by RJ Metcalf
The sword-stabbing guard sheathed his blade and grabbed Preston’s boots, hauling him out. Niles offered a meaty hand, and Christopher cautiously took it, surprised by the gesture. Christopher circled the table and dropped to his knees by Preston’s body, woozy. He examined the fitted pants and shirt, then ran his finger on the upper edge of Preston’s knee-high boots, right on the inside. Warm metal stood out in contrast to the leather. He brandished the key and passed it to one of the guards.
“That’s how he got his hand free.” Christopher grimaced. “Which means that either Silas or Pamela are around still and were able to get this to him.”
He wiped his hands on his pants. Whatever he’d felt toward his former teammate, there was no reason to keep thinking on it. Not after he’d just killed him. Not in a sacrifice like Lucio killing Andrew, but Christopher still had Preston’s blood on his ledger now.
What if he ran into Pamela? Would he be forced to do the same to her?
Christopher’s stomach threatened to rebel at that thought.
An almost-friendly hand touched Christopher’s shoulder. “If they were able to slip this to him, that means they must be somewhere in the palace.” Alarm rang on each of Weston’s words. “Any ideas on where they’d go?”
Christopher swiped at the blood that glued his eyelashes together and contemplated Weston’s shiny boots with one eye. “If I had to guess, they’d want to target Kaius. But I can’t say with confidence.”
“Right.” Weston’s grip tightened on Christopher’s shoulder before releasing him. Weston strode to the door without looking back. “We need to alert the palace guard and check on Kaius. Now.” He pointed to one of the guards, then back at Christopher. “Take him to medical. He helped to save my life, and he’s injured. See to that.” Weston glanced back at Christopher. “Thank you.” Then the prince sprinted out.
Christopher let the guards help him to his feet, and he turned to give Preston’s body one final glance. He wouldn’t let himself feel guilt for having to kill Preston––such was war––but he couldn’t blink away the imagined expression of disappointment Pamela would give him when she found out.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Weston
Weston’s heart pounded like war drums as he raced through the palace with Niles on his heels. They passed a duo of guards that started sprinting behind them. Christopher didn’t know if it was Silas or Pamela who had slipped in, which meant that there could be two assassins loose among them. Three, if Victor had decided to come out of hiding. Weston’s throat squeezed and he waved to get Niles’s attention. “Send guards to my mother! And warn the other delegates!”
Niles slowed just enough to communicate with the guards that had joined them, and they both peeled off to cut across the palace through another hallway. Another set of guards ahead of Weston followed as he and Niles ran past.
His brain could barely track all the possibilities for threats right now. His mother was with Emperor Ezran and the other delegates for a brief meeting that the seconds weren’t needed for, hence him being free for interrogating. Theoretically, she’d be safe where she was. Safety in numbers and guards and all that.
“To Kaius, Highness?” Niles huffed beside him.
Weston shot Niles a quick glance from the corner of his eye, curious as to the agitation that roughened his friend’s voice. “Of course.” A smile twitched on Weston’s lips. “Are you upset that Christopher got to that veeb before you did?”
Niles’s face darkened with a scowl as they rounded a corner. “Of course not.”
He was. Jealousy practically dripped off Niles’s words. Weston shook his head and grinned tightly to himself.
They passed closed door after closed door in the mostly unused wing for prisoners, then stopped abruptly at the one room that was open. The only room that should’ve had someone in it. Kaius’s room.
Niles swore and pounded his fist into the nearby wall.
Two dead guards littered the floor. Kaius was nowhere in sight.
Numbness crept through Weston as he stared at the sunlight visible through the doorway. Weston walked into Kaius’s empty room, making sure for himself that yes, the Elph advisor was truly gone. No hint of struggle. Just dead guards and a missing suspect. He spun to Niles, his heart hammering in his chest. “If you had been imprisoned by the one you’d worked for, and you were released unexpectedly, where would you go?”
The skin around Niles’s eyes tightened. “The princess.”
Weston sprinted out of the room, dread tightening his throat, threatening to cut off his supply to air. They had to check on Abigail. Now.
