I can’t let him hurt Killian. I don’t know how I can prevent it. It wouldn’t matter whether there was any truth to his accusations—and there is—Alistair is determined to believe the worst of us.
How did I find myself in such an impossible position? The prince is right. If I didn’t try to think for myself—if I could will the interior part of me out of existence—everything would be fine. I would forget the dark knight. Be satisfied with an endless array of silk frocks and Alistair as my husband. I’d slot right intomy assigned role as fairy tale princess without question and live happily ever after.
But I can’t. To do so would mean suppressing everything that makes me human.
A glimmer of light from a transom window over a plain door that blends into the woodwork reminds me that a storeroom existed there a century ago. I’d hidden inside to escape for a few minutes back then, too. The storeroom is unlocked, to my great relief.
Inside, the air is stuffy but the silence and darkness soothes my stomach and frayed nerves. A shaft of light beams in through the thick wavy glass of the transom. I lean against the wall and breathe.
Dampness trickles down my ribs.
Twisting, I can barely make out a spot on my bodice that appears to be a spreading bloodstain.
Whether he intended to or not, Alistair pinched my stays hard enough to pierce the skin. At least the mark blends in with the red, pink, and white design of my gown. I can laugh it off as a drop of spilled wine.
But here in my sanctuary, for a few precious minutes, I don’t have to pretend.
Until the door creaks open and I’m momentarily blinded by the intrusion of bright light.
“Briar?”
“Killian?”
Relief cascades through me. The one person I wanted to see. No games this time.
“Are you alone?” he asks, angling his body through the opening and closing the door behind him. Shutting out the world. Protecting me.
Still, I hesitate to throw myself into his arms the way I want to.
“Are you?”
He nods, and his hair, half-corralled in a loose knot, gleams in the low light. His white cap is in both hands, a prop to keep them from wandering to me.
The moment electrifies. If we’re caught like this, there will be harsh consequences for us both. This is worse than what we did in the hall, where anyone could have seen us.
We can either save ourselves and return to the ball now, or throw ourselves upon the pyre and go down in each other’s arms.
I know which fate I’d choose, but it’s his fate, too. I wait, poised on a knife’s edge.
Killian advances. He lifts one hand to my cheek. I turn into his touch, taking comfort in it.
“He hurt you.”
I nod.
“I’ll kill him.”
That’s what I needed to hear. A simple declaration that he’ll take care of me. I take two steps forward and bury my face in the crook of Killian’s neck. His uniform smells comfortingly of starch and the scent of shaving soap clings to his skin. Buttons dig into my forehead and braid sticks to my cheek, but I don’t care. I need to feel his warmth.
He strokes his thumb along my ribs. If not for the corset it would probably tickle, but all it does is reinforce all the barriers between us. They’re not just fabric, thread, and boning.
“Please don’t.” I inhale raggedly. “We’re in enough of a predicament without committing regicide.”
It’s the first time I’ve alluded to the fact that I want more from him than furtive stolen kisses. The precise contours of what a future with him might look like remain vague, but I’m reaching for it with all my strength.
“Alistair’s not king yet.”
“But he will be.” Soon, if the king’s cough is any indication. A pang of guilt hits me over the way I stabbed him with my fork. But he should have kept himself to himself.
