Pierre froze.
Cedric leaned closer to the servant’s ear, his voice low and steady. “You’ve been missing from the palace for three days.”
Pierre’s throat worked into a swallow as he obeyed.
“We already know,” Nin added, quieter now, “that you were speaking with Adelina’s servant about… under the palace deliveries…”
Cedric’s grip on the back of Pierre’s chair tightened. “You’ve been involved in something you shouldn’t be,” he growled. “Their Majesties won’t like that.”
“N-no! I-it’s not what it looks like,” Pierre said, sliding further into his seat. “I just did as I told—I wasn’t part of that, only the tray—”
“Tray?” Cedric pressed, lowering himself into the chair beside him.
A chill ran down her spine.
Silence suffocated their shadowy corner. All the blood drained from Pierre’s face. With his lip between his teeth, the servant hunched over his drink, his knuckles whitening around the handle.
“Pierre,” Nin said, more gently. “Someone has died, and more could if you don’t talk.”
His breath grew shallow as he surveyed the tavern as if he were still searching for a way out.
“I know… I know that now,” he finally admitted miserably. He dragged a hand over his face.
Cedric glanced at her, and she nodded, allowing the quiet to pressure him into talking. Low murmurs rumbled, and tankards clanked throughout the tavern as Pierre sank his face into his hands.
“I got a note… with Princess Adelina’s seal,” Pierre continued in a near inaudible whisper. “It said I was to deliver the meal, leave a message, and then make myself scarce for a few days. I’ve been receiving them for the short weeks she’s been a guest. I was told to watch Princess Marianne—try to investigate her.”
“Investigate what?” Cedric asked, stiffening in his seat. “And you’re sure it was Princess Adelina’s seal?”
Pierre nodded frantically. “I’ve seen it before. The raven crest on her carriage. I was instructed to note her preferred food choices and the fragrance she uses. Little, inconsequential things.”
Nin’s pulse sped. Her memory flashed back to the night of the ball with startling clarity, recalling the plate of macarons she had followed toward the empty hall…
The realization left a sour note in her stomach. It had been so unassuming, veiled in blush pink and cream, that she hadn’t given it a second thought until now.
“Did she meet you herself?” she asked, leaning forward. Her mind raced unbidden with other possibilities of habits and quirks they might have used against her.
“No. A messenger brought the note and slid it under my door. They promised me one thousand francs. It said to destroy it after reading, so I did.”
“So, a little bribe was all it took?” Cedric tutted under his breath.
Pierre’s hands pressed into the table, his eyes swinging between them like the flickering lantern above. “I swear I didn’t think anyone would be harmed,” he whispered. “Everyone knows she’s been angry about the betrothal—about him choosing…” He caught himself.
Nin’s stomach twisted into a tight knot.About him choosing Princess Marianne.
“But I never thought she would…” Pierre gulped, lowering his voice into a near-indecipherable murmur. “She would kill anyone.”
Nin met Cedric’s gaze across the table. A muscle jumped in his jaw. The relief she expected sank into her stomach as a lump of ice. Deep inside, she had wished her suspicions were wrong.
“And you’re certain it was Adelina’s hand?” Cedric asked.
Pierre nodded. “Yes, it had her signature vanilla scent on it, too. I swear on my grandmother’s grave!”
Cedric sighed, motioning her to stand. “Then we have nothing else to discuss.”
They turned to leave, but Pierre grabbed her arm, voice breaking. “You’ll protect me, won’t you? If she finds out I talked—”
Cedric peeled his fingers off her sleeve with a scowl. “Leave the city and don’t talk to anyone. If I see your face again, you’ll regret it.”