Abigail likely was on her own somewhere, not with the other delegates in their meeting, and he’d yet to see her with a bodyguard of any kind. She would be an easy target.
But where would she even be? Her room? Exploring the grounds? Did she practice her manipulation? Where would she go for that?
White halls and their gold-edged pillars blurred together as Weston and Niles ran through the mercifully uncrowded hallways. Eventually the neutral colors gave way to the green-lined carpet of the small wing dedicated to the Antian delegation, and Weston skidded on the rug before Princess Abigail’s door. He pounded on it, cautious to not smack his hand into the molding along the edge. “Princess? Are you in there?” He pressed his ear to the wood, then kicked himself mentally. Of course he wouldn’t hear anything. All the rooms for delegates and royalty were soundproofed. Weston backed up and pointed to the door. “Take it down. If I’m wrong, I’ll spend the rest of my life groveling to her and you can tell me “I told you so” whenever you want.”
Was she alive? Dead? The memory of blood spreading across bedsheets threatened to gag Weston.
Niles snorted as he approached the door. Weston half expected his burly bodyguard to try to kick the door in, but Niles brandished a skeleton key and shot Weston an almost-conspiratorial smirk that felt out of place with the anxiety that made Weston’s arms tremble. Niles pushed the handle down, slipping the key back into some hidden pocket. Weston tried to push past him, but Niles elbowed him back. Weston grumbled a curse that Niles ignored as he entered the princess’s chamber.
Weston looked around Niles’s broad back, scanning the room, breath hitched in his lungs. All the decor—the plush black couch, the green velvet bed drapes, the roll-top desk, everything—faded to black as Weston focused on the one thing important to him: Abigail, lying on her back on a thick white rug, blood leaking from slashes on her arms, eyes closed. A nasty bruise darkened her forehead, and a gold-toned man stood over her, a dagger in each fist. The man—Silas—turned toward them, and a surprised snarl twisted his features.
Nausea twisted in Weston’s gut. Was she breathing? Was he too late?
Niles shouted and burst forward, drawing his sword. Silas dipped his dagger toward Abigail’s throat, but reversed the motion to dance backward and away from Niles. Niles pressed his advantage, driving Silas past the open floor and closer to the lavatory and her bed. Weston surged forward to drop to his knees by her side. Crimson streaks stained her arms as well as her customary silver robe and the rug below her prone form. Weston’s head swam and he focused on breathing through his mouth, trying to not inhale the sickening scent of coppery blood. What had Andre always told him to do in emergencies like this? Everything he knew seemed to have fled his mind. Pressure on bleeding, wasn’t it?
Weston’s skin tingled as if he’d just stuck his hand on Pistoia’s charging stone. His hands shook as he looked around, desperate. Niles fought with the assassin in the corner, just far enough away that Weston didn’t fear for his immediate safety. A sturdy short table split the space between him and the black couch, and a tray of spilled tea and a white hand towel sat on the top. He scrambled on all fours to grab the server’s towel, then pivoted around to press into the most grievous injury on her left arm. Abigail’s eyes flew open and she inhaled sharply, a gasp that almost sounded like a scream.
Her eyes focused and unfocused,
tears flowing freely. She blinked at him. “You?”
“Me.” Weston lifted his hand just enough to glance under and make sure he’d picked the right spot on her arm. He clamped back down and she flinched. He whispered an apology through clenched teeth and closed his eyes against her obvious distress. Her free hand flailed for something to grasp, and he watched as her movement renewed the bleeding. His stomach clenched.
“What are you doing here?” Abigail whispered.
Something dampened the knee of his pants, and Weston didn’t want to glance down, already dreading the likelihood that his pants were soaking up her blood.
“I’m protecting you,” he finally replied after his stomach settled enough for him to talk. “Well, Niles is protecting you. I’m trying to keep you alive.” He glanced up then, belatedly realizing that it had been quiet for a bit too long for a battle. Niles towered over the crumpled and bloody body of Silas. More blood. Great. Weston fought the urge to gag and looked back to Abigail, startled to see a glimmer of mirth in her face.
