Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 140412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Hannah’s expression falls and I immediately regret my words.
“Of course not,” she says, barely a whisper. “Of course, I would never—”
“I know. I’m sorry. I know.” I drop my head in my hands.
Tara says quietly from her cozy spot on one of the window seats, “Maybe it’s time to take a break, Bailey?”
“Yeah, if you’re going to start condemning us, maybe you could use a nap,” Clare states more bluntly.
There’s a knock at the door. I wave my hand to the thrall guard standing by it to indicate he should open it.
Charles, head of security, walks in. Although, he won’t be head of security for long. I’ve moved him onto the task force investigating the riot. In the meantime, he’s running double duty, trying to select and train his replacement from the current pool of senior security officers. That’s why it’s not all that alarming to me when he enters with a grim expression.
“Charles,” I acknowledge him as he bows in front of my desk.
“Your Majesty,” he replies, and drops a manila folder in front of me. “There’s something you need to see.”
I lift the cover. There are photos inside, grainy, black-and-white shots blurred by movement. I look up. “Is this from the destroyed camera?”
During the riot, someone—or several someones—had the forethought to destroy the security cameras. They largely failed; so far, only the contents of two cameras can’t be retrieved. Charles nods, indicating that the number has dropped to one.
“I’ve flagged the one that’s of the most interest to our investigation,” he says as I turn my attention back to the folder.
There’s a small blue tag attached to one print-out, and I slide it from the stack. Someone has circled an area in red marker. I focus on the image and the world around me stops.
There’s me, half-out of the red circle, being pulled away by thralls. There are guards, clustered around two clashing figures. One is unmistakably Nathan; his jacket is half-off, like he was doffing it for the fight. There’s a dark stripe across his midsection, and two thralls are bearing the other man backward. He has an enormous dagger raised high above his head.
“Now!” echoes in my mind. Bile rises in my throat.
“That’s…” I press a hand to my chest. “Hannah, come look at this. Tell me what I’m seeing.”
She hurries over, while Clare and Tara exchange glances and watchfully wait.
Charles doesn’t make me wait for Hannah’s confirmation. “It’s Ashton Daniels. We believe he struck the near-fatal blow to the king.”
“Never say that outside these walls,” I warn him. I don’t want anyone to know how bad off Nathan really was that night.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Nathan was injured. But he was never in danger of death.” Even though I want to kill him, I don’t want anyone else to think they can.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Charles repeats again.
“This is photographic evidence that Ashton tried to kill the king,” Hannah says, her brows pulling together as she stares at the picture. “There’s no coming back from this. You’ve got him.”
“Good,” Clare says sharply. “She can banish him, and he’ll get the sentence he deserves.”
“That’s not the sentence he deserves.” I don’t elaborate. “Thank you, Charles. I’m going to take these to the king, myself.”
“Would you like me to accompany you?” Charles offers.
I shake my head. “I’ll do it right now. I haven’t checked in with him yet today. But you can walk with me to the door.”
Charles follows behind me—the thralls always linger a step behind—as I leave the room.
“What about us?” Tara calls after me. “Do you want any of us to go with you? For moral support or something?”
“Thanks, I’ve got this.” I head for Nathan’s study. He’s moved back into his own bedroom, and the safe room is restocked and shut up again. I hope I never have to go in there again.
The door to the study is closed, and two thralls are stationed outside, both of them slightly overlapping the posts with their shoulders. That’s odd.
“Let me pass,” I order.
“His Majesty asked to not be disturbed,” one of them says hesitantly.
“And I say let me pass. Who’s standing in front of you right now?” I demand, crossing my arms and almost smashing the folder in the process. “Do you think he’ll find out you disobeyed his orders before I punish you for disobeying mine?”
They step aside and let me pass.
The bookshelf that covers the secret entrance is closed, so I pull the candlestick and the staircase passageway scrapes open dramatically. Nathan calls down, “I told you not to let anyone disturb us.”
Us?
Suspicion weaponizes the adrenaline in my body and I take off like a shot. I’m at the top of the stairs before the “us” in question can hide from me. The “us” I know I’m going to find rolling around under all those stupid fucking dead animal heads up there.