An oil lamp sat on a table behind her near a ledger for the wines, and Jade lit it and picked it up. She held it forward as she passed through the cabinet, closing both its door and the false back behind her, and then she ran the length of the tunnel. The humid air outside couldn’t compete with the dankness of the tunnel, and she struggled to breathe through the wet air. Her calf muscles burned as the path sloped upward, eventually ending at a spiraling stone staircase, which she climbed two steps at a time. She ignored the fatigue in her legs, desperate to get to the prince before the assassin did.
At the top of the stairs, Jade paused and listened at the door. Silence. Whether that was a good or bad thing, she had yet to determine.
She lifted the latch and pushed the door open without a sound, its other face a bookshelf in the prince’s sitting room outside his bedchamber. She slipped through the narrow space and pushed the bookshelf door closed, finding the room empty.
Nothing in the sitting room appeared out of place or disturbed, and no sound from outside the suite reached her ears to indicate she had been discovered. Sweat beaded at Jade’s hairline and trickled down her back. The night’s humid air still clung to her skin and infiltrated her lungs, suffocating her through her mask.
Rarely did she feel such pressure on missions. Even under the bleak and dire circumstances the conflict had fallen into, Jade didn’t let the high stakes get to her, focusing solely on her objective.
But now...if the assassin was a sorcerer, if he was here to kill the prince...the unpredictability of what he might do pressed down on Jade like a collapsing wall, threatening to crush her.
To her right, the double doors leading to the prince’s dressing room and ultimately his bedchamber beckoned her. Jade turned down the lamp and set it on a nearby table before reaching the doors. The engraved golden knob turned smoothly under Jade’s palm, granting her entry.
Her ears pricked at the sound of footsteps in the bedroom beyond. The hair on the back of her neck rose as her heart clenched. Was she too late? Was the assassin already in there?
The bedchamber door opened and Jade retreated, leaving the door unlatched and bolting to find a place to hide. She dove back to the bookshelf that concealed the tunnel, taking cover behind it while leaving it open a crack, hoping to catch sight of the assassin and trail him.
If he was leaving, did that mean the prince was dead?
Had Jade failedagain?
A flicker of light caught her eye, and she remembered the lamp.
She’d only turned it down so she wouldn’t have to relight it.
And she’d left it behind on a table.
The double doors to the dressing room both swung open, but the man who stepped out was not the assassin. It was Prince Reynauld.
The heir to the throne of Marran strode into the room in a set of white nightclothes under a crimson robe. His gray hair was still neat and styled, as if he’d never gone to sleep. Had he expected something to happen tonight? Or did the prince simply find it hard to sleep?
Jade’s pulse hammered in her veins, flooded with a fresh dose of adrenaline. He was alive, but where was he going in the dead of night? Could he be under the sorcerer assassin’s influence?
Jade pulled the bookshelf closed as much as she dared, hoping to track Reynauld’s movements. He stopped, his nightclothes visible even in the dark room. With slow steps, he crossed to the table where Jade had left the lamp.Jade pressed her lips together, not daring to breathe, her heart threatening to fly out of her chest.
Reynauld stood for a moment before the lamp, now only paces away from where Jade hid. She could make out more details about him now, the dim light illuminating his face. His brow furrowed, as though trying to reconcile the presence of the lit, out-of-place lamp. Then he turned his head.
His light eyes landed squarely on the bookshelf where Jade hid.
Run.
It was her only thought. Her limbs trembled with the over-surge of adrenaline, and she scrambled to turn and get away, but she only made it down two steps before the bookshelf door flew open. A hand grabbed the back of Jade’s collar and yanked her into the room. He threw her hard to the floor with what felt like every ounce of strength he had. She landed with a heavy thud, whiplash throwing her head back to crack against the wooden floor.
Stars danced in her vision. If not for the low lamplight near her, she might not have seen the hands that reached down for her. She rolled and managed to get to her feet, though the room swirled around her.
“Come to kill me, then?”
The malice dripping through the words Prince Reynauld ground out surprised Jade. She’d never heard such hatred from him before.
“Guards!” he shouted, then he turned to open a nearby drawer.
Jade blinked rapidly and shook her head. She needed to move. She needed to escape. But her head was still fuzzy from the hit, and she couldn’t send the signal to her feet.
A glint of silver flashed in the lamplight. Reynauld had pulled a knife from the drawer. He barreled toward her, but Jade didn’t make the connection fast enough in her muddled mind. The knife came down toward her heart, and too late, Jade ducked out of the way. It caught her arm instead, slicing through the muscle of her left biceps. She shrieked, and her right hand automatically flew to cover the wound.
“GUARDS!” Reynauld called again. His features seethed with anger as he sliced at her again, but somehow, she managed to dodge it that time.
No thunder of hurried footsteps came, no slamming open of doors or shouts for backup. There had been at least two guards posted—Jade had seen them. So where were they?
