Up.
It was all she registered. One step at a time. Something creaked open, and wind brushed against her face. Or was it someone fanning her? Whatever it was, it seemed better to agree than to wonder at all.
Chapter seventeen
Cedric surveyed the ballroom, hunting for any gleam of a weapon. The hours crawled, punctuated by the seconds ticking down in his pocket watch. From his vantage point on the second floor, he repeatedly marked Nin’s location to ensure she was still there.
Nothing had disturbed the celebration—so far.
No one had appeared suspicious in the hall. No one had been apprehended. Every guest had been accounted for. But he would not lower his guard.
Another song flitted through the ballroom, and his attention drew back to Nin. She curtsied, her posture perfect, her steps poised as she danced. She encapsulated everything he had taught her. No one could tell her apart from the true Princess Marianne.However, a strange sensation stabbed beneath his chest as gentleman after gentleman asked her to dance, their eyes roaming over her in appreciation.
Cedric’s fists clenched over the railing.
Nin’s smile flashed as she spun, her pink dress whirling like a flower petal on the wind. Three nights before, she had directedthat smile at him when she slipped past his defenses in more ways than one. When their eyes met, their breaths stilled in the charged silence.
Shaking the memory away, he resumed his diligent watch as the lights dimmed. Music swelled, and he scrutinized the audience, enraptured by the ballet performance—then stopped. At the edge of the crowd, he caught the familiar blush silk and golden wheat hair cascading down her back.
Then she turned, looking up to the second floor.
Their eyes met.
The small smile tugging at Nin’s lips struck him with unexpected force. Even in the dim lighting, her eyes held a familiar spark that mesmerized his senses. She was safe.
“Captain.” One of his men approached, but he remained fixed on Nin.
“Some news you may want to hear, Captain.”
Cedric reluctantly dragged his attention away. Jean wore his navy uniform, combed his brunette hair, and was absent of the smell of ale. The transformation was impressive.
“There has been some activity in the west wing,” Jean said. “I believe it’s a couple making a rendezvous, but guards are investigating it as we speak.”
“Good,” Cedric said. But unease continued to roll in his gut in slow waves. “Does everyone have an eye on the princess?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Cedric’s priority shifted back to the ballroom floor.
His brow furrowed. Nin was no longer standing with the audience. His spine went rigid as he scanned the sea of gowns and suits.
She wasn’t there.
Ice pricked in his veins, but he forced himself to steady his erratic heart. He didn’t hesitate, descending the steps and signaling to the other guards. One of them hurried to his side and said, “She was just here a moment ago. She turned the corner and—I don’t know where she went.”
Cedric stopped short. “What do you mean you don’t know where she went?”
“She just—vanished.”
Cedric’s jaw clenched, heat flaring beneath his cravat.
“You’ll lose your post by the end of the night,” he said through his teeth. “How could you lose her?”
“I’m sorry, sir!”
Cedric gestured for the guards to follow, and they moved with care, slipping through the shadows to avoid alarming the guests. From across the ballroom, the queen took notice of him, Cedric gave a small nod, nothing more.
He had made her a promise—a promise to himself. Tonight, he would not break that oath.
