Torrid Throne

by Julie Johnson

  My head has started spinning and my breaths are growing increasingly short the longer I lay here in the darkness. But that may have more to do with the cloying smell of flowers saturating the air of my bedroom than it does the drugs in my system.

  I glance at my side table, where an elaborate bouquet of pale blue Germanian lilies sits. Just behind them, on my dresser, a dozen pink roses bloom brightly even in the darkness. I know if I turn my head, I’ll see an arrangement of orchids gracing the wide sill by the window… and wildflowers over by the chair… and daisies on the mantle…

  I pull a pillow over my face to muffle a scream.

  The arrangements started arriving yesterday — one after another after another, carried in by page after page. So many, it was almost laughable. So many, you’d think some mass memo went out to every eligible male in the country.

  She didn’t answer your note… Better try flowers this time, lads!

  I’ve lost tally of how many have arrived, at this point. All available surfaces in my suite hold a vase — or three — and that’s not even counting the bouquets I passed off on every maid who crossed my path in the castle corridors, yesterday.

  Take them home with you, please. Enjoy them. I’ve run out of room.

  Even Hans, the gruff Master of Stables, got a bouquet to bring home to his wife after my morning equestrian lesson. His reluctance to take them was no match for my determination to reduce my pollen intake by any means possible.

  If I’d been smart, I would’ve faked a damn allergy. Too bad I didn’t think of that excuse when the first delivery arrived. Little did I know, fifty more were close behind.

  If it were up to me, I’d simply toss them in the garbage… but I know that would no doubt spark huge amounts of castle gossip. Hell, it would probably make the national news. I can practically hear the commentary now.

  Princess Emilia threw away all those pretty flowers from her suitors, isn’t she an ungrateful cow?

  It’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture; I’ve simply never been a big fan of flowers. They’re a rather strange way to express love, in my opinion.

  Here, take these pretty things I cut down in the prime of their life and watch them slowly waste away over the next several days before throwing them in the garbage to rot.

  Who decided flowers were the best way to declare your intentions, anyway? Call me crazy, but… I think it would be infinitely more romantic to receive a potted plant. Something that will grow and flourish, instead of wither and die. Something I can nurture for years, thinking of the person who gave it to me every time I glance at it…

  But that’s sentimental drivel. After all, these particular bouquets are less about love than they are a stark reminder of the deal I struck with Octavia. Of the promise I made to her, but have yet to keep.

  My dreaded courtship.

  Despite my most fervent hope that if I ignored the issue for long enough, it would simply go away… there’s no avoiding it anymore. I received official word from Lady Morrell this afternoon; my first palace-sanctioned suitor is meeting me tomorrow afternoon for a very public, highly publicized stroll along the banks of the Nelle River.

  I didn’t ask any details. Not even his name.

  It doesn’t matter who he is. Because even if he’s a forty-five-year-old perpetual bachelor with saggy balls and a receding hairline… there’s no getting out of this.

  I am, for all intents and purposes, trapped like an archetypal princess in a tower.

  With an angry huff, I yank the pillow away from my face and hurl it blindly across the room, only narrowly avoiding a large vase of purple irises. The irrational, emotional half of my brain might enjoy the satisfaction of watching it shatter against the stone floor; the slightly more logical half knows the loud clatter would likely bring every on-duty guard running full-tilt toward my bed chambers, guns drawn, prepared to execute intruders.

  Hey! Maybe they’ll shoot me accidentally and I won’t have to go on my date tomorrow…

  Throwing off my thick duvet, I swing my legs to the floor and shove my feet into a pair of sheepskin slippers. I can’t be in this room anymore, with only dying flowers for company. It’s like sleeping in a funeral parlor, for god’s sake.

  I need fresh air.

  I need cold wind.

  I need to clear my head.

  Thankfully, I know a perfect place for just such occasions…

  My room is dark — the fireplace has long since burned down to embers — but my feet know the way. I move on auto-pilot — walking to my desk and locating the small key I stashed in the top drawer nearly a month ago; grabbing my riding jacket from the back of my chair and pulling my arms through the sleeves. I make my way to the door and crack it open in painfully slow degrees, praying it doesn’t creak and alert any nearby guards patrolling the hallways.

  Something tells me they won’t be big fans of me going anywhere alone in the middle of the night.

  I wince when the door clicks closed at my back, a bit too loud for my liking. For a moment, I wait in the threshold, listening hard for the sound of incoming footsteps. There are none. It’s utterly silent in the hall. Dark, too — except for the occasional dimly-lit wall sconce, the entire castle appears to be shuttered for the night.

  Taking a quick glance in either direction, I suck in a steadying breath and start walking. My slippers are silent on the stone floor. I keep to the shadows, avoiding the shafts of light as best I can, lest a guard happens to round a corner without warning.

  Luck is on my side, though — I make it all the way to the tapestry without detection. Even in the darkness, the Lancaster crest embroidered on its surface stands out clearly against the thick fabric. I trace a finger over the lion’s proud profile, a half-smile tugging up my lips.

  Looking at it, you’d never know about the secret doorway it conceals. And even if you managed to stumble upon it by chance… it’s is sealed shut. There’s no getting in without the key.

