Page 201 of Damsel in Disguise

His covered eyes bore through me. “The next time you stand before me with an excuse instead of a result, I’ll not find an excuse to spare you, heir.”

The order settles over the laboratory like a death sentence.

I have to bring Ariella Keinston within six hours.

Six hours isn’t nearly as generous as it sounds.

The Triarch Dominion is buried deep within the Forest of Dean. A full round trip between here and Oxford would devour almost ninety percent of that time, and that is assuming nothing goes wrong.

My mind begins doing what it’s trained to do—it calculates.

Campus security rotations.

The probability of Adrian Keinston leaving or not her side.

The most efficient dosage for chemical restraint.

The least traumatic method of administration.

The thoughts arrive one after another with mechanical precision. I hate that they come so easily.

The Crown studies me in silence.

“Untouched. Entirely biological. No artificial modifications, no synthetic enhancements, no engineered replacements, and yet it continues to outperform creations specifically designed for efficiency. Your brain has never failed to amuse me, Hertley.”

His head tilts ever so slightly. “Sometimes I wonder whether nature accidentally perfected what science has spent decades trying to imitate.”

There’s something deeply unsettling about the observation.

He isn’t complimenting me. He’s studying me. The way a scientist studies a specimen that refuses to obey established laws.

“Prove that your assessment of the subject is correct,” he says with a slow exhale, as though he has finally reached a conclusion.

Not about her. About me.

“She’ll come,” I say.

“Oh, I know she will,” he scoffs with too much arrogance, too sure of himself. “I want you to know it too.”

I look at him.

He gives the slightest dip of his chin, expecting me to make the move on his watch.

I grit my teeth and slip my hand inside my overcoat, retrieving my phone.

Somewhere beneath that porcelain mask, I know he’s smiling. I don’t need to see it to know it’s there.

My gaze drops only long enough to unlock the screen and open the recent call log.

Ariella’s name sits at the top. The last time I called her was after she went looking for me at the Velmourne Club.

“Behind you,” my own voice echoes through my head.

She spins around too quickly, startled by my voice, and falls straight into my arms.

Instinct or calculation—I haven’t decided which. My hands naturally find her waist before she loses her balance.

Her small palms flatten against my chest, warm even through the black fabric of my shirt.