Eighteen
Griffin
Griffin lost track of time. After Maggie was dragged from the balcony, the guards finally let him go, but escorted him to the palace, directly to his room, where they locked his door—from the outside. His wardrobe and trunks ransacked, his sword table emptied, not a weapon remained. They even took the cheese knife, leaving the bloody stinking blue cheese. How long was Jori going to leave him like this?
“Let me out of here!” He hurled the board at the door.
The king had seen Maggie using her power and controlling Rendicryss. With little interrogation, he would find out Xavier was false. He wanted magic. He searched for it all this time. He would never, ever hurt her. Neither would Jori. He was infatuated on top of everything else. That gave Griffin hope.
The lock clicked. The door opened, and Lady Esmera swept into the room. There was blood on her dress and her hands. Cornwall’s blood.
“Griffin . . .”
Griffin slid his boot in the door before it could close. He tugged it open, finding a hallway filled with soldiers, all dressed in black cloaks.
“Return to your room, Sir Griffin. The prince will see you shortly.” The guard slammed the door shut.
“What is going on here?” Griffin asked her.
Esmera threw her hands in the air. “Everyone is missing. Jori isn’t in his rooms. Malcolm and Sybil have vanished. They went with my brother and father, to settle their bodies and have them taken to our soldiers outside the city, and never returned. The guards have every turn of every hallway blocked off. They won’t let me pass.” Tears brimmed. “I can’t lose Sybil and Malcolm too.”
“I’m sorry,” Griffin said. “I really wish Cornwall had listened to Malcolm.”
She sniffed, pressing a finger beneath her eyes to stop her tears from falling. “I wish he had too. He’s so stubborn. Was . . .” She sighed, swallowing hard. She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you find it odd that the guards have all changed colors? Black, no less. I suppose I should take it as a compliment, a nod to my North.” Esmera ran a finger over a black cloak hung over the chair. “You have one too?”
Griffin stared at it, the knot in his stomach twisting tighter. Weapons gone and a new cloak. Griffin opened the door again, finding a soldier about to knock. Esmera moved to stand in the entrance beside Griffin.
“Prince wishes to see you. Change,” the soldier ordered. “Get out of that red. It’s not a safe color anymore.”
“What does that mean?” Esmera asked.
The soldier looked surprised to see her. “You should return to your room, Lady Esmera.”
“I don’t take orders from you. I’ll go with Griffin to see my fiancé.” She tossed the cloak at Griffin.
“No. You’re to remain—”
“No one asked you,” she countered.
“Excuse us for a moment, please.” Griffin closed the door.
“Esmera, do you have any weapons in your room? A sword? Anything. Even a small, dainty knife with a pretty grip?”
“No. Sybil had an arsenal under her bed, but it’s all gone. Griffin, what is going on here?”
“I don’t know, but I believe we’re about to find out.”
Griffin removed the red tunic, replacing it with the cloak. He smoothed his hair down.
Esmera padded toward him with a wet towel. “Wait. You have dirt.” She turned his cheek, wiping it off for him.
He flinched at her touch, which registered on her face. “I thought my scars offended you, Lady Esmera.”
She pursed her lips, ruminating. “I’m sorry for that. I, well, your scars remind me of my mother’s. Of what the draignochs did to her. That’s all.” She threw the towel on the bed.
Griffin was surprised by her honesty. “Then I’m sorry for that.”
“It’s hardly your problem.”
The soldier knocked on Jori’s door, announcing Griffin’s arrival.
Positioned on the corner of the castle, Jori’s suite had two rooms with no wall between them, only a deep bend. Griffin was led into the sitting area. Jori hopped up from the chair, rushing to the table, and poured wine for two. When he saw Esmera, he brought out another glass.
“I wasn’t expecting both of you, but saves me time in hindsight. Come. Take a glass of wine. I have important news.”
Griffin passed one to Esmera before taking one for himself.
Jori frowned as he announced, “My father is dead.”
“What?” Esmera blurted.
Griffin set the glass down. “How?”
“Buffont.”
“That’s . . . not possible.”
“He did it, Griffin. He dropped my father through the murder hole on the bridge. I was there. I witnessed the entire horrifying event.” Jori took a long sip of his wine, then turned to Esmera. “This changes everything.”
Esmera set her glass down on the table so hard it was a wonder it didn’t break. “What does that mean?”
“I will not marry you.”
“Then you will not have the North. My brother Malcolm—”
“Is locked in the dungeon with your sister. If you behave yourself, I will have them released, Esmera, but to their rooms only. They will still be under heavy guard.”
Esmera launched her glass at him. Jori made no move to avoid it hitting him. He let the red wine drip off his cloak onto the floor. “There is no reason to get emotional, Esmera. It is simply a matter of politics. I must marry—”
“Maggie,” Griffin sighed.
Jori’s grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes.”
“You marry a . . . a nobody?” Esmera countered.
Jori sighed at her. “Maggie isn’t a nobody. She is the true Ambrosius. Xavier was a fraud.”
“What are you talking about?” Esmera growled. Jori’s answering snicker sent her to Griffin. “What’s he talking about?”
Griffin stared at Jori. He had been playing a game all this time. All his maneuvers carefully planned. Griffin hadn’t thought the prince had it in him. “How long have you known?”
“Much longer than you.” Jori drained his glass and poured another. “And I want to thank you for training her in the short time you had together. Today was an impressive beginning. Her powers will only grow, and then . . .” He hummed.
Griffin wanted to punch him as realization dawned. “You let me take her to Oughtnoch, knowing full well I would want to see Rendicryss. You used me.”
Jori smirked, his thin blond eyebrows lifting. “And I will reward you for it.”
“Did it ever occur to you that your plan would backfire?” Griffin asked. “That I might have real feelings for her? And she for me?”
Jori set a hand on the pommel of the Phantombronze dagger, Griffin’s dagger. There was a sword on his other hip. “Maggie has agreed to marry me, Griffin. It’s done. But I haven’t forsaken you or Esmera.” He looked at Esmera, who was eyeing the sword on Jori’s hip, glaring as if she wanted nothing more than to slit his throat with it. “You will marry Griffin, and we will all be one big happy family.”
“No,” Esmera said flatly. “Our treaty is broken. I will return home with my siblings to our people. We will not combine our lands with yours.”