Wiping his blade on the dead man’s dirty cloak, Renwell had stared at my blood-drenched face, his eyes burning with fury. “Never let an enemy surprise you, princess.”
He was looking at me now as he had then, and I knew he would protect me as he always had. As no one else had.
“Then we’d better come up with a damn good story,” I said.
Renwell smiled.
We spenthours discussing the details of my mission—my cover story, our “escape,” and what to do afterward.
The key was getting the prisoner to owe me, so he would feel beholden to protect me—or at least keep me with him—once we escaped.
If he was the kind of man to care about that sort of thing. He’d already committed multiple crimes—that we knew about. And codes of honor never had much of a place with criminals.
If I failed and Renwell killed him, we would have to hope that the prisoner’s plans died with him.
But I wouldn’t fail. Whatever this prisoner hoped to accomplish by infiltrating the Den with a stolen uniform, I would learn the truth. My mother’s guards had believed no harm could come to her in the Temple, and she paid the price for their negligence.
I would not make the same mistake.
Renwell left to tell my father of our plan and to fetch me a guard’s uniform. We figured that me being the personal guard of the princesses would raise less questions for the skills and scars I possessed.
He stood outside the door while I changed, my mother’s dagger sheathed in his boot.
I stripped off my thin white shirt and the brown vest prickled with my favorite throwing knives. I kept on my tight black pants and black knee-high, lace-up boots. They worked well with the black button-up shirt and belted violet tunic Renwell had brought me. Rellmira’s insignia—a rising sun half-covered in darkness—was stitched across the front in gold and black thread. He hadn’t bothered with armor as I would’ve been stripped of it as a prisoner.
Then I sat down at my washstand and looked into the small, cracked mirror I’d nailed above it. My lips twisted as I studied myself. Every day I hoped I would see some bit of my mother looking back at me, but it was never the case.
My light brown eyes were nothing like her blue ones. The damp brown hair I shook out of its knot and re-tied would never shine like the sun as hers had.
But I was proud of the muscles that lined my body and of the little scars that adorned my hands. They were evidence of how hard I trained. And somewhere deep in the corner of my heart that never seemed to cease bleeding, I hoped she’d be proud of me, too.
After throwing my damp cloak around my shoulders, I glanced over my little room one more time. I doubted I would miss it much. But I would miss my knives, which I left on my bed, and the lock picks, keys, coins, and tokens I emptied from my pockets. Each one felt like a piece of armor I had to leave behind.
I would be vulnerable. And alone.
Gritting my teeth, I turned my back on them and opened the door. Renwell’s gaze swept over me, and he nodded. That slight gesture of approval still managed to send a beat of pride through my chest.
It truly dawned on me that, for the first time in two years, I would be beyond his reach. We had talked of a way to meet up after the prison escape, but gods only knew when or if that would happen.
The same thought seemed to flicker over his face as his eyebrows drew together and we stood in silence.
Renwell had been woven into the tapestry of my life since before I was born. He’d served my father from when Father was just a People’s Councilor to when he became the High Advisor for King Tristan. When King Tristan died leaving no heirs, my father was named King, and Renwell rapidly rose to the elite rank of High Enforcer.
He’d always been in my family’s shadow, keeping us safe.
Even when I’d considered him my enemy for several years after the Pravaran rebellion. Until he saved me that night in the alley.
And then he saved me again when he became my mentor. He gave me purpose. Something to fight for. I would have crumbled without his constant support these past few years.
“Renwell—” I started.
“Enough,” he said, his voice as sharp and unyielding as the knives he carried. “The king wishes to speak with you.”
My heart flinched at his dismissal, but I held my ground. “Very well. But I want a moment with Everett and Delysia first.” It’d been weeks since I’d spoken with either of them, and the gods only knew when—or if—I’d get another chance.
Renwell shook his head, his nose flared in disgust. “Gods damn your little weaknesses,” he growled. “Go on then. Butdon’t make him wait long. And donottell your brother and sister what we’re doing. Only the king knows.”
I nodded, but he’d already stalked down the hall, torches dipping in his wake. I turned and headed in the opposite direction, deeper into the heart of the palace. My soft boots whispered against the polished marble floors. I kept my hood pulled low over my face, but even so, the halls were empty.
