"You're sure about this?" the other male asks. "Ruining her seems excessive."
"She refused me. Rejected my suit for years, then spreads her legs for livestock?" Thrain's voice drips with venom. "She deserves everything she gets."
My hands curl into fists. Beside me, I feel Primsyn trembling with rage.
"And once she's ruined," Thrain continues, "her estate will go up for sale. I'll purchase it, of course. Add it to my holdings; it's valuable property."
So that's his real game. Not just forcing Primsyn into marriage, but positioning himself to take everything she owns when she falls.
The other male laughs. "Always thinking ahead. That's why you're on the council."
They're moving toward the desk. Toward the drawer we just opened.
We're trapped.
Primsyn
My heart hammersso hard I'm sure they can hear it. We're pressed together in the narrow space behind the cabinet, barely breathing, as Thrain settles at his desk not ten feet away.
If he opens that drawer, he'll know someone was here. He'll know we found his trophies.
"Wine?" Thrain asks his guest, standing and moving to a cabinet on the opposite side of the room.
"Please."
They're both facing away. This is our only chance.
I grip Oliver's arm, catching his eye. He nods, understanding. We move silently, Oliver leading, heading for the door. Each step feels like it takes an eternity. The floorboard creaks under my foot, and I freeze.
"Did you hear something?" Thrain's guest asks.
"Probably servants. This place is never quiet."
We reach the door. Oliver's hand is on the handle when Thrain's voice stops us cold.
"Actually, I should check something first."
He's moving back to the desk. Back to the drawer.
Oliver doesn't hesitate. He shoves the door open, and we run.
"Hey! Stop!"
Shouts erupt behind us. Guards. Servants. The entire household mobilizing.
Oliver's hand grips mine, pulling me through corridors I don't recognize. We take turns at random, trying to lose our pursuers, but they know this place better than we do.
"This way!" I spot the servants' stairwell, narrow and dark. We plunge down it, emerging into what looks like the kitchens.
Servants scatter, screaming. Shoving through them, we head for any exit we can find.
A guard appears in front of us, but Oliver doesn't slow, just lowers his shoulder and crashes into him. They go down in a tangle of limbs, Oliver's fist connecting with the guard's face once, twice.
"Oliver, come on!"
He's up, moving again. We find a door and wrench it open, bursting into the rain-soaked gardens.
More guards are behind us. Ahead, the wall looms impossibly high.
