I pull back from his touch. “Why? Why, Kieran? You’ve made a good life for yourself. Why ruin mine over something that happened in the past?”
He’s closer now than ever. His lips caress the shell of my ear, and my heart thrums in my chest. “Because I can.”
Then he slips past me, down the final steps and out into the gardens. I follow after him. Not because I want to be near him another moment, but because he still hasn’t shared what he knows about the rot—the entire purpose of this damned meeting.
When I step into the dark gardens, he’s gone. I walk to the far wall where I once hid a key long ago for a boy I once loved. It’s not there, which means Kieran still has the ancient, secret key to my private rooms. A key that is impossible to replicate or replace.
15
Kieran
That interaction didn’t go as I planned. I had every intention of telling Gen everything I know about the rot. I even thought of convincing her to join me at Huntley House, to see the state of the helachite mines in Naseria for herself. She might just do it. She and Gabe both seem to want to know what’s really happening in this country, to hear the truth of how their mother has governed.
Yet once I was in her apartment, I had an inexplicable urge to make her hurt as much as she hurt me. I don’t like the way she makes me feel—so brash, so reactive. I shouldn’t be letting her affect me like this, not after living without her for so long.
The gardens are quiet as I tuck the key into my pocket. I plan to make use of it before I’m through with Genevieve Ashcroft. I sneak along the inner wall of the Ashcroft family gardens before ducking behind a large maple tree. Using the low branches, I boost myself over the walls protecting the family’s private grounds from public view. It’sthe same old place I used to slip out as a boy, and the familiarity of it sends a pang through my chest.
I dust off my evening coat and make my way toward the main entrance from the gardens when I hear someone call out, “Blackwell! Is that you?”
It’s Leland and Pryor. Of course it is.
“What are you doing skulking about the gardens?” Pryor asks, suspicion sharpening his tone. General Pryor has always been wary of me—and for good reason, I suppose. He’s Leland’s closest friend and confidant. I’m a nobody who’s risen to power and befriended a prince. I never planned it that way, never had ulterior motives to get back at Genevieve through the Prince of Icelantica. No, our friendship is genuine. Still, it won’t last much longer if he ever discovers my connection to Gen.
“Just taking an evening stroll. That’s allowed, is it not, General Pryor?”
He shrugs, taking a drink from a flask before passing it to Leland. “Rather odd, isn’t it? Walking so near the royal family’s private gardens. Almost like you were trying to find a way in.”
I scoff at his accusation as Leland hands me the flask. The amber liquid burns smoothly down my throat, warming my chest. Icelantican grogg, of course. They can’t get enough of the stuff—not with those long, lonely winters.
Leland gives me a mischievous smile. “Pryor and I have a running bet. He believes Princess Genevieve won’t go through with the wedding. I think she will. What are your thoughts, Morris? You seem rather observant of her. Care to share your own prediction?”
“I don’t see why she wouldn’t marry you. You both need the alliance if Wylan continues its abominations.”
Pryor looks at me like he knows what I’ve said is only a half-truth. “Yes, but she’s not attracted to him. It’s obvious. In fact, I think she fancies you more than Leland. She can’t keep her eyes off you.”
Leland lets out a bitter laugh, taking another long drag from the grogg. It isn’t like him to drink heavily, and I wonder if he suspects there’s more between Gen and me.
“That’s because I’m far more attractive than this scarecrow,” I jest, but the words fall flat.
Leland frowns, studying me. “I’ve seen how she looks at you. I don’t demand a love match—I knew that wasn’t going to happen—but I’d like my future wife to showsomeenthusiasm for me. Did you know she wouldn’t even touch me? She doesn’t want me to know what her gift feels like until we’re wed.”
An angry gnaw of jealousy blooms in my belly. The idea of Gen’s gift filling Leland, making him lust after her, makes me feel ill. I’m going to need to make myself scarce after the wedding, just to keep myself from losing my composure with Leland.
“Do you think the rumors about her gift are true?” Pryor asks. We’ve made our way through the manicured public gardens and are approaching the veranda that leads into our wing of the palace.
Leland lowers his voice. “She’s told me so herself. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, but what if marrying her is a mistake? I would never want to make that commitment if her gift is something neither of us can tolerate. I’m not capable of committing to a lifetime of celibacy like Kalise—but I’m not going to marry someone who’s repulsed by my touch.”
“What did you expect? You knew her gift made men ‘fall in love.’ That’s a polite way of saying wanting to fuck her,” Pryor says.
“Enough!” I snap, and both men look at me in surprise. “There are servants everywhere. We don’t need to be overheard.”
I think about what Gen said in the glasshouse—how she’s suffered—and a gnawing dread fills me. What has she gone through because of that curse of hers?
The thought vanishes as a woman’s scream echoes down the corridor. We run toward the sound and find a maid standing over a prone male form dressed in the forest-green livery of a Naserian footman.
“He’s dead!” the maid cries, and I see the spreading rot consuming the body. No, this shouldn’t be possible.
There’s a nefarious misuse of helachite within Crawford, and it’s infiltrated the palace.
