When Rapunzel fixes her gaze on me, I swear it makes the world drop away, leaving only the two of us. Even the roar of the sea fades as I drown in those captivating green eyes. “Why did you become a knight?”
“I suppose, along with being Adele Stafford’s son, I also have Sir Simon Baines’s blood flowing through my veins.”
She draws her brows in a perplexed frown. “You haven’t taken your father’s surname.”
I point to myself. “Bastard, remember?” I offer her a lopsided grin. “Baines never openly claimed me as his own.”
“That’s… That’s a horrible thing for a father to do.”
“Rapunzel, it’s fine.” Her outrage is adorable, if not misplaced. “I harbor no ill will against the man, nor should you on my behalf.” I glance at the sky and note the position of the sun. “Now, look your fill of the sea. It’s time we get back inside the walls.”
She heaves out a forlorn sigh and nods. “Of course.”
After a few moments, I tug her away from the cliff. She drags her feet beside me as if she’s carrying the world’s weight on her slender shoulders. And I suppose she is. The burden of Rygard must be heavy. Fucking John. Because everything isn’t enough for the prick. He wants more. He wants everything.
I watched him take while I served him first as a page, then as a squire, and lastly as a knight. He quietly seized land from the neighboring kingdoms that border Rygard. Claimed the wives of his courtiers—and covertly murdered their husbands if they opposed being a cuckold. Demanded his noblemen raise their sons as his soldiers. Executed dissenting voices to mask his cruelty.
And he did this with a charming grin.
But John couldn’t hide behind that false charismatic demeanor forever. His need for power overrode his desire to be loved, and his true nature revealed itself. Now, the good people of Rygard see their king for who he is—a madman devoid of morals.
As Rapunzel and I stroll hand in hand toward Dyhurst, I keep a watchful eye on the landscape. To the west, east, and south is the sea, guarded by ragged cliffs. That leaves the north, but walking up from behind the castle, I don’t have a clear view of that area. When we come around to the front, though, I skid to a stop.
Fuck.
On alert, I pull free my sword and shove Rapunzel behind me. “Stay silent.”
Horse tracks batter the ground. They lead to the open gate. No one inside would dare drop our defenses to a stranger.
Other than Rapunzel and me, three other inhabitants left Dyhurst.
Warrick.
Wren.
Quinn.
I look back at the horse tracks and mutter another curse when I note the drops of blood in the trampled dirt.
A cold sweat forms on my brow, and my heart drops to my feet when I see Wren slide off his steed—leaving me with a clear view of Quinn lying prone on the saddle. “Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?” Rapunzel’s question sounds distant as a hundred horrific scenarios collide in my mind.
And when I answer her, one word drops from my tongue. One name. “Quinn.” I break into a run, dragging Rapunzel with me.
22
RAPUNZEL
Dax and I enter Dyhurst’s courtyard and run straight into chaos.
Someone slams the gate closed behind us. I think I hear the long wooden bar slide into the iron slats of the lock, but I’m not sure because there’s too much noise. Everyone is shouting, with the men demanding to know what happened. Emma backs away from the anarchy, her hands covering her mouth. But her eyes… They’re wide with horror. None of this makes sense. Dax pries his fingers from mine, and I watch in a daze as he races toward the havoc. I reach out for him but grasp only air. Maybe I even call his name, but I’m unsure of anything.
All I do know is that there’s blood everywhere. Wren is soaked in it.
Things slowly crystalize, and my first instinct is to rip a chunk of hair from my scalp to help him. My mind starts to clear, and I realize he’s on his feet and barking orders at everyone. That would mean he’s not injured. Right? I repeat this to myself at least a dozen times in rapid succession, with my feet stuck in the dirt, unable to move. Scared that if I go to him, he’ll reject me, and right now, with my heart in my throat, his hostility will shatter me into a hundred shards of glass.
At Wren’s orders, the men whip into action. They help Dax lift something that’s strewn across the saddle. Something bloody—which explains Wren’s grisly condition. I assume it’s an animal. Of course it is. Wren hunts. But no. This is wrong. He’d not be saturated in blood. Nor would Emma be crying. Kenric wouldn’t be praying. And why is Bryce threatening to tear down Newkirk Castle to get to John? Everything is still a jumble of motion and noise, and as I try to piece it together…
