But after she observed at least six other men leaving the lavatory and confirmed the lack of his huge form in the buffet line, she reverted to assumption one. Which was not an assumption anymore.
Which was not the move she was letting him get away with.
And yes, she was damn sure she could follow through. Brickham had a head start, but was still the stranger in a strange palais: a building that was actually a collection of other buildings, erected at different times and then linked together as afterthoughts. Seasoned courtiers often compared the place to a stucco hedge maze.
And she knew shortcuts through it. Many, many detours.
She checked her instincts first. Brickham would not return to her suite even if Evrest had not stepped in when he had. Though he was alone, she sensed that made no difference. The man had not bolted from the commissary because of a need for fresh air. He wanted to get away from her, period.
Another presentiment had her avoiding the infirmary, as well. He had no possessions or even clothes to collect from the room, and he would obviously peg it as one of the first places on her search list.
Then where?
And why was that the query to double as the off switch on her intuition?
All right, then. She would use simple logic.
Where would he dash off to, if wanting to hide out from everyone because—
Of what?
All right, rationality was not helping either. Not without the key chunk of information she was missing.
“Damn it,” she rasped, dropping to a low-lying balustrade in the central foyer. Though she dropped her head against her folded arms, she gritted her teeth against the sting behind her eyes. “Damn you, Evrest!”
“Fembla? What are you doing out here?”
She rushed back to her feet as the protective baritone bounced off the stone walls and marble floors. Her tears were still clenched away, but Creator only knew how long the fortitude would last. Especially if her king brother turned out to be the one dogging her every step.
It was not Ev. She whooshed out a grateful breath—but quickly questioned if Shiraz’s arrival was worth the celebration.
“Well?” he demanded. “Why have you strayed?” It was not a Samsyn-level boom but nowhere close to Ev’s diplomacy. ’Raz’s military gear only augmented his austere demeanor. “Why are you not in the commissary with the others? And why is Emme not with you? Are you full fougin? You are exposed like this alone?”
“Fougin?” She rocked back and folded her arms. “Yes. Crazy. Of course that is what I am, for even thinking I did not have to scratch a paw at the door for permission go straying in my own home.”
His brow knitted. “That is not what I meant, and you know—”
“Do I?” she snapped. “Know that, I mean? Because all of you are so forthcoming about conveying that to me? About communicating anything with me?”
“All right, all right.” He held up his hands, maddening about the soothe. “I only wish to help.” His furrows got deeper in response to her skeptical bark. “Fembla, on my honor”—he pressed his two longest fingers against the Arcadian military crest embroidered on his uniform’s shoulder—“none of us knew about Maimanne and LaBarre until damn near the moment you did. Do you honestly think we would withhold something like that from you, even for a day?”
Jayd did not—could not—answer. His remark, even with its tender intent, was so far off the proverbial mark. Did he truly not get that?
“I did not think that for a moment, rerda,” she finally managed to mutter “You must know that.”
“Well then, why are you ready to tear my head off with all your—” His choke of dawning recognition was as irritating as his benevolence. “Oh, Creator’s balls. This is all about…him, yes? That…American.”
She flared her nostrils. “You mean just like the American to whom you are engaged?”
He pulled in a tense breath. “Lucina is an event planner, not a spy for hire.”
“And that makes a difference…how?” she snapped. “Unless you think that protecting me on several occasions, to the point of taking bullets to ensure my safety, does not prove his equal worth to Lucy? For that matter, to Camillia and Brooke as well?”
“I did not say that.”
She laughed without mirth. “So what are you saying?
“Camellia is the queen of our kingdom. A damn good one. And Brooke has risked her life for Arcadia as a commendable soldier.”
“Which has exactly what to do with Maximillian Brickham?”
Shiraz dropped his hands to his sides and rubbed his thumbs between his other fingers. Jayd instantly knew the tell. He was practically making fire with that flint-and-steel agitation.
“I am only looking out for you, fembla. All three of us are.” He pushed a rough breath between his locked teeth. “Damn it. We were so worried when you were gone.”
She jogged up her chin. “Well, I am…sorry,” she said, infusing it with all the sincerity in her heart “’Twas not my intention…to string you out that hard.”
“I know,” ’Raz replied. “And accepted. Merderim.”
She waited through a long pause before lifting her head once again. She peered intensely at him before scooping down her head in a no-touch nudge. But the imbezak reacted as if she had not just jumped her brows to the moon and bugged her eyes until next summer.
“Well?”
“Well what?” Shiraz asked.
“This is the part where you apologize too.”
Her brother shied back. “Whatever the hell for?”
“For what you insinuated about Brickham. For mincing his honor and character without even knowing him.”
He went full-bore glower. “I will jump into the Tahreuse lava hole first.”
“’Raz!”
“Dare not, sister,” he snarled. “Dare. Not. Go. There.”
“There being the hell where?” she countered. “You mean back to the land of consideration, kindness, truth, and granting the benefit of a doubt to the stranger who saved your fembla’s life?”
“After helping himself to her mind and body?” he spat. “Now we can only pray he had no aspirations on anything else.”
Jayd blinked hard though kept her head high. She did not dare give away that his prayers would already be in vain. That Brickham had already claimed more than her virginity and sanity.
He had taken her heart as well.
He had to know that by now. But did he want to? Did she want him—or any of them—to?
She yearned to scream for lack of an answer.
Instead, she charged with shocking composure, “Aspirations, brother? To exactly what? I am a princess stripped of her birthright, and the whole world now knows it. I might remain a figurehead but will likely not have financial gains beyond what the high council agrees to pay me. By the same stroke, neither I nor my children will have any viable claim to the throne. So what is your point again?”
Shiraz jabbed his hands into his pockets. Kicked at an invisible pebble on the shiny floor. She almost guessed that he was…fidgeting. But she knew better of the brother to whom she was closest, chronologically and emotionally.
“You are…tender…about him right now, fembla,” he finally ventured. “And I understand that. But after a while, I hope that you will see things—see him—more accurately.”