Deep and piercing pains thrum across my chest. I rub my hand against my heart over and over until the pain begins to fade.
Slow down.
Breathe.
Shuffles echo down the hallway, so I dart through an open door. Lucky for me, it’s a supply closet. Broom handles clank together as I squeeze myself in, but because the space is so small, I’m forced to leave the door open a crack.
Roman steps into view, now with a guard following closely behind. Roman pulls his hands through his hair, his mossy eyes frantically searching the shadows.
“They’re gone, Your Majesty.” The guard’s voice trembles. His red face is damp and sweaty. As if he’s been running all evening.
“Who?” Roman grabs the guard by the collar of his shirt. “I haven’t the patience for riddles.” Roman sighs, droppingthe man's shirt and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Explain yourself plainly before you find out why they call me the corrupt king.”
He hasn’t placed his mask back on, and I finally have a chance to really look at him. I didn’t know our father well. Only broken memories, most of which I’ve chosen to suppress. But his dark hair and jawline are those of a Rudhek. My stomach turns, and I’m regretting the drink I indulged in earlier.
“The…” The guard peers over his shoulder. “The prisoners, Your Majesty. They’re all gone.”
The air in my lungs freezes.
Roman pulls his curly locks through his fingers again. Something like relief flashes across his face, the crease between his brows smoothing. Then in the blink of an eye, his face contorts. He lunges for the guard again, but this time refrains from touching him. Instead, he runs his hands down the front of his shirt. “Why weren’t there extra guards on patrol?”
“They’re all here, Your Majesty. For the ball. And anyone not here is on assignment, from Sir Galen.”
Galen.
The last bit of hope I had that what I saw was a mistake, shreds. I cradle my head in my hands, breathing slowing through my nose.
“No one else hears about this, do you understand?”
“What about Sir Galen?—”
“No one.” I glance through the crack in the door. Roman’s brows are furrowed, a muscle in his jaw flexes. “Send any and every guard you see outside. I want a man stationed at every corner. Do what you need to with the others, but make sure the Dyrsjel is returned or you’reallon the line.”
The guard dips his head, and before I can let out a breath, he scurries out of sight.
Once the guard is gone, Roman runs a hand down his face. He backs himself up so he’s propped against a wall. His mask hangs loosely at his side, and it’s the first time I remember just how young he is. His eyes snap to the doorway, so I slink back, attempting to use the shadows to my advantage.
Footsteps inch closer.
Closer.
I hold my breath.
“Ro?” Galen’s voice is distant, but my traitorous heart warms at the sound of it. I want to run to him. To tell him there’s still time to make this right. Whatever this is, perhaps a misunderstanding.
“Coming, sweetheart,” Roman says, his voice so close it’s as if he’s in the closet as well. My lungs sting from the pent up air, and just as I’m about to exhale, the door pushes shut from the outside.
Slinking to the floor, I allow myself an extra minute to catch my breath.
All of my rage should be aimed at Roman. For so long it has been. The son my father chose over me. Deeming him more fit to rule just because his mother was that of noble blood. His treatment of Enchantresses only deepened my anger the last few years, but as my fingernails dig into my palms, it isn’t Roman’s face I picture.
It’s Galen’s.
My stomach twists. I need out of this closet. Out of this castle. But if there’s a chance Elora escaped tonight, I’ll be damned if I leave without her.
Despite the tensionin the hallway, the party has continued uninterrupted. Dancers still crowd the space as the musicians up their tempo and vigor.
I keep myself tucked into the wall of the room, nerves sloshing in my stomach, until I reach the entryway where we arrived. My shoulders unclench when I realize Thaddeus is there with the members of the Guilds.
