No sounds of an assassin—just a fight different from what she expected.
“I can’t possibly wear that. He’s arriving today, and I have to be per-fect,” Princess Margaret shouted, stretching out the last word as her voice jumped half an octave.
I wasn’t asleep long enough. With a sigh, Adelei propped the murdered pillows across her bed and rose. A splash of water from a bowl woke her, and Adelei redid the scarf about her head. One deep breath later, and she stood before the doors to Margaret’s suite.
Probably shut because of the tantrum inside. Several guards stood nearby, slack expressions speaking out that this was nothing new. Every time Margaret’s voice jumped, their eyes glazed over a little more.
I would pity them, but at least they get some break throughout the day from her, whereas I might not. She strode into the room bearing her chaotic sister. Without knocking.
Her sister stood behind a screen with several of her handmaidens, all of whom were pulling and tugging at something while Margaret swatted at their hands. “Tighter,” she ordered, and several grunts passed through the room as the servants continued their quest. When Adelei let the door shut with a loud clatter, all motion ceased behind the screen, and Margaret’s head poked out around the corner.
“I ordered the guards that no one was to enter.”
“An assassin would hardly ask permission of your guards, Your Highness. Besides, my orders trump yours when it comes to your safety.”
Another tug and Margaret advanced from behind the screen. The deep blue dress washed out any color from her skin. The corset, which Adelei supposed was responsible for the tug-of-war, shrank Margaret’s already small waist to almost nonexistent. “How in all the Thirteen Hells do you breathe in that? I’m surprised you can even move.” Adelei watched in amazement as her sister moved with ease across the room where she stopped before Adelei.
“Breathing isn’t important.” Margaret leaned forward to study the scar on Adelei’s jaw.
The invasion of Adelei’s personal space made her skin itch, and the hair on her arms stood up beneath her clothes. “Like looking in a mirror. Except for that ugly scar,” whispered Margaret. She waved a delicate hand, and the handmaidens all but fled the room. “Father says you are indeed my sister. He tells a pretty story of it, but I say my sister died many years ago. The person standing before me is a killer, a murderer who finds joy in carrying out evil deeds. No sister of mine could ever be involved in such… such affairs as this.”
Adelei allowed the words to roll off her like sand from the desert. “I’m glad we understand each other.” Margaret’s grin faltered. “What? You expected to upset me with your words? I’d rather be related to a donkey than to such a spoiled child.”
Margaret’s mouth opened wide as she prepared to shout, but Adelei wasn’t finished. She tapped a finger to Margaret’s lips. “Despite your apparent hatred and jealousy, I will do my job because that is what I do best. I will protect