“Are you squeamish?” Yes, that was definitely amusement in her voice.
Weston grimaced. “Possibly.” She snickered and he gritted his teeth and shook his head, furrowing his brow at her. “How did he get the drop on you? I thought you were a manipulator.”
She hissed an exhale and struggled to sit up. He slid his free arm around her shoulders to support her and eyed her other arm that wept blood. He needed another free hand for that. Niles approached from her other side, a deep purple pillowcase in hand. He dipped it in the tea pot that lay on its side on the silver tray, then he wiped away the excess blood from her arm, clearly showing the wide slash.
Abigail wrinkled her nose at the injury and sighed. “He came in, pretending he was my steward for the day. I had my back to him, and when I turned around he hit me with something, I don’t even know what. I got him with the ice block I made.” She nodded to a half-melted cube of ice that Weston hadn’t noticed. “But he knifed my arm, and when he tried to get my throat, I blocked, and he got my other arm. Everything was spinning anyway, so I fell.” Abigail quieted, her face tight. “I don’t remember much beyond that, but somehow you two arrived. And saved me.”
Niles tightened the makeshift pillowcase bandage around her arm, and she hissed in a gasp. She grunted, then gently eased her arm from Weston’s hands, giving it over to Niles. She kept her face down turned. “You had good timing. Thank you.”
Unexpected warmth rushed through Weston at her soft words of gratitude. “You’re welcome.” His hands twitched at the feeling of blood drying on them, and he resisted the urge to rub them into the rug.
“How did you know to come?” Abigail winced as Niles tightened the other tourniquet.
“I was interrogating a new prisoner, and he tried to kill me. Our possible turncoat source figured that meant at least one of his former teammates was on the loose, and was likely after Kaius.” Weston flexed his fingers, stomach churning as they stuck together. Niles handed the damp rag over Abigail’s lap, and Weston started scrubbing at his hands without daring to look at them. “Princess, Kaius has escaped. He’s not in his room.”
Abigail’s eyes widened, and she scrambled to her feet. She swayed in place. Weston dropped the red-stained rag and joined her, steadying her by the elbow, fearful that she’d go down. He didn’t want to guess as to how much blood she’d lost. Niles mirrored Weston’s position on the other side.
“He’s gone?” Alarm rang in Abigail’s voice. “If we lose him, we’ll lose our only source of information for his contacts back home!” She lurched forward, staggering. She pressed a hand to her head and moaned. She gritted her teeth in a silent snarl and stalked forward with slow, deliberate steps. Weston kept his hand hovering by her elbow, daring to stay as close as he dared, unwilling to risk her getting further injured.
Niles cleared his throat, following them out her door and into the Antian delegate hallway. “May I suggest—”
“No.” Abigail’s voice was faint, but Weston heard the silent steel in it. “We need to find Kaius first.”
Niles grunted, and Weston grimaced at the disapproval radiating off his bodyguard. Weston sighed. “Any ideas of where we should start looking?”
“I don’t know, but when I find him—” Abigail’s voice shook and Weston glanced over, fearing she was weakening, but then realizing that it was anger that colored her emotions and made her words tremble. “I’m going to give him a memento of my anger at his betrayal.” She charged toward the door, her steps more steady than they had been earlier, as if rage had lent her new strength.
“Wait,” Weston reached out but didn’t risk touching her arm and jostling her injuries.
Abigail whipped her face around to glare at him. “If you think for even half a second that I’m going to wait when my advisor is on the loose, after having been proven a traitor, if you think I’m going to just sit back and wait like a ‘good little princess,’ have I got something to tell you, Prince.” She stuck her finger in his face. “This is personal. And I’m not going to just—”
“I was just going to say that you should let Niles go ahead of you.” Weston interrupted. He leaned back, not fully out of her reach, but at least not within physical striking range. Theoretically. He distantly hoped that there was no nearby water for her to use against him. He pointed at the bruise on her forehead, then at her arms. “You’re injured, you know. And while that doesn’t mean you’re weak, it means you’re vulnerable, and Niles can lead well enough for us.”
