Page 135 of Ashborne Forged

The moment we stepped out of the bathing chamber, the guards surrounded us. They didn’t slow as we approached my room, so I was forced to raise my voice. “Please. If I could just gather a few personal items. It will only take a moment—”

“The Lord said—”

“The Lord will not know, and I refuse to sit in a carriage for two days with nothing to do but sleep.” Banking on the servants training not to resist a powerful noble, I turned as if to step between the guards, straight toward my room—and to my relief, they didn’t stop me. Only shifted positions to keep me surrounded until we reached the door.

Inside, the room had been emptied of my clothing and the powders and tools for dressing my hair.

It was only then, as I turned toward the bookshelf, praying, that my heart truly sank.

The book was gone.

Jade stood at my shoulder, hands clasped tightly at her waist, watching me.

I swallowed hard. “Are you among the servants coming with us?” I whispered.

“Yes,” she murmured in return.

Thank you, I prayed.

I was about to leave—until I remembered that I’d told them I needed personal items.

With numb hands, I stumbled to the bookshelf, picked two small novels without reading the covers, then a leather journal from the writing desk, along with charcoal.

Jade walked me back to the guards at the door and I raised my chin, not looking any of them in the eye. But inside, I shivered with fear.

I’d been strong. I’d awaited the right time. Believed Voski would come—still believed that. But now…

Breckon knew about the knife.

A high ring began in my head as we descended the stairs, then strode out of the house, toward Breckon, standing next to the open door of the carriage.

I took his proffered hand to help me step up, though my skin crawled. Then settled myself on the backward facing seat inside, and turned my head to look out the small window while he climbed in to sit across from me.

He was smiling.

When he knocked on the ceiling, there was a crack, and the carriage creaked, then lurched forward. I gripped the arm of the seat and kept staring out the window, swallowing nausea.

“Does the carriage meet with your approval, Lady Barnslow?” Breckon asked in a smug tone.

“It is a great deal more comfortable on the seat, than on the floor. I couldn’t possibly be expected to compare—”

His slap wasn’t brutal—the type you’d give a presumptuous child. But it startled me. Cheek hot, I turned to stare at him, aghast.

“If you act like a child, I will treat you as one,” he sniffed. “Keep a sharp tongue in your mouth and you won’t remain on the seat for long.”

I stared every dignified, high-born accusation at him that I was capable of mustering. “Where are we going?” I said through my teeth.

“I told you, the castle in Fyrehold.”

“Why?”

He smiled. “Because the king wants to bless my marriage—and I believe your parents wish to ensure you haven’t been replaced.”

“My parents will be there?” I was breathless. If I explained to Mother, surely she’d intervene? Surely if Father understood how awful Breckon was—

“Eventually. The night before, I believe.”

So little time to plead with them. Determined not to reveal my desperation, I raised my chin. “When will this wedding occur? We are still a week from my—”