“Again with the gold, from a princess raised in a palace of jewels.”
“I don’t remember any such place.”
“How convenient,” he mutters. “Besides, it’s far safer for these people within the protection of our walls than it is out there.”
“It sounds like they need protection from some of your court.”
To that, he says nothing.
The procession veers right, away from the rookery and uphill, and I sense we’re making our way back to the castle. The moment we turn onto a quiet street, away from the spectators, Zander releases my waist and puts space between us.
The return ride is silent, save for the plod of horse hooves, and I’m relieved for it. When we reach the courtyard by the stables, the boy from earlier rushes up with the step stool. Zander is the first one to dismount, offering me a stiff hand while I descend.
I expect him to release me the moment my shoes land on the ground, but he pulls me in toward him. The move is so unexpected, I stumble a few steps and fall against him, my palm landing on his chest. He easily secures my balance with a hand on my waist, keeping me in place, our bodies pressed together.
He leans forward and I inhale sharply, bracing myself for our sham to lead to a kiss I have not yet mentally prepared for. His mouth moves to my ear instead. “Do not think for a moment that you are fooling me,” he whispers, his bottom lip grazing my lobe. “This lapse in memory may be genuine, but I know you are hiding something.”
Despite the tension between us—or maybe because of it—his proximity makes my pulse race. But his accusation stirs my panic because it’s true. I am hiding something. I’m not entirely sure what, though.
I’ve already learned simple denials don’t work with Zander, especially not when he has already decided on an answer. “You’re one to talk,” I say instead. He’s been guarding every morsel of information I receive, feeding me in small increments as he deems sufficient.
“I’ve hidden many things from you,” he admits, releasing my hand to slide his fingers over the small of my back. To anyone watching, we must look like a couple about to make up after a fight—our expressions somber but our touches intimate. “Some, for good reason.”
I gather my courage and tip my head back. “Maybe we all have secrets for good reasons.”
“Perhaps. But I will uncover yours, eventually.” His eyes drop to my mouth, and I hold my breath, an odd, conflicting mix of dread and anticipation stirring within.
Abruptly, he releases me and storms away, as if suddenly desperate to have me out of his sight.
Chapter Fourteen
“Where are you taking me? This isn’t the way to my rooms.” The color scheme and moldings are similar, but we’ve climbed another flight of stairs and I don’t recognize any of the busts that sit on the plinths.
“To your new rooms, Your Highness,” comes the wooden response. Guard pushes open a set of double doors. “The queen’s quarters.”
I gape at the suite I walk into. “Seriously?”
He spares me no more than a strange frown before pulling the door shut behind me.
But … the queen is dead, I think to myself as I wander through the luxurious sitting room, decorated in rich shades of eggplant, gold, and blush. It’s a ballroom, easily three times the size of my previous cell block, its ceilings soaring and windows allowing daylight to stream in. A magnificent candelabra dangles in the center. Gilded furniture upholstered in silk and damask fabrics form an area for entertaining by a grand marble fireplace. Arrangements of fresh ivory and blush blooms in urns embellish throughout.
A cupboard door slams shut somewhere within the suite. I follow the noise to an adjoining room—the bedchamber. It’s no less exquisite, the rich plum-colored walls adorned with opulent moldings. An enormous bed sits at one end, dressed in ivory and gold, its stately, velvet-clad headboard reaching halfway to the ceiling. Another fireplace and smaller seating area occupies the other end.
Corrin bustles around in her usual flurry. When she notices me standing at the threshold, she makes a point of slapping the pillows she’s fluffing extra hard. “You’ve certainly been busy this morning, Your Highness.” Her clipped tone suggests that’s meant to be a slight.
“Yes, handing out coin to the poor. How dare I?”
Her mouth hangs a beat, as if caught off guard, but she regains her composure quickly. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen a fox invited back into the henhouse after the slaughter.”
She doesn’t trust me. Is it because she’s human and she doesn’t buy into Wendeline’s theory, or is there some other reason for her contempt? “I didn’t ask for this. It’s what the king wants, so why don’t you question him about his choices? I’m sure he’d love to explain himself to you.” How much does Corrin know about Zander’s scheming? Obviously enough to know that I’m no less guilty in his eyes now than I was this morning, otherwise she wouldn’t dare give me such attitude.
She harrumphs but says nothing more.
The clang of metal against metal draws my attention to the open doors. I wander out onto a deeply set terrace, adorned by bursts of red geraniums and sun ferns in planters. While navigating the halls inside left me lost, from outside, I’m quickly able to find my bearings again. The vast royal grounds are still within view, only from a different angle.
I’m in the center portion of the castle. From here, a long, narrow walkway along the exterior wall connects to another sizable terrace. I’m almost positive it’s the one Zander was standing on that day.
The king’s chamber.
He has moved me next to him.
Smart, given we’re to keep up appearances of a relationship. Whoever in the royal household helped Princess Romeria is likely still within these walls, watching. If Zander has decided I am innocent of any wrongdoing, it wouldn’t make sense to keep me locked up in another wing.
It’s a strange concept that the king and queen would have their own bedrooms. Whether they would use them as such is another matter, I guess. But given our situation, it’s ideal. I’m sure Zander would rather sleep in a pit of vipers. I can’t say I feel much differently.
And yet, the memory of his arm around my waist and his thighs against my hips lingers.
“You fight with Malachi’s wrath fueling you today,” a man says through ragged breaths. “What bothers you?”
Directly below me is the sparring square. I immediately recognize Elisaf’s curls. He has removed his royal uniform jacket and dons a leather vest that shows off sinewy arms and tawny brown skin. He’s facing off against a man with golden-brown hair whose every step oozes grace and confidence.
“Do you yield?” comes Zander’s measured response, the sword blade dangling within his grasp. His green jacket lays folded on the nearby grass, leaving him in black pants and a loose white tunic. He must have headed straight here after the ride through the city, in search of something to stab.
Even from this vantage point, I can see the sweat glistening across their brows.
“Have I ever?” There’s that teasing lilt in Elisaf’s tone. It’s coupled with a swagger that does not exist when they are king and guard. In this square, they are friends.