Princess Adelina and Ambassador Otto Dennhardt were quietly conversing when they passed them. Cedric lingered on them only a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Nin had been wary of Adelina, but even now, he struggled to believe a woman like her was capable of something as precise as an assassination.
Heat seared through his coat like a burst of flames.
Cedric’sbreath caught mid-step. His pulse stilled. The metal of his pocket watch burned brightly against his palm when he reached into his coat.
It could only mean one thing—the necklace.
Nin.
His stride grew longer, quicker. They inspected the pillar where she was last seen and faced an open door into a hallway. Empty.
A servant rounded the corner. Cedric didn’t slow. “You,” he barked. “Have you seen the princess?”
The servant nodded nervously. “I was taking a plate of macarons around the corner, and I thought I saw her behind me. But then—then she wasn’t there anymore.”
“Where?” Cedric demanded. The servant pointed to the empty corridor.
Cedric plowed forward, marching into the hall. He searched room after room, throwing open doors—one revealing a startled couple who shrieked and stumbled apart.
Not her.
He shut it without apology and continued, his heart pounding. Each empty room magnified the dread building under his ribs.
Then—on the floor—he saw it.
Her fan.
He stooped to pick it up. A faint white dust clung to the ivory lace and painted roses as he studied them closer. It had no scent, and the grains were too finely milled, too iridescent to be anything but his worst fear. He tracked it instinctively—toward the staircase that spiraled upward.
Toward the rooftop.
“Upstairs,” he ordered. The guards moved in unison as he took the steps two at a time, the echoing sound of his boots on the stone amplifying the pounding in his ears. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t.
Fear flooded his veins as he shoved open the rooftop doors. A wave of cold night air filled his lungs.
There—
A tall figure in a dark cloak had one hand firm around Nin’s arm. He guided her toward the roof's edge as she stumbled beside him. Her head bowed, and her movements were wrong—too awkward and compliant.
Cedric moved without thinking.
He lunged, tackling the figure to the ground. The guards rushed in, grappling with the cloaked man as he fought fiercely, punching erratically and attempting to reach into his pocket. Cedric caught his arm and twisted it behind his back. A small pouch burst, sending a cloud of strange powder scattering across the stone.
He stilled.
Silent Breath.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Nin stumbling, her eyes half-closed, her feet carrying her toward the ledge.
“Nin—!”
He tore himself from the cloaked man. The guards restrained the would-be assassin as Cedric caught her, spinning her away from the edge and into his arms.
“Nin,” he breathed, the familiar scent of her lilac-perfumed hair grounding him in place. “It’s all right.I’m here.”
She sagged against him.
“Oh, good… I knew you would come…” she mumbled into his chest.
