Taking a step back, he schooled his expression into a blank mask. “My apologies, Princess Arianna.”
She huffed out a little breath and shifted the cloth-wrapped bundle she held. “I don’t want apologies, Sebastian, unless I know what you’re apologizing for.”
He tried to find words that wouldn’t be offensive, but there really wasn’t an acceptable way to tell royalty he’d been running his eyes over her body because somehow he’d foolishly thought it was his job to make sure she hadn’t been hurt.
“Well?” She looked at him expectantly. “I promise you, this is the wrong moment to choose to be silent. I’ve had my fill of being treated like the way I look matters more than who I really am.”
He opened his mouth to assure her that he hadn’t been noticing the way she looked, but he couldn’t lie. He’d paid attention to the glow of her skin. The way her eyes danced with her every emotion. The curves that filled out her dress in a way that he found far more intriguing than a boy in his position had any right to.
Shoving those thoughts aside, he said, “I was checking to make sure you were all right.”
She raised a brow, and her voice was flat. “You were staring at my waist because you were concerned for my well-being. Really? That’s the best explanation you can come up with?”
“Yes. No! Not your waist. Your hips. I was staring at your hips.” Stars help him, he didn’t realize how terrible that would sound until it left his mouth.
“Well, I hope you liked what you saw, because I’m leaving.” She turned on her heel and started for the exit.
He was going to lose his job. His chance at freedom from Kosim Thalas. And he was going to lose the respect of the princess, which shouldn’t bother him but somehow did.
“Wait!” He took a step forward, and then stopped as she slowly turned to face him. His pulse was thunder in his ears at the sight of her angry expression. “After your run-in with Teague’s men, I promised to help you if you felt threatened in the palace. You haven’t come, but something is clearly wrong and has been for a while, and I worried that it meant . . . that you’d been hurt. I was looking at the way you were standing. If you’d been hit someplace where it wouldn’t show, you’d be compensating for the pain by putting your weight on the side of your body that hurt the least.”
Stars knew, he had experience in trying to find a way to absorb the red-hot agony of a beating while still moving about his everyday life.
Her expression softened.
“I meant no offense.” He realized his hands were fists and made himself unfurl them.
“I believe you,” she said simply, and he could see that it was true. “And as proof that our friendship can weather the occasional argument, I’ll even share my snack with you.”
She held up the wrapped bundle.
“You don’t need to do that.”
She blew a stray piece of hair out of her eyes and walked to his side. “Why do people say that? Of course I don’t need to do it, but if I say I’m going to, then that’s it. Decision made. Trying to give me a way out of it just slows things down.”
He had no response to that. She busied herself unwrapping a small loaf of bread that smelled like the bakery he’d passed each morning last winter on his way to mucking out the local livery stable. His stomach growled, suddenly unsatisfied with the slice of cheese and half an apple he’d eaten at dawn. He’d have to eat the bread or risk offending her. Somehow he didn’t think it was going to be a hardship.
“Cranberry orange bread with a cinnamon-sugar crust.” She broke it in half and handed him a piece as big as his hand. “I baked it myself. It’s better than Mama Eleni’s, but don’t tell her that.”
“Who is Mama Eleni?” he asked as he took a bite and savored the softness of the bread and the warm sugared-fruit flavor that tasted exactly as he’d always imagined something like this would taste.
“You know . . . Mama Eleni. The cook.” She shook her head. “You really should pay more attention to the name of the woman who cooks for you every day. She’s a good ally to have. You never know when you’re going to need an extra snack.”
He shrugged. “I don’t eat in the palace kitchen, so I’ve never met her.” He raised the bread to his mouth again, but stopped at the expression on her face.
“If you don’t eat the servants’ meals, what do you eat?”
“Bread, apples, and cheese.”
“That’s it?” She was staring at him with a mixture of horror and pity.
“That’s enough to get me through each day. Speaking of which, we should get started on your—”
“Food isn’t about getting through the day, Sebastian.” She waved her bread under his nose as if he didn’t already have his own piece just begging to be finished. “It’s about stopping and appreciating the moment. It’s about exploring new tastes and textures. It’s about giving yourself a little piece of comfort or joy and sharing that with others.”
“And here I thought it was simply to keep one’s body going,” he said, and finished off the rest of his bread quickly. Talking with the princess was easy—far easier than it should’ve been—and he was in danger of forgetting that he had a job to do, a job that didn’t include letting her think they were going to be friends. It was time to get started on her lesson and remember his place at the bottom of the society that she held in the palm of her hand.
“Come to the kitchens tonight. It’s dessert baking day, so there will be something special on the table.”
He dusted crumbs from his hands. “I’m fine. I don’t like the kitchens.”
She threw her hands into the air. “Why not?”
“Because there are people there.”
“Yes, but there’s also pie.”
His lips twitched upward. “I can live without pie.”
She grinned, but then froze as she looked past him to the arena’s doorway. A frown etched itself between her brows, and she clenched her hands into fists.
“What? What’s wrong?” He spun on his heel, but could see nothing in the darkness beyond the distant faint shadows of the trees that lined the drive. When he turned back to face the princess, she’d grabbed his cudgel from the table of weapons beside them and was running for the door.
