Actually, I do know, because I was the exact same way when I was first exiled from the palace. I earned the first stripe on my face because of it.
I stare down at her. “He spoke to you for ten minutes, and you suddenly believe he wants peace and light and happiness? The man is responsible for cutting through entire regiments on the battlefield. He sets enemy soldiers on fire and watches them burn. So would you please consider thatKycould have engineered a situation where an assassin could dispatch you without conflict?”
She blanches a bit when I mention the king’s atrocities, but then her eyes narrow. “Why would he need an assassin at all?” she demands. “We were alone! He could have killed me with his own two hands!”
The door clicks, and I snatch the parchment out of her fingers and leap for the rafters. I don’t have the favor of nighttime now, and even though the hearth and sconces are dark, the room is full of sunlight. I dig my fingernails into the wooden beams and climb as high as I can before going still in the shadows alongside a wooden beam braced against the wall.
I’m mostly hidden, but I’m not invisible. Those pieces of parchment are half-crumpled in my hand because I had no time to tuck themaway. I’m frozen in place, pressing that hand into the beam to keep it still. Nothing draws the eye like a hint of movement. My heart might be pounding, but I barely allow myself to breathe.
Especially since Dane has stepped into the room.
He stops directly below me. I could drop right on top of him if I wanted to.
I wishhisname was on one of those parchments.
When he speaks, his voice is cold. “What did Maddox Kyronan say?” he demands. But then he stops short, and I realize Jory is staring back at him, wide-eyed. “What?” he says. “What did he do?”
I doubt he’s concerned about her well-being, but it’s clear Jory is still rattled by my presence. I hold my breath, worried she’s going to glance in my direction and give me away. I’ll have a dozen men trying to fill my back with arrows a second later.
But Jory squares her shoulders. “It’s nothing, Dane,” she says, her tone level and strong. “Your precious alliance is not in danger.”
I let out a slow breath.Good girl.
“Then what did he want?” Dane says.
Jory moves away, returning to her dressing table. She sits on a velvet stool and picks up a hairpin, tucking an errant curl into place. “He wanted to make sure I was privy to everything Astranza was agreeing to. He said he would have his captain bring me a copy of your contracts.”
“For what purpose?”
She tucks another curl. “So I could strike any terms I find unsatisfactory.” She reaches for a tiny pot of pink cream and dabs some on her left cheek. “Up to and including the whole agreement.”
Dane storms forward, his arm outstretched like he’s going to grab her, and rage fills my chest, just like any time I’m this close to him. I was never fond of Prince Dane, not even when I lived here. He’s always been arrogant and disdainful, and as the child of a servant—even a high-ranking servant—I rarely earned his attention.
True hatred for Dane didn’t set in until the moment I was dragged out of the palace in chains. I shift my weight, ready to leap down to stop him.
But Jory doesn’t flinch. She’s glaring at him in the mirror. “The kingalsotold me that if you lay a hand on me again, he’ll consider it an act of war.”
Thunder has rolled across Dane’s expression, but he stops short.
Jory simply dabs more cream onto her other cheek. The tension is so thick it’s practically holding me in place. An entire minute ticks by.
Which brings us an entire minute closer to another Hunter coming to kill her.
Jory finally breaks the silence. “Dane, if you’re done standing there, I would rather like to finish getting ready.” She reaches for another pot of cream, rose-red this time. “I believe you have to make some preparations yourself?”
“Fine,” he grates out. “I’ll send in your ladies.”
Jory dabs the darker cream on her lips. “No. Please tell Charlotte that I would prefer some time to myself. I’ll need some privacy to review the contracts once they arrive.”
Dane doesn’t even answer. He’s already slamming through the door.
Once he’s gone, she looks up, scanning the beams until she finds me tucked against the wall, fifteen feet above.
“Come back down,” she calls softly.
I shake my head and glance at the door. “Not yet.”
She makes a frustrated sound and rises from the little stool. Her cheeks are more pink now from the cream, her lips more vibrant. I remember what she looked like as a girl, and she was always pretty in an understated way—the way children born to privilege often are.
