“What are you thinking?”
“Father wants the horn. Ruhle wants us both dead. Malechus and Belladonna have both attempted to kill us. And I don’t know what Mistmark wants with you, but he ventured out of his locked vault of a castle in order to get his hands on you. It’s all leverage.” I meet her eyes. “I can’t negotiate this mess by myself.” It’s a breathless realization. Once more, my back is against the wall. “And you’re wanted by at least three men.”
Soraya looks speculative. “What do you have in mind?”
I can feel the hungry edge to my smile. “Easy. Like I said, the horn’s right here. Falion hinted that it’s in the maze somewhere. He gave Mistmark a piece of paper—it might be a map. I’ll slip into his rooms and search for the paper. Then you and I are going to steal the horn. And we’re going to play the others off against each other in order to do so.”
17
The hardest part about managing this entire scenario is a certain handsome dragon.
I keep my thoughts close to my chest all day, dressing for the final ball, my skirts whispering around my ankles. Tomorrow is the wedding. It will all be over then.
Keir catches sight of me as I walk into our shared antechamber. The sight of those hungry, hungry eyes makes my stomach drop. I pleaded a headache this morning, but I know he can sense something is wrong.
“How are you feeling?” he murmurs, his gaze sliding slowly over me.
It’s not real.
It can’t be real.
I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Steal the horn. Break the curse. Betray…. My thoughts eddy away into pathetic little undercurrents. It was so much easier when I hadn’t come to know him.
I like him. Too much.
I could love him, if I let myself.
“Nervous,” I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Tomorrow is the last day we have up our sleeves in order to kill Mistmark, or else—”
“We’ll break the curse,” he growls, taking my hands between his and warming them. “I’ve been thinking about Belladonna. You’re right. I can’t kill her. And we can’t kill Mistmark—”
“Somewhat of a conundrum,” I point out.
“But we don’t have to,” he says slowly. “We just have to make it look like he dies.”
My heart goes still.
There’s a ringing silence in my ears.
“What do you mean?” I breathe the words out.
“I’m the Prince of Dreams. I can craft illusions so beautifully they almost seem real. Tomorrow, I’ll simply make it look like Mistmark dies, right in front of everyone. The second Belladonna breaks the curse she’s woven around you, the truth can be revealed.”
I tug my hands free. “Are you going to let Mistmark in on this secret? Or Falion?”
His jaw tightens and he gives an imperceptible shake of his head. “I cannot. They cannot know what sort of powers I have.”
And for him to wield them in front of the entire court is a huge risk.
“What if someone sees?” I hiss. “What if someone guesses what you are?”
“I’ll deal with that if the matter arises.”
“Keir, no. It’s too great a risk.”
“We don’t have another choice,” he says bluntly.
My mouth drops open, but… he’s right. The only other option is to kill Mistmark and—
Kill Mistmark. That’s it.
My stomach falls to my feet. Keir’s right. We just need it to look like Mistmark dies. And I need…. “Fine,” I force the word past my lips. “We’ll play it your way. An illusion to make it look like Mistmark is dead. Break the curse. And then we steal the horn.”
Keir gives a clipped nod and then offers me his arm. “One last ball. Are you ready?”
“For this to all be over.” I rest my hand on the muscled flex of his arm. “Yes.”
And no.
Because once this is over, I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.
The skies open up as we make our way toward the enormous orangery that stands in the heart of the maze. There are guards along our path, all of them carrying torches. One or two servants have disappeared during the maze this week, and I think Malechus is taking all precautions.
Of course, he’s probably not aware there’s a questing beast lurking within it.
The glasshouse is where the final ball will be taking place, though Malechus hasn’t counted on the weather obeying his commands.
“Under here,” Keir says, tugging me beneath an enormous oak as the winds whip at my skirts.
In the distance, lights gleam within the orangery. Malechus will be there. Mistmark. Belladonna. All of them playing one last game….
Keir peers out to check the skies, as if to see if they’re going to let up long enough for us to make a run across the last stretch of grass. My silvery skirts are already spattered dark gray in patches, and though he shielded me with his coat as we ran, my hair is a mess.
I press a hand to his chest. His heart is beating steadily, but the look he gives me is anything but steady.
And I can’t stop myself from asking, “Why do you want the cauldron so badly?” It can’t be power. He was born a dragon king. According to the stories, he gave most of his power up, gifting it to the cauldron in order to bring peace between the fae and dragonkind.
Keir gives the clearing a savage look, his answer clear. Not here. Not where there are so many listening ears.
“The folly,” I say, tilting my head.
Away from the glasshouse.
Away from the ball.
Away from the politicking and backstabbing, and the tremulous threads of betrayal sweeping me toward a final, treacherous conclusion.
Keir tugs me out from under cover. We run through the rain, my heels sinking into the lawn and rain slicking my gown to my skin. I can’t stop myself from laughing breathlessly.
“This way,” Keir yells, hauling me to the left.
There’s a folly there.
One crafted of scrolled iron and glass. Several fae lanterns hang in the rafters,
