He yanks me toward the door.
“Wait,” I say quickly, my thoughts coming fast. “If I’m going to travel, I’ll need at least shoes, and a cloak. I won’t be very useful insurance if I freeze to death.”
“She has a point,” the blond fae responds. “And if she’s just in that night dress, it’ll be obvious we kidnapped her to every one-eyed peasant we pass.”
The prince releases me with a frustrated exhale, all but throwing me toward the closet. I don’t hesitate for fear of angering him further, quickly finding the sturdiest boots I own. Pulling them out, I shuffle closer to the dresser to put them on. There, in front of the vanity mirror, is the vial of potion left over from our journey here. Etusca made extra in case we were delayed on the way. It’ll need to come with me,withoutthe fae knowing my life depends on it. The last thing I need to give them ismoreleverage against me.
I make a show of lacing my boots up, and as I do, pretend to steady myself against the dresser with one hand before slipping the vial into my palm. I straighten and turn to bury my hand in the traveling cloak hanging in the closet, only to slam against a hard body.
The prince jerks my hand in front of his face and plucks the potion from it.
“What is this? Poison? It isn’t nice to play tricks on us, princess.”
He makes to throw it out the window, but my hand darts out after him.
“No, please. I need it. It’s medicine.”
The prince stops, then gestures to his companion. “Alastor, if you would?”
Alastor turns his gaze on me. All at once I feel very safe. The blond-haired fae looks so kind and friendly—in fact, I think he might be my best friend, someone I would trust with my life, who I’d tell anything to.
“What’s in the vial, Your Highness?” he asks.
A part of me—a very loud part—is aware that I don’t know this man, that he must be using magic on me, and I need to keep my mouth shut. But the voice isn’t in control, Alastor is, and I find myself answering.
“It’s medicine. A potion my nurse makes. I need it.”
Alastor shrugs, looking at the prince. “If she’s sick, it makes sense why her parents hid her for so long.”
My face burns as Leonidas casts his eye over me, calculating. I guess he’s looking for some kind of defect—a physical sign of what’s wrong with me—but he won’t find it. All my brokenness is on the inside.
“Get your cloak on. We’re leaving.”
I fasten the thick fabric around my neck and hold out my hand, trying to keep my voice steady. I have practice, after all, pretending I’m not afraid around bad men.
“My medicine, if you please.”
He smiles then, my tone amusing him, and hands me the vial. I take one last look at the dead body on the floor, and my brain clears enough to wonder who he is. A guard, perhaps, but not a regular one. Not with his hood raised and half his face deliberately covered. Perhaps some kind of secret security General Becane had posted on me? Whoever he was, I think sadly, the Nightmare Prince dealt with him, just as he did my parents.
Leonidas’s hand is around my arm again, gripping it tight. He marches me toward the door. There must be servants around somewhere. The thought crosses my mind that I could shout for help, but would that just put whoever comes in danger too?
The prince is kind enough to answer my question without me needing to ask it. He leans into me. I feel the vibrations of his low voice against my skin, and I shiver.
“Don’t think about making a noise. You’re cleverer than that. Remember you’re our tool to get out of here safely. If you start making our escape more difficult, I might as well just kill you now.”
Chapter8
Morgana
Ido my best to slow them down as we hurry through the halls. Will’s warnings about not allowing anyone to take me somewhere strange ring in my head, but it’s as if the prince can read my mind every time I try to act. I manage to send a large vase wobbling on a too-small table but the prince stops it before it can topple. Not to be deterred, I shift a portrait of a long-dead relative but Alastor stops to straighten it while the prince makes a tutting noise at my failed attempts to get someone’s attention.
I learned long ago that the gods won’t make something happen just because you wish for it. But that doesn’t keep me from praying for my rescue even as the fae spirit me across the palace gardens I strain my ears for a shout, the alarm going up as someone spots our dark forms pushing through the trees. The only sounds I hear are our footsteps brushing against the wet grass and my own frightened breathing.
Wasn’t I supposed to be safer here at the palace?
The fae know what they’re doing, leading me to a spot behind a statue where the wall that surrounds the gardens tapers off, crumbled from age and never replaced due to the thick, tangled hedge that backs it.
“I hope you’re not too attached to that cloak of yours, princess,” the prince grunts as Alastor hacks away at the branches, creating a narrow passage through the hedge, which he clambers through. The prince pushes me through next, the butchered branches indeed snagging on my cloak, ripping small tears in it.
