Chapter 22
Niall exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he stepped away from the insufferable old lord who had cornered him. He forced a smile onto his face, nodded politely, and turned back to the grand hall.
All around him, the ball carried on as if nothing was amiss—elegant men and women chattered behind fluttering fans, servants weaving between them carrying silver trays, and the musicians played a lively reel. But Niall wasn’t fooled.
His sharp eyes flicked through the crowd, scanning faces, movements. He spotted what he was looking for. There—they were in position. The crown agents, blended into the guests, their postures a little too stiff, their eyes too alert. Joseph was among them, lingering near the long dining table, waiting for Niall’s signal to set their plan in motion.
And yet—something was wrong.
A deep unease settled in his gut, tightening like a noose. He didn’t see MacAllister. Or Lady Murray.
Or Charlotte.
His pulse spiked. Where was she?
Niall’s gaze darted around the room. He turned, scanning the sea of faces, the glittering jewels, the rustling silk. His breath came faster. He could always find her in a crowd. Heshouldbe able to find her.
But she wasn’t here.
Panic clawed at his chest. He spun on his heel and strode out of the ballroom, and into the foyer outside. He heard nothing but the sound of his own pulse hammering in his ears. Then he spotted it—the door at the far end of the corridor, slightly ajar.
Without hesitation, he moved toward it, heart pounding. The moment he stepped through, he felt it—something in the air, thick and crackling like the moments before a storm. The hair on the back of his neck rose. A long, dimly lit corridor stretched ahead of him. He took off down it, urgency biting at his heels.
He skidded as he reached the end and saw them.
Charlotte. MacAllister. Lady Murray.
Lady Murray had Charlotte by the arm and MacAllister stood beside them, a satisfied smirk curling his lips.
And behind them—
Niall’s breath caught.
An open door stood behind them that led to...he couldn’t see where it led to. The air within it shimmered like rippling water. What, by all that’s holy, was that?
He drew the dagger at his belt, the cold steel familiar in his palm as he leveled it at Macallister and Lady Murray.
