“I don’t care what the proportional response is! These weremymen!”
Ice water plunges over me at the all-too-familiar voice.
When did Finn return to the castle?
The answering voice is also familiar—high, measured, and soothing. “And their attackers will be brought to justice in due course,” says the queen. “But we can’t go making any rash decisions.”
“He raises a fair point, Your Majesty.” The third speaker sounds like Roburn. “We can’t ignore the fact that they attacked a royal party with banners raised. Whether or not they knew your son was among them is beside the point.”
“We don’tknowif Ursandor funded them.”
“Who else?” Finn snaps. “I want heads.Heads on platters!”
“Finneas.”The queen’s voice is dangerous. “You need to—Ahh!” Her scolding vaults into a scream, followed by an explosion of expletives and scraping chairs.
“Whatisthat?”
“Get it out!”
Finn’s voice rises over them.“Wait! Iknowthat fox!”
I leap from my hiding place. In the chaos, I’m not sure who notices as I sprint after him. Dante tears down the vaulted hallway, and I go hurtling behind at top speed.
“Lyria!”Finn shouts from behind.
I whip around in the briefest acknowledgment.“We need to catch him!”
We’re both left in the dust as Dante streaks up a staircase. The steps go up and up, past column after column of dusty sunlight streaming from slitted windows. I round the landing just in time to see Dante’s copper-colored figure dart through an open door.This damn fox.Not thinking, I charge straight after him—
And slam into something warm and hard.
Not something. Someone.
I stagger back, and she does the same. Blinking, I take in her appearance: black hair, tawny skin, a golden gown, and a strikingly beautiful face, crowned with a tiara.
It’s the gorgeous brunette from the party.Sandria.
“And where,” asks the princess of Ursandor, with a glance that strips me to my socks, “do you thinkyou’regoing?”
I don’t get the chance to explain. Before I can form a coherent thought, the chamber erupts into shrieking.
Behind Sandria is a cohort of girls who scatter as Dante blitzes around their ankles. Commotion erupts, chairs scraping and bustles ruffling as they clamber out of his path. Needlepoint and knitting fly everywhere. Dante aims for the next door, dodging a sofa—and I leap forward, crashing onto my forearm as I tackle him to the ground.
“Aha!” I yell triumphantly, and scramble upright with my wriggling quarry in hand.
Then I turn to meet a dozen furious glares.
Every woman in the room looks like she wants to hang me by my entrails. Some cover their noses (which is ridiculous,considering I’m holding Dante, and he mostcertainlydoesn’t smell).
There is only one thing to say. “I amso…incredibly…sorry.”
Sandria saunters toward me with that singularly unreadable expression. “Is that afox?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Yes,Your Highness,” a sour-faced lady corrects me.
“Well,” says Sandria, with a dazzling smile. “He’s quite the handsome little fellow, isn’t he?”
