“Desesmie,”he whispered in his native tongue, barely more than a breath.
For a heartbeat, I thought he’d close the distance. His fingers finally touched my cheek, feather-light and unsteady, like an unsure heathen laying claim to something sacred. His eyes fluttered closed.
The door burst open. Air came surging into my lungs, and I barely suppressed a scream.
“Oh, good, you’re both here.” Florence stood in the doorway, her breathing stable despite clearly having run to get here. Her perfect appearance was slightly mussed, a suspicious mark blooming on her neck.
Quinn jerked back as if scalded. He looked lost, like a man waking from a dream he wasn’t ready to leave. The color drained from his face. His attention snapped back and forth, settling on me. “I—forgive me, the wine, I should—”
“Stay,” Florence ordered. “You’ll want to hear this.”
She closed the door firmly, moving to pour water from the pitcher. She hardly seemed to notice the charge in the atmosphere. “The duke was remarkably forthcoming. He spoke of active separatists among the Hadrian nobility. Lord Castel of Hiellas, Viscount Montevi of Alessa, even the head priest of the capital Orsino,allcorresponding about potential successors to the Crown.”
The clouds dispersed. Quinn propped a hand atop the hilt of his sword. “I’ll arrest him tonight—”
“There’s more,” Florence cut him off, her eyes finding mine. She took a long drink of water, exhaling slowly. “He spoke of a plotseven years ago. How certain nobles were prepared to assist with said plot. How they waited for word that never came.” She paused, pinching her brow. “Just what have you gotten me into here?”
I put out my hands in a gesture that pressed for urgency.
Florence’s frown deepened. “Among those conspirators was Shaun Balden.”
The silence was deafening. Quinn’s grip on the hilt tightened, his voice slightly raised in pitch. “Winnie’s father?”
A knife twisted into my ribs. I braced myself on the ledge of my bed; I hadn’t met Shaun, but from what little I knew about Winnie’s elusive past, the man had lost his status due to some scandal among the court. Was it related to this?
Quinn recalled this at the same time. “The man was derogated already for his ties to the Gallaean secession movement. This is common knowledge.”
“Shaun Balden was to assist with hiding the prince’s body after Alphonse Montford killed him in the woods…though the duke claimed Balden recanted after the merger stabilized.” Florence’s mouth twisted. “The duke himself took no side, the coward. Said he watched to see if the boy was ‘meant to be king’; if Nicolas survived, it was the gods’ will, and if not…”
She shrugged, the gesture eloquent in its callousness, but time had stopped for me. Not only had she pressed for incredibly damning information, but she’d uncovered Nicolas’ secret without my involvement at all. I tried to swallow and couldn’t.
Then there was Shaun Balden. If what she said was true…
Quinn turned for the door. I stormed after him, clasping his hand before he got away.
“I owe my allegiance to Nicolas,” Quinn spoke, cold and harsh, as if reminding himself of the fact. He couldn’t face me, not directly, though his head did turn to where our hands met. “He must know.”
I pleaded with my eyes. If he saw my desperation, surely he would at least consider waiting, discussing an alternate plan of action. Perhaps there were sides we hadn’t heard to the story, or maybe the duke was lying.
Quinn pried my fingers away. From his side profile I could see the grim conclusion he’d drawn, but he took no satisfaction in what must be done about it. “You should find Winnie.”
The parts of him that had come unraveled were snipped away, and the viscount was whole again. He walked in long strides until the last of him vanished beneath the stairs.
I turned to Florence. “Winnie was lingering at supper when we left. She may still be there now…”
“Then I suggest you run.”
The viscount hadn’t made much ground, but he did reach the prince before I entered the dining hall. I found him with his back turned, whispering something directly into Nicolas’ ear; the color drained from the prince’s features, and from that distance he met my gaze.
Nicolas stood quickly, pardoning himself from the few who remained, and rushed from the room at Quinn’s side. I searched for Winnie, finding no sign of her; likely she had gone to bed after I was excused.
The prince stopped at my side, eyes fixed ahead. “I see you’ve sobered.”
“My prince,” I said quietly, matching his pace. Quinn followed, too close for comfort, and I had to keep my volume at an absolute minimum. “Please, I must know, is Winnie’s life at risk?” I took hold of his arm. He might not have shirked me away, but his lack of response was equally telling. “She had nothing to do with it.”
“Quinn will debrief me, Alana,” he replied. “I require some space from you at the moment.”
“From me? What have I done?”
