“I am not the emperor. I can’t change anything about how things work around here.” His face is stoic, emotionless as always.
“You have the emperor’s ear, don’t you? Most people don’t have that.”
“Is this how you speak to your father?” he asks.
“Yes.” I have no idea what the emperor of Iskvaland thinks of the poor in his empire. My guess is he’s never once thought about their well-being. But he’s not here. I am.
“It’s amazing, really. When I visited your father, I didn’t hear a single woman’s voice. They didn’t even allow female servants in rooms where men were meeting. And I was told that you and your mother were in the women’s wing, where you spent all your time.”
My face heats. The more I learn about what the real Sabina’s life was like, the more I want justice for her, as well. “If you’re such an expert on my empire, then why are you asking me questions? Go ahead, tell me what it’s like to grow up as a woman in Iskvaland. It sounds like you must know more than me… a woman from Iskvaland.”
“That tongue of yours is going to get you killed,” he warns.
“I’ve had many compliments on my tongue, Enforcer,” I say.
He turns so red that even the tips of his ears are pink. So, his perfect composure can crack. That was far too easy.
“And last I checked, I outrank you as a royal visitor and soon-to-be member of the royal family.”
He inclines his head, then speaks through gritted teeth. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”
We roll to a stop in front of a street lined with shops. They have glass windows that show displays of their goods and beautifully painted wood signs over their doors. I’ve never been to this part of the city, and I’ve never seen shops like this. In the Point, we had shops, but many of them were shoved into spaces between buildings, cloth hung as ceilings and crates lined up as shelves.
Only the butcher, apothecary, and Red’s Tavern were permanent in our part of the city. Everything else was sold from carts or temporary stores, or bartered from neighbors. If you needed something specific, you traveled to one of the other neighborhoods.
The driver opens the carriage door, and Brevan exits, then turns to offer his hand to me. I accept it, head swimming with warnings. I’m pushing it too far. There is no way he’s not going to report every single thing I said back to the prince. What kind of princess cares about the common people like this?
He leads us to an unmarked shop. It has no windows or sign.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“I’m not sure. It’s not where Jacques usually conducts his business.” He knocks on the door.
“Who is Jacques? And what kind of business does he have?” I take a step back, seriously considering returning to the carriage.
He shrugs as if he doesn’t know.
“Wonderful. You brought me to a random building for an unknown reason, unarmed.” I glance to where his sword usually hangs.
“Trust me, Princess, just because you can’t see the weapons, doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”
An opening large enough for a pair of blue eyes to peer through slides open. “Who’s there?” The voice is muffled.
“It’s Lord Maxwell. I was told you’d be expecting us,” Brevan says.
The little window closes, then I hear locks turn and chains rattle. The hair on the back of my neck rises. That’s a lot of security for a building on a street lined with upscale shops. Any one of the places surrounding here would fetch a thief a small fortune, and they’re protected by easily breakable glass. What could be behind this door?
When it opens, I only see a sitting room. I stay close to Brevan, my hip brushing against him in my attempt to remain near the door. I move quickly, not wanting to be so close to him.
Three couches sit in a horseshoe shape, and a small table is positioned at the center of them. Off to the side is a counter lined with bottles of alcohol and expensive glassware.
A small, hunched old man with circular spectacles and thin white hair smiles at us. Next to him is a large man in simple leather armor. His blue eyes were the ones that looked out at us through the window. His hand rests on a sword at his hip, and he stays focused on Brevan, ignoring me completely. Clearly, I’m not seen as a threat.
“Is this the woman I was told about?” the old man asks. He’s got a warm smile, but I don’t find it comforting. At least, not right now. I can’t figure out what is happening.
“Yes, Prince Caiden sends his regrets that he could not attend himself. There were issues at the port that required his personal attention,” Brevan says.
The port? My brow furrows. That’s more information than I received earlier.
