“If you insist,” he murmured, but a deep-seated resignation filled his sigh. “When I was a boy, one of my father’s trusted friends accused him of treason. He claimed that my father was sending secret information about the royal family to a neighboring country. There was no proof, but the whispers alone were sufficient. The court's pressure was overwhelming. We lost our titles, our land, and Father was sent to prison to be hanged at the gallows.” His knuckles grew white. “It taught me that one mistake could destroy not only the accused, but everyone bound to them.”
Nin’s chest ached.
“Fortunately, the queen investigated the matter in secret,” he continued. “She proved the rumors false and restored my family’s honor. My father was spared.”
He drew a breath.
“I owe her everything. Two years ago, she appointed me captain even though I was only twenty-five. In return, I have done everything in my power to protect her and her daughter, whom she entrusted to me.”
Cedric’s eyes met hers.
“So, when I see you in danger—” He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “All I can think of is how easily it can fall apart. How everyone—you, the princess, Lucille, and my men—is at the mercy of my actions. I lose control because I amterrified of failing.”
She reached out for his hand without thinking, but this time he did not pull away.
“You’re right,” she said, gently squeezing his fingers. “The world can be cruel. It can take and take without remorse and still come back for more. But it also gives. The people we love are what keep us standing when everything else can break us.”
Alain’s sunken eyes and sullen face surfaced. The years of battling through a game of survival had chewed her up and spat her out more times than she could count. Emotions clogged her throat, escaping past the barriers she had built to keep herself from collapsing.
“I know it must be awfully lonely,” she continued, her voice trembling. “To feel like you are constantly failing even when you are doing everything in your power to do the right thing.”
Cedric exhaled a shaky breath that seemed to come from the depths of his pain.
Nin squeezed his fingers gently. “But if you would like… perhaps we could lean on each other. Then you don’t have to carry this burden alone.”
A comfortable silence settled around them. His fingers remained around hers, warm, steady, and protective. She memorized the calluses against her skin, the strength of every digit encompassing her hand.
“Lean on each other?” he echoed with a tug of his lips. His eyes locked with hers, and her breath caught at the raw depth of his expression. “As uncertain as I am about the future… I would love nothing more.”
Something in her chest loosened. For the first time since she had taken the princess’s place, she no longer felt alone.
Chapter twenty-five
The plan was simple, but unease threaded through Nin’s limbs as she marched through the halls at Cedric’s side. The guard uniform sat on her like a boy in his father’s suit—ill-fitting, itchy, and rustling too loudly with each step. It was the smallest size they could provide, yet the stiff navy coat, high collar, and oversized shoes did little to give her the authority she wished to embody.
Cedric, on the other hand, strode with ease, his sights set ahead, his steps echoing across the marble floor.
The one comfort she had was pinned snugly beneath her coat. The queen’s brooch nestled over her heart as Nin tugged at the white cross belts lowering toward her abdomen when they should’ve been sitting across her chest.
When they turned a corner into a crowded hall, her awareness heightened as she glanced between giggling noble ladies and dignitaries chatting amiably. Would any of them recognize her? Her steps stiffened, sweat beading under the white wig Lucille fitted her in, but none of them turned their heads in her direction. For the first time in weeks, she became invisible.
Nin exhaled. She hadn’t realized what it meant to breathe without perpetual scrutiny and the unspoken anticipation of her failures. For once, her body could unwind, her mind free to think without the weight of royal expectations.
They turned down another corridor, then another until Cedric thrust a set of wooden doors open. They found the head housekeeper in her registry room, her gray locks pinned tightly in a bun at the nape of her neck, tucked under a white cap. She bent over a ledger at a wooden desk with three bells lined near her elbow. The woman’s sharp, dark eyes hardly acknowledged their entrance, her mouth thinning as they approached.
Cedric halted before her desk, his shoulders squared—every inch of him exuding command.
Yet the Head Housekeeper languidly removed excess ink against a blotter, placed her quill back in its inkwell, and straightened her ledger before acknowledging him. She did not bother to rise to greet them.
“What may I do for you, Captain? I’m a busy woman, as you know, so I would appreciate it if you made this brief.”
“Madame Roussel,” he inclined his head in greeting. “I am in need of information I suspect only you can provide.”
“What sort of information?” she asked, crossing her arms over her somber blue dress, the stomacher as stiff as her rigid posture.
“You have a roster of all the servants in employment. We need to know more about a male servant who may be in close correspondence with Princess Adelina’s attendants.”
Madame Roussel blinked slowly. “I have several servants attending to Her Highness. You’re going to need to be more specific.”