“Wait! Princess!”
“He’s here!” She was nearly to the doorway. “The man from the market. The one who was in charge of all Teague’s men. He’s here, and he must be coming for Cleo.”
She disappeared into the night, and Sebastian swore as he snatched up a mace and a dagger and went after her at a dead run.
THIRTEEN
SHE WASN’T GOING to be too late. She refused to be too late.
Her feet flew across the lawn and onto the palace road. It was hard to run and hang on to Sebastian’s stupidly heavy cudgel at the same time, but she did it.
She couldn’t see Teague’s man anymore, but she didn’t need to. She knew where Cleo was. Now she just had to get there in time.
Please let her get there in time.
Her breath was searing her lungs by the time she reached the garden’s entrance, but she didn’t slow down.
What had she done since Teague’s visit to bring this on Cleo? She hadn’t been to Kosim Thalas. Hadn’t asked any questions. She’d spent her time sparring with Sebastian, cooking with Cleo, and reading every book on contract law and Llorenyae in the palace library.
She hadn’t done anything to put Cleo in danger.
Cleo was in danger anyway.
Her calves ached as she reached the curved drive in front of the palace. Maybe there was a spy in the palace. Someone who’d reported on Ari’s activities. Maybe Teague had decided Ari was still a threat.
It didn’t matter why Teague had sent his man. It only mattered that Ari reach Cleo in time. Cleo would be in the kitchen. It would be faster to cut through the garden than to go into the palace itself.
She dragged in a deep breath, trying to quiet the stitch in her side. The cudgel clutched in her hands was s
lick with sweat. Somewhere behind her, footsteps pounded against the ground. Sebastian, probably.
She launched herself into the garden, her feet sliding against the path, and then froze as voices cut through the night.
“—no right to come here.” Thad’s voice was raised in anger.
Thad?
Where was Cleo?
Ari missed whatever response the stranger made because she was too busy trying to silently hurry down the path toward the sound.
“His Royal Highness commanded you to leave.” Thad’s guard Ajax raised his voice.
Ari turned to the left, leaving the path in favor of cutting a direct line toward the voices and nearly tripped over a small bush.
“Daka!” she swore as her toe connected with a thorn. Hastily, she moved around the bush and climbed into a flower bed. Her shoes crushed blossoms into the dirt as she ran.
“You signed a contract.” The stranger’s voice reminded Ari of the thick, weighted calm that covered the kingdom right before a storm unleashed itself on the land. “You don’t try to break a contract with my employer without suffering the consequences.”
She had the sudden, sick feeling that Ajax hadn’t been as discreet as he should’ve been while making plans to find and kill Teague.
Maybe this wasn’t about Cleo after all.
Maybe Ari was in danger of losing Thad.
Would Teague hold Ajax’s actions against her brother?
The nearly healed bruise on her neck throbbed in time with her pulse, a vivid reminder that Teague would do as he pleased.
Ari slid over a patch of rocky soil and nearly dropped the cudgel. She was almost there. A handful of trees was all that separated her from her brother.
The fact that she didn’t know what she was going to do when she got there didn’t matter. She’d figure it out.
“Who said anything about breaking the contract?” Ajax asked.
Ari moved into the trees.
“This is insulting.” Thad sounded furious. “I’ve done nothing to warrant this. I’ve held back the city guard and turned a blind eye to Teague’s business. I’ve upheld my end of our bargain. You have no right—”
“Your man here has a reputation for killing lesser fae than my boss. Now we hear rumors that he’s got his sights set on Teague himself. That was a mistake.”
“Rumors and lies.” Ajax sounded angry, but Ari could hear the thread of fear beneath it.
The stranger laughed, though he didn’t sound amused. “You boys are in so far over your heads, you don’t even have the sense to know you’re drowning.”
The dull thud of a fist smacking flesh sent Ari hurtling forward. She skidded around a tree and stopped as she took in the scene.
Thad was on his knees, holding his rib cage, while terrified rage lit his face. His guard rushed for the stranger, and the man pivoted and slammed his fists into the side of Ajax’s face as he passed. Ajax fell to the ground, and then a knife was in the stranger’s hand, driving into Ajax’s side.
Turning, the stranger stood over Thad with his back to Ari and said grimly, “My employer has a message for you.”
His fist crashed into Thad’s nose, and blood flowed.
Ari wrapped her hands around the cudgel and lifted it above her head.
“You cannot get out of the contract you signed.” He kicked Thad in the stomach.
Ari crept forward as her brother moaned and retched.
“You cannot protect yourself from him.” The knife flashed, and Thad cried out as it sliced into his arm.
Ari judged the remaining paces between herself and the stranger and prayed she wouldn’t miss.
“You should’ve enjoyed your last nine years of freedom so that you would never have to see my face.” The man raised the knife.
Ari lunged forward, closed the distance between them, and swung the cudgel at the stranger’s head like she was hammering a nail.
The weapon hit the man with a terrible wet crunch. He dropped to the ground and lay motionless.
