Nin’s jaw clenched as the door shut behind him—discussion over. Lucille patted the hand she had been holding.
“I don’t think you’re incapable,” Lucille started slowly. “But please consider your safety.”
Nin nodded, her eyes boring into the damask pattern of her duvet. Silence blanketed the room before Lucille sighed.
“I should let you rest. The effects of the drug will last for a while. If you need me, let me know.”
Then, she was gone too.
The emptiness closed in on Nin, accentuating the loneliness stinging under her skin. Bijou whined softly, and she reached out to pet her head.
This was not the end of it.
Someone had tried to kill her, and Nin would not stand around like a damsel waiting for it to happen again.
Chapter nineteen
Cedric marched into his quarters, furious that Nin would even suggest something so foolish. Not only would she risk her life further, but she would also jeopardize everyone else involved. Lucille had put her life and livelihood on the line as much as he had.
He would have to keep a closer eye on Nin, perhaps even recruit guards to monitor her, to ensure she didn’t get herself into trouble again.
Cedric snatched his notebook from his desk and strode back into the hallway. His gaze flicked toward Nin’s quarters, and his chest constricted.
The assassin had come too close. Cedric had no desire to relive that strangling fear again. Yet the memory of it still tightened around his throat. Even if Nin had begun as the princess’s double, she was more than a pawn to be discarded.
Not for the royal family.
Not for the kingdom’s sake.
A servant with light brown hair and round eyes approached, carrying a crystal vase overflowing with flowers. The arrangementwas of Princess Marianne’s favorites. Blush pink peonies, violet sweet peas, white ranunculus, all threaded with lily of the valley.
“What are those for?” Cedric asked.
The servant startled, nearly dropping the vase before righting it in his arms. “Th-these are for the princess, Captain.”
“From whom?”
The servant hesitated, then produced a folded note of soft, cream paper. “From Prince Rodrigue.”
Cedric accepted it and unfolded the page. The script slanted and flowed, with each curve and line having its own purpose.
My dearest Marianne,
I was distressed to learn you had fallen ill last evening. I am sorry I failed to see the signs, and I wish I had been more attentive. I know these flowers cannot make up for my neglect, but I hope they may bring you comfort.
Please rest, and do not let the court and its expectations trouble you. If anyone whispers, they will answer to me. I would rather you recover than extend yourself again.
My prayers and thoughts are with you.
With all my love,
Rodrigue
His jaw set as he folded the note with deliberate care. Logically, he knew the prince was unaware he was bestowing his affections on the wrong woman. It was not Rodrigue’s fault for being taken by the warmth of her smile.
So it made little sense that Cedric’s fingers tightened over the parchment in his hands.
Rodrigue could be free to dote on her.