  Which, thanks to Alden Sterling, I now possess.

  Hand tightening around the small brass key, I push aside the tapestry and cough as a cloud of dust wafts into my face. No one’s been through here in quite some time. Probably not since Alden first brought me to the top.

  I haven’t seen him in person since my coronation, but he sent me the key several weeks ago, along with a rather forward note that made my cheeks heat.

  In case my Princess ever needs to escape her castle… Feel free to borrow my favorite turret. And if she’s ever in need of a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on… feel free to borrow my body as well. I’m at your full disposal, Your Royal Highness.

  He signed it with his official seal, as well as his direct phone number. At the time, I was certain he was making an advance… but in retrospect, I’m not sure whether he was flirting with me or just being kind because of everything I’ve been through. After all, he was there the night my father was poisoned. He saw how devastated I was when Linus fell to that platform, frothing at the lips. He witnessed firsthand the shrill horror of my screams…

  Shaking off the memories, I slide the key into the lock. When I attempt to turn it, I meet resistance. It’s stuck.

  Damn.

  I lean forward a bit, squinting to see the keyhole in the dark, jiggling the key. If I could just get the alignment right…

  I’m concentrating so hard on my task, I stop paying attention to everything else. So, I don’t hear the approaching footfalls. I don’t hear the soft exhale of breath from someone else’s lips in the abandoned corridor. I don’t hear anything at all, except the soft click of the lock as it finally gives way, the dull screech of ancient hinges as the panel pops open, allowing me entrance.

  “Yes!” I exclaim in a hushed whisper, victorious.

  My victory is short-lived.

  So fast I don’t have time to scream, so fast I don’t have time to blink… an efficient hand claps itself over my mouth and I’m hauled backward, into the shadows.

  Fuck.


  Chapter Ten

  My back collides with the hard wall of someone’s chest. I thrash in the iron-like arms holding me captive, but it’s no use. Whoever’s grabbed me is far too strong to fight off.

  Why oh why did you leave your room in the middle of the night? Christ, Emilia, are you asking to be murdered?!

  Fear streaks through me like a lightning bolt, zapping every one of my neurons. My mind reels, a montage of all the potential ways I’m about to die flashing in front of my eyes.

  Is this the crazed arsonist who lit the fire?

  An anti-monarchist with an axe to grind?

  A disgruntled castle worker out for revenge?

  I curse myself for being so careless. I curse Chloe for giving me judgment-impairing drugs. Most of all I curse whoever the hell is about to snap my neck and leave me for dead in this forgotten corridor.

  I think of all the things I’ll be leaving behind. Morning horseback rides and pink sunsets. First kisses and first fights. The smell of old books and freshly changed sheets. Starry nights and warm breezes. Laughing till you cry with someone you love. Crying till you’re laughing over someone you’re supposed to hate.

  I think of the people I’ll never get a chance to know. My father. My stepsister. My best friend. My bodyguard. My… I don’t have a word for Carter, but he’s there too, those blue eyes seared into my memory like a brand.

  Lastly, and perhaps most surprisingly of all… I think of my country. My beautiful Germania, broken once again by the loss of their last hope. I think of the faces of my countrymen, of all the lives I could’ve changed as their Crown Princess, of all the things I could’ve done as their queen, someday.

  I am not ready to die.

  I have so much left to do.

  The hand on my mouth tightens, muffling my screams. The arm around my midsection pins me against him so tight, struggling is essentially useless. When a pair of lips brushes my earlobe, pure panic overrides my senses and I go still, frozen like a deer caught in headlights, waiting to meet my fate.

  That panic gives way to stunned disbelief when I hear my assailant speak a few seconds later, the rasping voice achingly familiar.

  “There are two guards in the next hallway. So unless you’re ready for this little nighttime adventure to end… unless you want to be carted back to your room and assigned a twenty-four-hour guard detail from now on… I suggest you keep your mouth shut when I move my hand. Got it?”

  Recognition slams into me. I’m equally relieved that I’m not about to die and pissed off at him for scaring me half to death.

  Ugh.

  UGH!

  This freaking man…

  I’d like to kill him. More so, I’d love to scream my head off at him… but he’s right. The last thing I want is to get caught out of bed by the King’s Guard. That will only give Bane the justification he needs to put me on full lockdown again, like I was before I negotiated for more freedom.

  Carter shakes me slightly. “Did you hear me?”

  I nod.

  His hand drops away from my mouth and I instantly whirl around to face him. Despite the darkness, I can make out every one of his annoyingly perfect features. Those furrowed brows, that strong jaw. His bed-mussed hair. And, most of all, those bold blue eyes, locked on mine with such intensity, I feel it in my every atom.

  He’s wearing a thick fisherman-style sweater and dark grey sweatpants. For a full minute, we just stand there in silence, staring at each other. I want to look away almost as badly as I want to memorize his every minute detail, down to that little scar that bisects his left eyebrow and the supple curve of his bottom lip.

  The longer I watch him, the greater the ache inside my chest grows. It’s the same one I feel every time I walk past him in the hallway and have to force myself not to step into his path; the same one I experience whenever I find myself two feet from him and know I cannot crush his mouth to mine.