She pursed her lips and let Niles pass them. The tension eased in Weston’s spine as he trailed after her.
She shot him a look out of the corner of her eye. “Why are you so insistent about my safety? Why do you care?”
“You’re a guest in my kingdom. Your safety is my priority.” Weston’s steps lagged and he tamped down his weariness. He shrugged lightly at her. “We’ve had enough danger and blood-shed for this summit, and I’m not about to let any more happen. Not if I can help it.”
A scoff escaped her lips, but her eyes softened.
“Your Highnesses, may I insist that we get medical aid first?” Niles eyed Abigail’s arms, and Weston realized with a start that her blood now stained the green makeshift bandage an odd brownish color that he instantly detested. Niles tilted his head toward the hall. “And we can check for news on anything that stands out here in the palace?”
“Only if medical is on the way,” Abigail replied haughtily. She rolled her wrists as if to show they were fine and a low note of pain burst from her. She winced. “Actually, I take that back. Medical. Yes, please.”
Sympathy softened the snort that nearly broke free of Weston and he gently cupped her elbow, providing what support he could. “We’ll call for a lock down, if you wish.” He offered. “And we’ll leave the palace, search the city if you want. I can get orders out while they help you.”
Abigail groaned, her eyelashes fluttering in pain. She gave a short nod. “Fine. Take me to the medical. Then we hunt for that traitor.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Weston
They followed Niles to one of the nearby medical rooms, and once there a mani-med fussed over Abigail, cleaning her arms and examining them with a trained eye that Weston would never have. Niles stood just outside, talking to the guards, whom he’d summoned upon arrival.
The portly mani-med ran a mottled blue stone over the edges of the gash on Abigail’s arm, and the subtle lines of pain in her face eased. She dropped her head back and blinked up at the gas light in the ceiling. “That’s much better.” She gave the mani-med a small smile. “Thank you, Douglas.”
Douglas nodded, his attention focused on her injuries rather than her. “Mmhmm.” He held out his hand, and an attendant pulled a fresh roll of gauze from a nearby drawer gave it to him. Douglas rubbed an ointment over her arm, then started wrapping over the reddened skin. “You’ll need to take it easy, Your Highness. You are lucky that the assassin didn’t sever n
erves, or cause irreversible damage. We reduced the swelling and did some light flesh-knitting, but stone healing is only so good without proper care and rest. If you have any sudden movements or strenuous activity, this’ll be for naught.”
“Of course.” Abigail glanced up at Weston as she agreed, and she wrinkled her nose at him, clearly indicating what she thought of those orders. Weston stifled a chuckle. Jade and Abigail had to have come from the same stubbornness composite.
Niles rapped on the open door and poked his head in. He gave a quick nod of approval at the sight of the white bandages that took up much of Abigail’s forearms. “There’s been no signs of activity here. Nothing at all, and no new servers have been seen.”
“So we should check that last safe house that Christopher gave us.” Weston stared at Abigail’s arms and briefly debated on trying to ask her to stay behind, to follow the doctor’s orders and take it easy. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. The odds of her following them regardless were high, and if he tried to exclude her, then whatever hesitant truce-fire they had here would be burned. Instead, he crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows at Abigail, willing to issue the challenge. “Can you ride a horse?”
She lifted her chin, fire that was more warmth than ire in her eyes. “Probably better than you.”
Mani-med Douglas made a small noise of protest that Abigail and Weston both ignored.
Weston grinned in spite of himself, embracing the rush of excitement that came with the hunt. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Despite being recently injured, Abigail was an excellent horse master, skillfully guiding her borrowed steed with her knees more than by the reins. They’d gathered a small group of soldiers right before leaving, a balance of Aerugan and Antian, but hopefully not so many that they’d be extremely noticeable on their way to the safe house. Niles and two Antian guards took the lead of their charge with three Aerugan and two Antian guards behind Weston and Abigail.