“Then why have you brought me here?” I whisper. But when he doesn’t say anything more, I take a cautious step toward him. Then another, glancing around him toward the windows to see what he’s fixated on. I slide my hand across the top of his ornate desk, free from clutter. Empty entirely. I revel at how smooth the wood is beneath my fingertips.
I stop. Flashes race through my mind too quickly it’s hard to capture them. Scratch marks. Spilled ink. A letter.
He whispers, “I’ve questioned long before we started this if it was a mistake. Every day, every moment, I’ve wondered if it was the wrong choice.”
I flinch away. Part of me doesn’t blame him. Have I made a public fool of him at the ball, then doubly so when he didn’t dismiss me? Again, when I have no clear answer of who the assassin is? I can only imagine what words about me Devin puts in his ear.
I turn at the edge of the desk a few paces away from him.Now that I have a view of his profile, he’s not looking out at the window. His eyes are low. Glued to a spot on the floor.
The somberness in his sharp expression gives me pause.
Gently as I can, I murmur, “It was wrong of me to not show when you called. But, Cyrus, can’t you see how hard this is for me? I’m in the dark here. Fumbling around for answers to questions I don’t even know to ask. And then I’m having to relive these…” I grit my teeth, forcing out, “painfulmemories, for a second time.”
“I know.” He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head harder. When he pushes off the desk and begins to walk away from me, he mutters, “I know, and I don’t fault you for it.”
But his defeated walk to the hearth has me striding after him. Feeling nearly desperate to have him not give up on me.
The words spill out. “I’m getting closer to the women. The trials, while traumatic, offer a special scenario where I can aid them and develop trust. I’m learning more. I’ll find the assassin. You have to believe me?—”
“I do.” He grabs something off the hearth and turns to me. Then stretches his open, gloved hand out.
My jaw drops. Instantly I recognize what’s in his hand. My golden jeweled dagger.
“Take it,” he whispers, dipping his head. “Don’t tell anyone I let you have it.”
I glide toward him, slowly taking the dagger and flipping it over to where MB is carved into the hilt. “Am…I in danger?” I flick a look up at him.
“I need you now, more than ever, to trust your instincts.” His voice is gravely low. “Beyond what you can see or hear. Beyond what you can touch…” His voice trails off. He stalks over to the desk and pulls open a drawer, fishing out a sheath and holding it up for me.
As I take it from him and pull up the side of my skirts, he turns his face away. I secure the sheath there, then slide the dagger in before dropping my skirts and standing. Twisting and patting, I test to make sure it’s well hidden.
“What if I’m not successful?” My voice tightens with the onset of worry. This may very well be my last chance to set my brother free.
“Marcella…” He sighs my name, turning back to me. “You are the most skilled and intelligent woman I know. And unless there are…traitorous bees,” a soft chuckle interrupts him as he gazes into my eyes, “then you will surely find the traitor. And destroy them.”
“Destroy?” I take a step back.
“It is what you agreed to, yes.”
“That’s…” My face falls. “That’s why you’ve given me the dagger?”
His silence is confirmation. And though I’ve killed plenty of people in my years as a soldier, one question remains. “What if I’m wrong? What if I kill someone entirely innocent?”
“I trust in your instincts. And you have other eyes—Lady Bethany, Devin?—”
“I donottrust Devin, first and foremost.”Don’t trust either of them.
“Why is that?” His question sounds genuine.
Shaking my head to clear out the cobwebs, I dig for a suitable reason. “I just don’t.”
“He values my life and this throne. I know you two have never gotten along?—”
“Because he’s an asshat,” I growl.
“Marcella,” Cyrus warns.
“Fine. An overambitious man who thinks he needs to prove himself by overexerting his dominance, when really he’s just a frightened little?—”
