With a final goodbye, Nin didn’t wait a moment longer. She accepted Cedric’s arm, her breath wavering into a relieved sigh as he guided her away.
“Thank you,” Nin murmured, once out of earshot. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to do there.”
Cedric remained focused, his sight set solely ahead, while his fingers twitched over her arm.
“You allowed yourself to become too comfortable with him.”
“Well,” she protested, “they’re meant to be in love, aren’t they? How else am I supposed to act?”
Cedric’s jaw tightened, his stride lengthening slightly. “Avoid kissing him. At all costs. Princess Marianne is betrothed, not married. Protocol dictates that you show decorum in such matters. Affection may be shown, but it must remain brief and socially appropriate.”
She huffed, her heels clicking louder to keep up with his pace. “That’s easier said than done. Wouldn’t it look more convincing if I did?”
“No.”
The word came out brusque with an air of finality.
A brisk breeze stirred the violets around them. Gravel crunched beneath their steps as they walked in sudden silence.
Nin studied him with a sidelong glance, noting his rigid shoulders and slanted brows. “You didn’t like what I said, did you?”
“What I like is irrelevant,” he said curtly. “My priority is keeping you safe.”
“Ah, I see.” She leaned in, her grin widening as she dropped her voice to a playful whisper. “You’rejealous.”
His fingers tightened subtly over her arm—not in warning, but surprise.
Cedric refused to look in her direction. “Do not mistake caution for jealousy,” he said, his voice clipped.
Nin bit back another smile, pleased by how she had ruffled his uptight feathers. “All right,” she said with a shrug. “If you say so.”
Chapter twelve
The tavern smelled of stale wine and regret as Cedric pushed the doors open. He'd traded his uniform for a woolen navy coat and scuffed boots, his posture hunched as he stalked inside. The ceilings were low, the lighting dim, and the clientele raucously clinked their drinks together.
Beyond the dusty windows, the river flowed and ebbed around the slouched building. Dockworkers milled in and out, smoke drifting from their pipes. Dark beams crisscrossed above, plain benches and wobbly tables scattered around the room. The uneven floorboards were stained and sticky with spilled drink.
In the back of the room, concealed in a shadowy corner, sat his informant.
Cedric took a seat across from him, scanning his surroundings for any stray eyes before doing so.
“Captain,” Jean said in a low voice, lowering his pipe. He wore a rumpled, dirty coat, his hair a tangled mess, and his breath reeked of cheap ale. A dripping tallow candle wavered between them.
“You don’t need to play the part too well, Jean,” Cedric said, eyeing the man’s tankard.
“Can never be too careful. People can sniff out the mole fast enough otherwise.”
“You also need to stay alert on the job,” Cedric countered. “Now. Report.”
Jean withdrew a folded note from the pocket inside his coat and slid it across the table. Cedric scooped it up, scanned the contents, then folded it once and held it to the candle’s flame. The paper curled and blackened, ash drifting down between them.
“The Silver Flame?” Cedric murmured as the last of it burned away. “Are you certain that’s where the serpent came from?”
“Yes,” Jean said. “We have a spy among them. He intercepted a message. A patron paid for the work.”
Cedric hummed in thought. “Then the group itself may not be our true concern.”
“There’s been talk,” Jean said, taking a swig of his tankard. “Saying the princess is a gilded lamb for the slaughter. Claim the alliance with Castaviel offends the Maker.”