  I wonder if there will ever come a day when the mere sight of Carter Thorne doesn’t knock me out like a sucker punch straight to the heart.

  I sincerely doubt it.

  Swallowing hard, I push those thoughts away and grab hold of my anger instead — it’s vastly safer than the other emotions churning inside me, at the moment.

  “You scared me half to death!” I whisper-yell, glaring at him.

  He shrugs, totally unapologetic.

  “Did you follow me here?”

  Carter grunts noncommittally, his expression stony.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?”

  His brows pull in. “Me? I’m not the one sneaking out of bed in the middle of the damn night.”

  “I wasn’t sneaking.” I roll my eyes. “I wanted some air.”

  “On top of a damn turret? What, you’re too good for regular terraces now? Or maybe you’re hoping some Prince Charming will spot you up there and come swooping in to sweep you off your feet — that would really complete this little fairy tale scenario you’ve been playing out…”

  “God!” I snap, my voice rising with my temper. “You are such an unbelievable asshole, it’s actually astonishing sometimes.”

  Before I can blink, he sets one finger against my lips — a clear warning to keep quiet. I try to find more words, but they’ve all evaporated from my head. My train of thought went completely off the rails the moment he touched me.

  Carter seems to realize what he’s done because the breath hitches in his throat and, in the space between one heartbeat and the next, his gaze drops to fix on my mouth.

  His finger.

  My lips.

  My heart is in overdrive, pounding so hard I worry he’ll be able to hear it. I watch the pulse leaping in his neck and wonder if his is beating just as fast.

  “You shouldn’t go up there alone,” Carter murmurs finally, his voice rougher than usual. He still hasn’t moved his hand away, so when I manage to eke out a response, every word forms against his fingertip.

  “Then come with me.”

  I’m not sure why I say it — maybe I’m still high. Maybe I’m just crazy. Because there is no reason in the world I should be inviting Carter Thorne to climb the castle’s tallest tower with me in the middle of the night. And there’s no reason in the world he’d ever agree — not with things as they currently stand between us. Not when everything is so frigid and strained and complicated.

  And yet…

  The swift denial I was expecting never arrives. He simply stands there looking at me, conflict playing out over his face. I know the internal war he’s waging — self-control versus self-sabotage. I know, because that I’ve been fighting that same battle for quite some time now.

  Fighting and losing, I might add.

  Before he can reject me flat-out, I step backward, turn to the tapestry, and shove it aside once more. My hand gropes in the dark for the knob. When I shove open the panel, I pause briefly before I step inside.

  “I’m going up with or without you,” I whisper, wishing my voice wasn’t so shaky. “If you want to come, fine. If not, well… I don’t need a babysitter. I’m quite capable of—”

  “Oh, just shut up.”

  His low growl hits my ears a second before his chest hits my back and then, before I know it, he’s pushing me into the stairwell. My feet stumble slightly on the uneven stone floor. Carter steadies me automatically, gripping my biceps in a light hold I somehow feel throughout every corner of my body. I can’t help but notice his hands linger a second longer than strictly necessary before he releases me. Or maybe that’s just my imagination.

  The door swings shut, closing us inside the narrow chamber. Without the meager light from the hallway sconces, it’s pitch black. I can’t see the stairs in front of me, let alone the man still hovering close at my back.

  “Did you even think to bring a light on this asinine adventure of yours?” he asks lowly.

  I grope at the pockets of my jacket, but they’re empty.

  Shit!

  How the hell could I forget a light?<
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  My cheeks flame with embarrassment and I’m suddenly thankful it’s too dark for him to see my face. “Well… I…” I swallow hard. “I can run back to my room and—”

  He sighs deeply. “Forget it.” His heat disappears from my back and I think he’s leaving me altogether… until I hear him running his hands along the wall, feeling for something. “Maybe it’s still here…”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “It’s been a while since I stashed it…”

  “Stashed what?”

  “Ah.” There’s the distinct scrape of a stone being overturned. “Here it is.”

  A second later, I blink at the sudden flare of light as he strikes a match. The sharp smell of sulfur fills the narrow stone passage, swirling around us. Carter’s face is a study of light and shadow as he holds the flame against a candle wick.

  “Let there be light,” he murmurs when the candle is burning brightly.

  “How did you know that was there?”

  “I’m the one who left it.”

  “So you been up there before?” I jerk my chin vaguely upward.

  He scoffs. “Who do you think found this place? The turret was my hideout long before Henry or Alden ever claimed it.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

  His eyes are on mine again. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

  My lips part, but all that comes out is a shaky exhale of air.

  Carter sighs. “Just start climbing, Emilia. We have a lot of stairs to cover and I don’t have all night for this charade.”

  Nodding, I turn my back on him and face the cobwebbed spiral of steps. The air is stale from lack of circulation; it smells vaguely like mildew. There’s no insulation to line these walls, so it’s also colder than an icebox. I hear the faint whistle of the wind outside, even through the thick stone, and know it’s only going to be colder at the top.

  Carter’s murmur is mocking. “Last chance to turn back…”