Total pages in book: 201
Estimated words: 191006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 955(@200wpm)___ 764(@250wpm)___ 637(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 955(@200wpm)___ 764(@250wpm)___ 637(@300wpm)
“You are not Princess Romeria.”
“I am, I swear. Here.” She reaches for her chin, picking at it.
And suddenly Romeria is standing before me, holding a silver mask that she just peeled off.
I gasp.
“How did you do that!” Mika shrieks, earning both our shushes.
Finally, I remember myself and bow, urging Mika to do the same.
“We don’t have time for that.” She rushes forward, reaching for my hands before stalling, as if only then realizing hers are bloodied. She wipes them over her cloak. It does little good. “I am so happy to see you. I was worried Atticus would harm you or send you back to Freywich.”
“No! He hasn’t.” I punctuate that claim with a headshake. “He’s been good to us. Kind. And Lord Danthrin is dead. Atticus executed him.” For me. He chopped off a lord’s head for me, I don’t say.
“He did, did he?” She looks down at my stomach. “And you had your baby.”
“Yes. A little girl.” I hesitate, dropping my voice. I know I shouldn’t admit to this with ears around, but I can’t help myself. If this is the only time I see her again, I need her to know. “She goes by Suri, but her real given name is Romeria. After you.”
The princess’s face softens as she absorbs that. “I’m honored—”
“The king’s guard will be crawling over this place soon. We must go now,” the tall, lethal-looking warrior declares in a raspy growl, watching the street beyond the wooden gate. Shouts sound nearby.
“Right.” Romeria shakes her head. “Come with us to Ulysede.”
“What? Now?”
“Yes.” She waves me toward her.
“But I can’t leave Lilou and Suri.”
“We’ll go and get them.”
“Romeria,” the warrior warns in a stern voice. “The longer we wait, the more people we have to kill to get out.”
“I’m not leaving them here!” she snaps back.
I don’t want them killing anyone. “It’s okay. Besides, I can’t leave. There is an entire ballroom of mortal children who need me.”
“Where?” Her eyes widen. “Which one is he keeping them in?”
So she knows about that. “The west wing.”
She nods slowly, as if fitting that information into a plan. “That ballroom has doors that lead directly to the royal garden, does it not?”
“Yes. They’re heavily guarded, though.”
“We’ll be executed,” Pan chirps.
Shouts sound again, closer this time.
The warrior draws two swords as if preparing for battle.
Romeria curses under her breath. “Okay. You will keep those children safe for me.”
“Of course.”
“And I need you to pass along an important message. Can you do that?”
“Mika, go on over there and help Silmar with the horse.” I goad him forward with a hand against his back, waiting until he’s out of earshot. “I owe you my life and that of my children. If you’ll trust me with the message, I will get it where it needs to go.”
She sighs with relief. “Tell Wendeline that we had it wrong and the door is already open, but the prophecy is real.”
I repeat her words, an unease sliding over my spine. “I will deliver that.” How, I have no idea, but I will figure it out.
“I will see you again very soon. I promise.” She slips on her mask and Romeria is gone, replaced by a stranger.
Pan offers a wave at Mika and Silmar, and then the three of them rush around the corner and are gone from sight.
I tuck the gold coin in my pocket and beckon Mika.
He trots over, a dazed look on his face. “Did she tell you how she did that?”
“Using special magic that you can never talk about with anyone. I mean it, Mika. I don’t care whose head has been chopped off.” I collect his hand and tug him inside, equal parts furious with him and thrilled that his disobedience led us to the princess.
But what is she doing here?
And why were her hands covered in blood?
The guard ignores us as we pass him, sparing nothing more than a smug smile for Mika, but the boy’s not paying attention, too enthralled by what he just witnessed.
I recite the message to Wendeline over and over in my head as we walk, praying I don’t confuse or distort it. I wish I had paper and ink to mark it down, but those are next to impossible for a servant to find these days.
A rush of pounding metal boots sounds from the nearby main hall.
“Fetch the caster!” Someone shouts. It’s Kazimir. “Drag her out of bed if you have to and get her to the king’s chamber at once.” Four soldiers rush past as we reach the entrance to the hall.
My mouth hangs with horror at the sight of Atticus’s limp body held among them, his tunic soaked in blood, his face pale.
“You!” Kazimir points at me, his eyes wide with panic. He has a sword slash across his cheek. “He’ll need a vein as soon as the caster is done.”