Malachi's firm hands grasp my waist and steady me. “I think it’s best if you stop moving.”
Nash eyeballs the maiden who has now passed out next to the king. Good thing too, my hand was getting twitchy. He twists his lips to the side like he’s thinking up some diabolical plan. Then his eyes land on my discarded dress. He snatches it off the ground and turns to us.
“Put her in the chair, then help me,” he snaps at Malachi.
Malachi picks me up by my hips and places me in the chair, dropping a kiss on the end of my nose. Nash raises a brow at me. A grin spreads across my face as I remember his promise.Do your worst, knight.
I watch from the chair as they strip the maiden, then redress her in my original gown. I wrestle that burning uncomfortable feeling and congratulate myself on not murdering the girl they are undressing. Ah, I see where this is going. Good plan. Wait, won’t they behead her?
“It’s unfair to put the blame on her,” I tell them as they try their best to unfasten the corset.
Malachi huffs and leans back as he runs his hands through his hair. “She’s right.”
“They are both incapacitated, no one will think a maiden capable of such a treachery,” Nash reasons.
Malachi glances in my direction. I hold my hands up. “It’s not like I wanted to stab a king and down a maiden.”
They both stare at the pair of unconscious fairy tale folk on the bed. “Maybe we need to stab her, too? And then you guys shout to the castle what has occurred, and that you saw a big burly fellow making off with the dagger?”
Malachi frowns just as Nash pinches the bridge of his nose. “More stabbings is not the way to solve this conundrum.”
“Sometimes the way forward is to push through,” I say, more sure of my plan by the tempo. “And by push through, I mean push the blade through. We don’t have to do it anywhere dangerous, an arm, a leg—nothing vital going on there.”
Malachi scratches the back of his neck, and Nash smacks him over the head. “No, the plan works without stabbing the maiden on the bed.”
I sigh. That’s a shame. I was just getting the hang of it.
Nash and Malachi put their helmets back on. “Try to not speak or look at anyone,” Nash says as he yanks me up from the chair and pushes it to the side. “We can spin this,” he says to himself. “With a fair wind and the Idols on our side, we might escape without incident.”
“I hate to break it to you, but the Idols actively hate me,” I mutter.
We tiptoe from the room and the door clicks closed behind us. Malachi spins me to the left. “Keep heading down this corridor. The seventh door on your right will take you into a room that adjoins the library. Go through it and take the door to the left, not the right, as that leads back to the great hall. Got it?”
“Seventh on the right, then go to the left,” I mutter.
Malachi pushes me forward and I work my way down a stupidly long corridor. Where the Blazes does this go to? Freaking Narnia? Because I thought that was at the back of some old dude’s wardrobe over in Greenhold.
I count the doors just as a loud whistle echoes from behind me and a horde of people appear from everywhere. Out of doors, from behind the curtains, from the ceiling—I’m exaggerating, but folks swarm the hallway, all running in the opposite direction to me. I get caught up in their flow, yanking me back toward the king’s chambers. Was that the third door I just re-passed? So does that mean I need to pass another ten to get there? No, wait, that can’t be right. Three and seven make ten, though. Where’s Gwyneth when I need her?
I edge toward the windows on the outside of the stream of people as shoulders and elbows shove into me. Fear washes over me that I will be dragged back to the chambers and revealed as the stabberess. Is that a thing? To be labeled according to your gender?
Suddenly, a hand grabs my arm and yanks me towards the window. My mouth opens, ready to holler for Malachi and Nash when a hand slaps across it and I’m pulled against a hard body hidden behind a curtain.
“Stop struggling,” Hart whispers harshly against my ear as his cinnamon and sunshine scent wraps around me. “I’m trying to save you, but if you want to take your chances as a stranger among the masses, be my guest.”
I relax against him as we sink even farther behind the thick curtain so we can avoid the errant elbows of the crazy mass that has started screaming about murder.
“Who did you murder, my treacherous little calamity?” he utters against my ear, sending little tingles along my spine. The nice kind, not the creepy kind.
I pry his hand off my mouth. “They are being dramatic. I didn’t murder anyone. Unless the king decided to succumb to his stabbing, then that’s his fault, not mine. He’s a blessed Hallowed. He shouldn’t be able to be killed so easily. If you think about it, I’ve done the kingdom a favor.”
He presses his head against my shoulder and stifles a chuckle. “You stabbed the king?”
“Twice, but both times were an accident. I also throat punched the presumptuous maiden who crashed my night of debauchery with the king. She deserved it.”
Hart’s teeth grip my shoulder as he again tries to smother a laugh. He’s become Happy Larry in the light of my near miss with the guillotine. His teeth grazing against my skin sends a chill through me, and my cheeks flush. Turns out I’m not a fluffy fairy tale girl lusting after soft kisses and feather beds. Nope, I’m a “bite me in the hidden alcove of a castle” maiden. I like to think of this as growth.
A hefty individual treads on my feet in their haste to join the throng. I hiss and Hart swings me around so my back is against the window, his body pressing into mine.
