Page 72 of The Nymph King

Imani flexed her damp fingers. This alternative plan had not existed five minutes ago, and she was building it while standing inside the enemy’s palace. Many things could go wrong.

“What do you mean?” Esa hissed.

“We take the board,” Imani whispered as she straightened a floral arrangement to feign busywork. “He’s hidden himself where we can’t predict him, but we can force his hand. If he wants to keep that throne, he’ll have to answer to me when I walk into the Yule Ball. He’ll be there by now anyway since we’ve lost so much time.”

Esa’s eyes scanned the room as she weighed the risk. “Ellisar specifically told us not to improvise.”

“I remember,” Imani said.

“This is improvising.”

“Aggressively.”

The pixie looked like she wanted to smile, but then her mouth flattened again. “If you walk into that ballroom wearing the crown, there’s no returning to the original plan.”

Indeed. The moment the court saw her, secrecy ended. If Tanyl attacked, every guard in the palace could descend on them before Ellisar could reposition. If the nobles panicked, civilians would be trapped between armed factions. If Ellisar interpreted the spectacle as the operation collapsing, he might have no choice but to call the soldiers forward.

“Then we make sure it works before anyone needs the army,” Imani said.

Esa tilted her head, a grim smile touching her lips. “You’re mad.”

“Probably.”

“But it might work.” A beat. “We’ll need gowns if we’re going to enter the ballroom without killing anyone.”

“I know.” Imani rubbed the sudden, tight knot at the base of her neck. The unknown was a physical weight, drawing her muscles taut, and she flexed her hands to shake it off. “Let’s go.”

They angled upward, first through the main atrium, then through the cramped, utilitarian service corridors, where they grabbed a few trays to make themselves look useful. Props in hand, they headed up to the sweeping passageways of the guest wing.

A Common-Bred palace guard with a wand strapped to his hip stopped them at the transition. The sight of the wand made Imani’s eyes bulge. Most witches worked for the Royal Order of Magic in an academic or political capacity, and despite the Ascension Assessments, the Order usually didn’t deal in petty security matters or violence.

He stood beside the carved archway where bare service stone gave way to polished marble, one hand resting near the wand at his hip. His brown eyes passed over their gray uniforms before returning to the empty trays. “Where are you assigned?”

Imani’s pulse jumped.

Esa answered first. “Guest rooms. Lady Carenth’s attendants sent for additional linens.”

The guard frowned. “Did she send for empty serving trays?”

Esa looked down at hers as though only then noticing it. “Kitchen sent us upstairs first to collect some items. Apparently no one in this palace knows where they actually want us tonight.”

He rolled his eyes, as if that explanation were painfully believable. A cluster of servants appeared behind them carrying folded tablecloths and boxes of glassware. Someone muttered impatiently when the line stopped.

The guard glanced from Esa to Imani.

Imani kept her head bowed. Her glamour hid the crown, silver hair, and every feature that might identify her, but it could do nothing about her magic signature.

He did not reach for his wand. “Go,” he said, stepping aside. “And don’t wander into the ballroom level unless you’re assigned there.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Esa muttered.

They passed beneath the arch without increasing their pace. Only after they turned the next corner did Imani breathe normally again.

There was no time to regroup, though.

After a moment against the wall, they kept moving, passing two occupied chambers before finding an unattended one. Voices came through the first door, and a lady’s maid emerged from the second, carrying an armful of fabric and nearly colliding with Esa.

At the next intersection, Imani waited while a pair of palace guards crossed toward the ballroom stairs. Once their footsteps faded, she tested another door.