Thad fell back, moaning in pain, and Ari raised the cudgel, her body trembling as she waited to see if the man would get up and threaten her brother again.
“Princess!”
She looked up the path, and then Sebastian was there.
“He was hurting my brother.” Ari’s voice shook, and her teeth began to chatter uncontrollably as the man lay silent and still, blood pouring from his head to form a viscous ring around him. “I had to stop him.”
Sebastian crouched beside the man and pressed two fingers against his neck. “You can put the weapon down, Princess. He’s dead.”
“Oh, stars.” Ari dropped the weapon and backed away from the body.
Carefully, Sebastian rolled the man onto his back, and then went still.
“You were right, Princess. This is Daan, Teague’s collector. His top employee.” His voice was hard. “If Teague finds out his collector died here, you’ll be in more trouble than you can possibly imagine.”
FOURTEEN
SEBASTIAN’S MIND RACED as he stared at the dead body of Alistair Teague’s collector. Footsteps crashed through the garden, and he whirled, fists raised, but it was only Cleo, a sack of cookies in her hands.
“Cleo!” The princess stumbled toward her friend. “What are you doing here? Never mind, don’t answer that. Just go.”
“I was bringing a snack to the new boy who works in the stables and I heard a commotion.” Cleo clutched the cookies to her chest, her eyes wide as she stared at the king, still doubled over on the ground, at Ajax with blood spreading across his uniform, and finally at the body of Teague’s collector.
“Is he—”
“Yes,” Sebastian said quietly.
“Cleo, go inside.” The princess’s voice shook.
“You clearly need help, so stop ordering me to leave,” Cleo said, though her voice was just as shaky as the princess’s. “Should we call the palace guard?”
“No,” the king said, crawling to Ajax and pressing his hands against the knife wound in the man’s side. “No guards.”
“We keep this to ourselves,” Sebastian said as he calculated the odds of somehow handling this without Teague learning the truth.
If Teague discovered that the princess had killed his most valuable employee, he’d make her pay for it, and she probably wouldn’t survive. And, of course, Teague would know that his man had been at the palace. His collector didn’t visit anyone unless he’d been sent.
Which meant Teague was expecting Daan to return with an update on his conversation with the king. How long did Sebastian have to protect the princess from the wrath of the most dangerous man in Súndraille?
He looked up. The moon was halfway between the eastern horizon and the midpoint in the sky.
Still early evening. Teague had no way of knowing how long it would take Daan to find a way to confront the king. Surely that bought Sebastian at least until midnight, if not longer.
He’d have to use the time to get the body as far from the palace as possible.
“We have to hide the body,” the princess said as if she could read his mind.
Sebastian met her gaze. Her eyes were wide with the residue of panic and she still trembled with shock, but she wore the tiny frown she got when she was thinking hard.
“Yes,” he agreed. “But not here. Not on the palace grounds. Teague has to think his man delivered his message and left without coming to harm.”
“We could toss him into the sea,” Cleo said. “Just drag him to the south field. It ends in a cliff.”
“If we dump him off the palace cliffs, the body could wash ashore on our beach.” The princess rubbed her arms as if she thought she’d never get warm. “But first, Thad and his guard need medical attention.”
“There are places in the deserts of Akram where he’d never be found,” Ajax said. His left eye was swelling shut, and his speech was slurred.
Sebastian considered his suggestion.
“If we do that, his bo
ss will assume that the last place he was seen was the palace,” the princess said as she stepped closer to Sebastian and looked down at the sprawled figure of the collector. She made a noise of distress in the back of her throat and tipped her head back to drag in a deep breath.
“He can assume all he wants. That’s not the same as proof,” Cleo said as she joined the king to help Ajax up off the ground. The king swayed and breathed in sharp little coughs. Both of them needed the palace physician. Quickly.
“Alistair Teague doesn’t need proof to decide he’s justified in punishing the princess for killing his collector.” Sebastian picked up the fallen cudgel, strapped it to his chest, and tried to put his body between the princess and the sight of the man with the crushed skull lying silently on the dirt.
How was the king mixed up with Alistair Teague? The only kind of business anyone did with Teague was criminal—buying apodrasi, selling it, smuggling stolen goods across kingdom borders, or hurting those foolish enough to try to cheat Teague out of what he was owed.
Unless the king was one of the poor fools who’d made a wish.
Sebastian’s chest ached with tension, and he forced himself to breathe steadily. What the king was doing wasn’t his concern. Sebastian had a job to do. And he had to do it before Teague realized his collector wasn’t coming home.
He bent toward the body again, gauging the best way to transport it.
The princess stepped forward and addressed the king and Ajax.
“You both need medical attention. For now, we have to assume that Teague has a way of knowing whether the message was delivered. Cleo, please get them into the palace and then call for the physician to see to the two of them. Make sure the staff knows that a man attacked them in the garden and then ran off when you showed up. If Teague hears that story, and the physician’s records document their injuries, we have a chance to make Teague believe his man delivered his message and left here safely.”
“What about you?” Cleo asked as she began helping Ajax walk toward the palace.
The Wish Granter Page 10