When their footsteps fade, we creep to the window Plague just left through. The room beyond is clearly his office. Everything is arranged perfectly. Not a single paper is out of place.
"In we go," Cosima whispers, already climbing through.
Knight starts prying off this frame, too, but freezes when it makes a tearing sound. He slips through after Cosima more carefully.
Oh yeah. He's waking up in there, alright.
"This has to be Plague's office. Probably the only place he can get work done with Valek around," I mutter, taking in the spotless desk, the perfectly aligned books, the complete absence of any personal touches.
Oh. Except for a tacky bobblehead of a plague doctor holding up a sign that saysWash Your Hands. Must have been a gift from someone with absolutely zero taste.
Cosima immediately starts snooping, picking up papers from his desk without a lick of fear. Must be nice.
I grab a file from under a glass of what looks like water. It's a soldier's dossier from Surhiiran special forces, but Plague has scrawled "INEXPERIENCED" across the male beta's photo in red ink. Another file, this one from New Reinmich, is marked "APTITUDE TESTING SCORES INADEQUATE." A third shows a scarred female alpha from Surhiira labeled "POTENTIAL CANDIDATE."
"Looks like the Ghosts really are retired," I mutter. "Prince Germaphobe is looking for replacements."
"It's a shit job, so good luck with that," Cosima says. "There's a reason my father and General Hargrove recruited an alpha from death row." She studies the bookshelves with a grimace. "Everything is alphabetizedandcolor coordinated. Is he a prince or a serial killer?"
"Might be both," I quip.
Knight's staring down a stick of incense burning in a holder on the desk like he's considering destroying it, clearly bothered by the scent. I can relate. The heavy perfume mutes everything else, including what occasional hint of Cosima's intoxicating smell I can catch. I find myself frustrated more often lately that I can't scent it fully with my damaged sense of smell.
Or Raven's, for that matter.
But I push the thought aside. Weird for me to be bothered by something like that. I'm not some lovesick alpha pining after?—
The clink of glass on wood snaps me back to attention.
Cosima is pouring something from a small satchel she was keeping gods know where into the empty water glass on Plague's desk, her movements quick and practiced.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I hiss, lunging forward. "I thought I said no poison!"
"I never agreed," she says innocently, but before I can reach for the glass, we hear footsteps in the corridor outside.
Shit. No time.
"Window," I whisper angrily, already moving.
We scramble for the exit, but Knight's too slow to maneuver quickly through the window. Fortunately for the structural integrity of the wall, not to mention our cover, he changes his mind at the last fucking second and moves into the shadowed corner of the room. With the helmet and cloak, he almost looks like a decorative suit of armor on display.
Almost, anyway.
Cosima and I barely make it outside before the door opens. We press ourselves against the wall outside, and Cosima raises a finger to her lips.
I'm fuming. She deliberately disobeyed me and went ahead with her poisoning plan despite my explicit orders. Part of me wants to drag her back to the inn and give her the lecture of a lifetime.
Another part—a part that's growing stronger by the minute—wants to make good on that threat from earlier about putting her over my knee.
I shake my head hard, trying to dispel the image. This is neither the time nor the place for those kinds of thoughts. We're in enemy territory, Knight is trapped in Plague's office with a poisoned glass of water on the desk, and I'm standing outside the window getting hard thinking about spanking the most troublesome omega in existence.
Just another fucking Tuesday.
Chapter 20
COSIMA
I pressmyself flatter against the cold stone palace wall, listening carefully to the sound of Plague's footsteps echoing in his office. My heart hammers so hard I'm sure he'll hear it through the window, but he fills the silence by bitching to himself under his breath about "careless tourists" and their "fucking cigars."
