“Yes, what’s the point in waiting? Every moment lost, means …” I trail off because I have no idea what it could mean, only that this feeling that it is bad lingers in my belly and that panic that overwhelmed me yesterday is there lurking, ready to engulf me once again. This trip to the palace may be a delay to our plans but, as Beaufort just explained, maybe we can use it toour advantage. I face Beaufort. “Please,” I appeal to him, “I’ll go mad waiting around here all day wondering what the hell has happened to Fox.”
He sighs and scrubs his hand through his hair, examining my face and clearly weighing up all the options.
“Okay,” he says finally. “We can leave now.”
“And can we displace there?” I ask Beaufort.
“Displace?” Clare squeaks in alarm.
“It’s too far. It would be too dangerous.” I open my mouth to argue but he talks right over me. “We want to be in the Empress’s good books when we arrive, not breaking rules.”
Clare looks relieved that we won’t be doing anything illegal so I don’t mention that we already have when we displaced out to the lake yesterday.
I face Beaufort. That usual expression sits on his face – one of confidence bordering on arrogance. An expression I find way hotter than I should.
However, now I examine him more closely; I wonder if it’s a mask just like the one Thorne wears, just like the one I used to wear. It must be hard to keep his parentage a secret, to be treated no different by her than any of her other subjects. My father stopped caring for me long ago, more interested in his next drink than his own daughter. It hurt and I can imagine, even if he hides it, that it must hurt Beaufort too.
“We’ll take my vehicle,” Beaufort says. “And you can ride Blaze, Briony. We need to take him with us.”
“Oh, no,” I say, willing the heat not to crawl up into my cheeks. “I’ll come with you. Blaze can follow us.”
All of my friends stare at me. I’m not fooling any of them. Since Beaufort lifted me onto Blaze’s back without any warning several weeks ago, I’ve taken every opportunity to ride the dragon. My casual refusal is way too suspicious, but I’m not about to admit I’m scared. Not yet anyway.
“I’ll go get changed,” I say, dashing off in the direction of the Princes’ tower.
“And pack a few things too,” Beaufort orders me.
A few minutes later, I’m stuffing sweaters into my bag when there’s a light knock on my bedroom door.
“Cupcake?” Fly says.
“Shouldn’t you be in class?” I say, pausing my packing and twisting my hair into its usual bun at the base of my skull.
“Class can wait.”
“Is that wise? I have a feeling the new guy is going to be even more shitty than the Madame.”
“Probably.”
He slinks into my room, flopping down to sit on the end of my bed and watching as I commence racing around the room, flinging my hairbrush, underwear and other things I might need into my rucksack.
“As your one and only friend–” he says.
“I have other friends,” I mutter.
“You have a few acquaintances, and a handful of fuck boys. I’m your best friend.” I roll my eyes. “And as your best friend,” he continues, “I should try to dissuade you from anything that, you know, might lead to your untimely demise.”
“I sense a but coming,” I mutter, as I buckle up my bag.
“But,” he says, “Fox Tudor is hot, very hot, and scary – I mean, I’m not sure how you aren’t a whimpering wreck every time he touches you.”
“Oh,” I say, “I’m a whimpering wreck, just not like that.”
“Yeah, because he’s crazy about you. And not in the ‘oh-it’s-sweet-how-much-he-adores-her crazy way’, the completely nuts and probably psychopathic way. And I think you may feel the same way about him too.”
“I do.”
“Then, I understand why you have to do this, even if I think it’s suicidal, just …” He pauses.
