“The king is meeting with his council at the moment,” the steward said to him as they walked. “You will be permitted to speak to him when they are finished. There is, however, someone who wishes to speak with you beforehand. The heiress of Bayree is here.”
“I was hoping for a chance to talk to her. And I would prefer to address the king in private,” said Ransom, knowing the demand he was about to make would be offensive to their nobility.
“That is for the king to decide,” said the steward brusquely. They were brought to a set of huge oak doors, the wood divided into many squares decorated with intricate carvings of knights, fleurs-de-lis, and banners. The walls around them were bedecked with tapestries made of fine cloth and stitching. Ransom’s gaze took it all in, but his other senses were focused on Alix, and when she came down the corridor toward him, he turned to look.
She was alone, dressed in a hooded cloak that hid her hair and features. When she got his attention, she turned into an alcove midway down the corridor and disappeared.
“Ah, there she is,” said the steward. “You may speak privately in that alcove.”
Turning to one of the knights, he said, “I’ll be back in a moment.”
The knight gave a shrug and continued milling about with the others while Ransom walked down the corridor. As he approached the alcove, he heard the splashing of fountain waters coming from ahead. The interior was full of shadows, but he spied Alix standing on the other side of the water.
He entered the space cautiously, his eyes adjusting to the dark, and she hurried around the fountain to embrace him, pressing her cheek against his chest. His first response was to flinch, but he recovered quickly and wrapped his arms around her.
“When I heard you were coming, I couldn’t come fast enough,” she whispered. “I’ve missed you.”
“Did you bring it?” he asked.
She looked up at his face, a smile parting her lips, and nodded. Relief surged inside him. He didn’t see any sort of bag or carrying case nearby, but it was dark still.
“Where is—?” he started to say, but she wove her fingers through his hair and brought his mouth down to hers for a fierce kiss.
Surprised by this, his mind quickly went blank except for the press of her mouth against his, her fingers digging into his hair, and his whole body reacted to her closeness, to the smell of lilac on her skin. The kiss was powerful, intoxicating, and his resolve began to waver.
Suddenly she stopped, pulling back, her eyes narrowing. He was breathing fast, trying to control his rampaging emotions. Despite his better judgment, he wanted more. But it felt dangerous.
“A kiss never lies,” she said, shaking her head, backing away from him.
“What?” he asked in confusion.
“A kiss never lies.” The look of rapture on her face transformed to wariness and then hurt. “That is one of the lessons we were taught in the poisoner school. When a man’s heart has changed toward you, then you will tell it from his kiss. You told him, didn’t you? You told your king about me.”
It wasn’t so much a question as an accusation. He swallowed as his Fountain magic prickled, warning him of the danger she presented. Reminding him that, whatever else this woman was, she was also a murderer. The sound of the splashing waters filled his ears.
“I did,” he answered truthfully.
Her face crumpled with disappointment. “Oh, Ransom,” she said bitterly.
“I am loyal to my king,” he said firmly. “And you are not who I assumed you were. I know who your father is. And the story you told me is not true.”
Gone were the loving looks she’d given him in Kerjean. She stared at him with eyes full of distrust, hurt, and even malice. Had her behavior in Bayree been entirely an act?
“You think you know the truth, but you know nothing, Ransom. You have no idea what this game is or what it’s about. Yes, I’m King Lewis’s daughter. I was going to tell you that. I was going to tell you everything. But I cannot now. Now we must be enemies.” The hurt look on her face intensified.
“I don’t want that,” Ransom said.
“But you chose it,” she answered. “I was willing to betray my brother for you. All I asked was for you to do the same for me.” She closed her hands into fists and then pressed them against her eyes. “I don’t want to hate you. But I must.”
“Come with me,” Ransom said, taking a step toward her. “Bring the Wizr set and come back with us. I will protect you from Estian.”
She lowered her fists and shook her head no. “I can’t break the curse myself. And neither can you. I had it all figured out, but now there’s no escape for me. I almost gave you the set first. I’m so glad I didn’t.”
“Alix,” he said, confused and troubled. “We can still be allies.”
“No, Ransom. Estian was right about you. He said you’re a man who will never betray his principles. And now I must hurt you for it. Your king must die. Good-bye.”
He moved to block the opening. “I won’t let you,” he said.
But she didn’t move toward the opening. She stepped into the fountain itself and said a word he didn’t understand. And she was gone in a plume of mist. He sensed a surge of power, one that grated through his bones. He stared at the fountain in disbelief. No longer could he sense her presence. She had literally vanished into the waters through some magical means he didn’t understand.
The king was in mortal danger. And there was no way Ransom could warn him.
Ransom stormed away from the alcove, his heart on fire with worry and bitterness. He had to get back to Kingfountain, but he could not leave without fulfilling his mission. He stormed up to the heavy oak doors. The steward still stood there, along with four guards. It was obvious no one intended to let them in anytime soon.
“I’ll see him now,” said Ransom angrily.
“It is not your place to demand anything here,” said the steward dismissively.
Ransom marched past him and grabbed one of the heavy decorative handles. Two of the knights standing guard tried to restrain him. Ransom shoved one of them back into the door hard and then kneed the other in the stomach before shoving him down too. He yanked the door open violently before the other two knights had a chance to react to their fallen comrades.
The door creaked open, revealing the throne room beyond it. Estian sat on the throne on a raised dais, wearing a black velvet tunic stitched with silver fleurs-de-lis. Six decorative chairs formed a row on each side of the dais, twelve in all, and the nobles of the realm sat on them. One was empty. It was a gloomy chamber, the curtains drawn shut, and the only light came from circular fire pits spread throughout the council chamber.
As Ransom marched down the center aisle, he saw Benedict sitting in the chair closest to the king. His stomach dropped at the sight of the Prince of Ceredigion next to the man who should have been his enemy, drinking from a jeweled goblet. Benedict didn’t look uneasy. When Ransom reached the end of the line, the prince met his gaze and gave him a nod of recognition.
“Of all the formidable qualities our neighbors from Ceredigion possess,” said King Estian with a cunning smile, “perhaps the most pronounced is rudeness.”
Ransom heard a scuffle break out behind him, but he didn’t turn around.