A faint crease marred her brow. He moved to allow her a path of escape, but retrieved an ivory card engraved with his name and the royal symbol of the sun-crowned stag. The gilded paint sparkled in the dim alley as he extended it to her.
Nin regarded it with a frown. “What’s this?”
“If you decide to take up my offer, meet me at the Old Weaver’s Gate at midnight in three days,” he said coolly, and sent a prayer up that it would be enough time to prepare for this undertaking. “I will only wait for one hour.”
“I just said—”
“You’ll be safe, I give you my word.”
Nin’s mouth pressed into a thin line, “I’m not afraid.”
Cedric raised a single brow in challenge. “Then take the card.”
After a pause, she grumbled something unintelligible under her breath and snatched it from him, shoving it into her coat as she glared at him.
Turning on his heel, his cloak snapped behind him, but after a few steps, he caught a whisper trailing after him.
“Why me?”
Cedric came to a stop and tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Because you resemble her more than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s reason enough for me.”
Nin didn’t respond, and he walked on, embracing the bluster of city life. Although an unfamiliar knot coiled in his stomach as he crossed the road.
No matter what choice she made, he sensed that his life, as he knew it, would never be the same.
Chapter three
Nin knew one thing for certain: the nobleman was out of his half-baked mind.
A Princess? Her?
Nin scoffed, kicking a pebble in her way. He had to be a fraud—it was the only reason she could justify why he would propose such a ridiculous scam, but she wasn’t stupid enough to fall for it. She’d encountered everything from “magic beans” to “enchanted roses” on the streets of Bellecour. This one, however, took the cake.
The sun began to set behind the shimmering palace, casting a rosy hue over the grounds. Lamplighters made their usual rounds, using long poles topped with protective flames to light the lanterns. Nin strode past the gates, trying but failing to avoid peering past the bars. The white-stoned walls of the gilded towers glowed like stars—beautiful but far out of reach.
Nin paused in her steps without meaning to. Nobles in small groups milled past the golden gates embellished by the stag swathed by the sun’s rays—the very symbol engraved on the card burning through her coat pocket.
She should have thrown it away or let it slip into a storm drain, but something in her gut whispered to keep it. If anything, the francs she was allowed to keep had covered the cost of enough medicine, food, and a new pair of stockings, with some money left over. She figured keeping the card was the polite thing to do.
For now.
Her attention returned to the palace grounds that seemed to stretch as far and wide as the sea. Smoke rose from the hundreds of small chimneys in gentle waves. A knot formed in her stomach. She shouldn’t be looking—shouldn’t even consider the soft glow from the windows, and the magic-imbued luxuries waiting within. The nobleman’s words slipped past her defenses, tempting her with the impossible opportunity…
Nin shook her head, shoving the thoughts away. It was foolish to try to picture herself in a world where she didn’t belong. Turning on her heel, she marched away from the golden gates, her sights set on the road.
She didn’t look like the princess. If the tired circles under her eyes, growling stomach, and dirt packed in her nails screamed royalty, the nobleman should get his eyes reexamined. Those spectacles weren’t doing him any favors.
Yes, she’d seen the princess, but only from afar when she was waving to the crowd in a gleaming, white carriage. Perhaps their hair color was similar, but Nin didn’t know what her natural roots looked like after weeks of grease and grime buildup. It was impossible to imagine what it would look like after being washed, curled, and perfumed. Even then, she doubted the fancy pins and powders could cover what she truly was.
A pauper.
So why couldn’t she throw the card away? The man was surely scamming her, right?
Huffing, she made her way past the city square and down narrower streets. Neatly trimmed hedges, sculpted into spheres or twisting shapes, lined the tall, stone townhouses. Wrought-iron balconies extended from the large windows, all decorated with velvet curtains. Every home flaunted delicate filigree, blue-tiled roofs, and cobbled paths. Guards or doormen were stationed at the entrances, their eyes narrowed on her as she passed.
The noble quarter was a world of its own—a dream scented with rosemary and sweet tobacco.
Further down and around the corner, the streets grew muddy and slick with patches of ice. The townhouses gave way to shops carved into narrow apartments stacked like cards on top of one another. A thick layer of gray covered the once cream walls, weathered by rain, smoke, and grime. No carriages or doormen were posted at these neglected buildings—only sick stray cats and men keeping their heads low as they walked.
