He would never hurt her on purpose.
Topp climbed the last of the stairs. He’d begged off from his duties as quickly as possible. Told his father’s men that he had a lead, ordered them to leave him to it. Had said it was urgent and would be out of reach by sunup, so he needed to hurry.
The best lies were the truth. He’d learned that fromher.
Topp spotted Lewis still in front of his chambers, barely keeping his eyes open. He wouldn’t be surprised if Elysia had just waltzed out the front door with security like that. But someone would have seen her, and the doors were sealed, gates drawn.
Anticipation brought a grin to his lips. He couldn’t wait to see how she’d played this. Because there was no way in all the realms she was missing that meeting.
Topp stomped a little louder on the last stair and watched Lewis jolt to attention. The man blinked rapidly, clearing the fog from his eyes. “Any problems, Lewis?”
The guard paused as though he was unsure if he should speak, “Sir... Is there an animal in your chambers, by any chance? I know you, uh, have your hobbies.”
Topp’s eyes went wide, and he lunged for the door. “Shit,” he mumbled. “I completely forgot about Lina.”
He pushed the door open a crack, peering inside. Well, there wasn’t a raccoon screeching bloody murder. That was a good sign. Relieved, he walked into his chambers and shut the door, leaving Lewis completely befuddled in the hallway.
Two whole steps into his rooms, he stopped, one half of his mouth hitching up. She was gone, as he’d expected, and now it was just a matter of tracking her. Excitement raced through him like liquid gold. He was finally going to get the drop on these rebels. He’d met with his father’s men, and to his surprise, they only knew a few names for certain—there was still a chance he could make contact and save a few lives tonight.
He glanced around his rooms, and a frown tugged down his face. Tiny lakes of watery yellow-orange fluid were everywhere. Topp ran a hand through his hair, frustration and disappointment coming in a great swell. He’d thought Lina was doing better with her potty training. They’d been working on it nonstop for the last few weeks, and she’d barely had any accidents.
Grabbing a towel, he dropped down to wipe it up. He stopped, brow creasing. That sweet scent—it reminded him of summers spent in other lands. Lands that were warm and filled with the sun and magic. He took another delicate but wary sniff.
Mango. There was wet, sticky mango everywhere. A laugh rumbled in his chest.Better than piss.
“Lina, come here girl,” he called, searching for the tiny bandit. She’d clearly gone on a mango binge when he hadn’t been there to feed her dinner. Couldn’t blame her. Poor girl.
Topp walked in circles, opening and closing closets and drawers when Lina did not tumble out of her usual nooks or crannies. His smile only widened when he saw the living room table shoved haphazardly to the side of the room.
He really was curious to see how Elysia had escaped. He’d half expected to find Lewis unconscious and sticking out from behind a tapestry. They were in a tower for the gods’ sake, there really wasn’t any other way out.
He walked closer, noticing not only the table, but how the rug was rumpled awkwardly. His booted foot kicked at the corner of the rug. Grabbing the edge, he hauled it back and let out a low laugh. “Tricky, woman.”
Purposeful cracks in the stone floor stood out to his sharp eyes. He ran his fingers over the cool stone, feeling for a catch. Giving up, he grabbed an old sword he didn’t care about and jammed it into the crack. Putting his weight onto the sword, he pried at the stone until it lifted and he was able to grab hold of the edge, opening it completely.
Staring down into the hole, Topp allowed his eyes to adjust. How in the name of the undead gods had she fit in there? He looked down at the size of his own body and groaned. This wasn’t going to be pleasant at all.
Hunched and a little humbled, he stuffed his body into what appeared to be a crawl space. There was no light, no sounds—not even the softest flow of air. Anxiety clawed at his throat. Men like him did not belong in spaces likethis.There was a reason he liked the forest and all her meadows. They were open, the call of freedom in every shriek and quiet hum of the wind.
But he had to follow her, had to find that group. With a single deep breath, he continued, even though every fiber of his body screamed at him to rip himself up and out of here. Arms and legs tight, he felt like a sausage in its casing, slowly wedging himself down the path, praying it would end.
And then all at once he was hot. Unbearably hot. There was no air, and it was too tight. He was going to get stuck and die here. His chest was moving faster now. The walls of the crawl space closed in, swallowing him whole.
Eyes shut, Topp counted at a measured pace until his heart was no longer about to burst through his chest and his breath not so fast.
When his eyes opened, the walls had stopped moving, and he realized his feet were about to plunge into nothing. Topp inched forward until he sat on the edge of the ledge, his feet dangling. The death drop before him didn’t give him the warm fuzzies, but fuck, he’d take it over that crawl space any day.
No offense to Lewis, but he was really starting to wish she had just knocked the man out and used literallyanyother exit from the castle than this one.
“Not like sealed gates would have stopped you,” he grumbled, staring at the fraying rope before him. His broad shoulders dropped with a sigh. This wasn’t going to end well.
He looked up at the rope and the beam it was attached to, eyeing them both with skepticism. The rope was worn and frayed. And the beam looked more like a toothpick than a stability beam to a man of his size.
Can’t wait to die.Topp took hold of the rope and began his descent. He slid a few feet down. “Okay, okay, so far, so good.” The rope whined in response and the beam creaked, protesting his weight.
And then there was a loud pop. The sound of the rope snapping free, whistling as it hurtled through the air, free and untethered from its barings.
“Fuck.”
