A hand landed on her shoulder. She startled and looked up and behind her. Penetrating blue eyes held hers. “Owen!”
“It’s time. Let’s go.”
Already on her way to her feet, she swung her gaze back to the king.
“Come on. Now,” Owen tugged her—gently, but firmly.
But…the cup. Had they done something to his cup? Her heart hammered as she stalled.
“Nouri.”
“No,” she said as the moment powered down to an infinitesimal speed. The greedy gleam in Bruzon’s eyes. The king’s cup—the same one she’d seen someone wiping in the side room. “No!” she shouted, wrenching out of Owen’s grasp. She stumbled and knocked the table.
The din in the room faltered, gazes swinging to her.
“King Faruq! Don’t drink from that cup!” she shouted, but it was still too loud in the hall. Even as she saw his mouth touch the rim, she snatched up a small tart and pitched it at him, desperate to stop him. “Don’t drink it!”
The pastry careened into his forehead. He jerked visibly from the impact. Spiced coffee splashed his face, and he shoved upward with a roar.
Weight plowed into her back and slammed her onto the table.
Owen had no idea what she was screaming about, but he went headlong into the table with her, two guards pinning them both there.
“What the Hades just happened?” Brick grumbled.
“Apollo screwed it up,” someone muttered in the comms.
Gritting his teeth, Owen found his cheek pressed to a plate that cracked beneath the impact and made his stitches sting.
Leighton was next to him, shouting, “It’s poisoned! It’s poisoned.”
Guards in black attire hauled them up out of the room, barely letting their feet touch the ground. Coming out of the shock of seeing her shout and throw food at the king, he realized what had happened. She’d realized something. Something they’d all missed.
He’d expected to find themselves in a dungeon cell or the executioner’s block. Instead, they were delivered to the same hall that Owen had been brought to—the king’s reception room—that first day.
Forced into the couches that lined the hall, he dragged off the Arabic attire.
Leighton looked at him, pale and shaken. “They…the assassin?—”
“Bruzon.”
She nodded. “I think he tried to poison the king.”
“You think?” Owen grimaced. “I hope you’re right…”
“Me too.”
His gaze tracked over her. “You look amazing.”
“Shut up!” a guard shouted, staggering toward them as if to strike her, but instead just shook his fist. “How dare you attack our king! He has given you everything!”
They waited in silence for what felt like hours. Finally, the doors opened and the king—in clean clothes—stormed in with Crown Prince Maaz. They strode to the front without looking at anyone, then the king turned to them. Scowled at Leighton. “Explain yourself, Nouri.” He pointed to the center, directly in front of himself.
She stood, slowly moved to the middle of the hall. “Earlier, I was returning to the reception hall when I got lost. Made wrong turns. I stumbled upon a door that opened. That’s when I saw a tray of mugs and cups. Someone was wiping one with a cloth and gloves. A man then barreled out and crashed into me. Later, I saw him in the reception hall. He seemed eager. Anxious. He was watching Your Majesty. That’s when I noticed your mug was the one I’d seen being wiped. I could only guess they were trying to poison you.”
Owen waited, watched. Saw the tight expression on the king. The rage in the crown prince’s gaze.
“So you threw food at me.”
