BLYTHE

BLYTHE DIDN’T BOTHER TRYING TO PRETEND THAT SHE KNEW A LICK about

what happened at a fox hunt. When she’d arrived, Eliza had taken care to ensure that Blythe was in suitable attire—which still required a corset, a horribly tight navy dress, and a proper black hat that fastened beneath her chin.

She’d been ushered from the Wakefields’ manor immediately after arriving, taken to the surrounding forest with no chance to speak to Everett; she was hardly able to get a passing look at the new duke. He was surrounded by proud, entitled men Blythe recognized all too well.

As Eliza had predicted, none of them spared her or Miss Wakefield any attention. It seemed they cared only for Everett, and winning his ear as the new duke.

To his credit, Everett took the attention in stride, clasping shoulders and nodding whenever appropriate. Still, Blythe imagined it must have been a relief for him when his horse was brought over and another rider with golden hair moved beside him, face bored and stony.

Prince Aris may have been her best bet at helping her father, and yet resentment still curdled Blythe’s stomach when she saw him. Eliza had no such qualms. When she was certain no one was looking, she tugged her corset so that it pushed her breasts up.

Blythe tried not to scrunch her nose at such an obvious display. So much for her interest in Byron.

As if able to feel her thoughts, Aris’s eyes slid to Blythe’s. She expected

he would turn away, content to ignore her. But to the surprise of both Blythe and Eliza, he gave his beautiful dapple-white mare a gentle nudge toward her.

Though Blythe rode like a proper barbarian at home, with her legs on either side of the horse, in the public eye she sat in the appropriate sidesaddle fashion. It made her unsteady beneath the weight of Aris’s stare, and for once she was grateful for the corset that kept her straight and unyielding as he approached.

“I assume your cousin is here, as well?” Aris gave no greeting, hardly sparing Blythe more than a glance before searching the distance for Signa.

Blythe hoped that she looked effectively disinterested as she picked at her cuticles. “No, she’s not. I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for having just me around for a while.” She felt a little flutter of satisfaction when his eyes grew dark. Blythe didn’t want Aris as her enemy, especially when she might very well need his help. Still, it was remarkably satisfying to see him riled.

“What do you mean by that?” His voice was a deep baritone that drew the attention of men several feet ahead of them. It was a commanding voice. One that oozed power, and that she had every intention of ignoring.

“Miss Farrow has left Celadon.” It was Eliza who answered, keeping her own voice delectably sweet. She looked prim and innocent from where she sat atop a sleek chestnut stallion meticulously cared for and whose neck Eliza stroked absently.

Though she knew Eliza wanted only to make herself part of the conversation, Blythe was glad that she was the one who broke the news. While he did a fine job at masking it, the heat of Prince Aris’s annoyance beat against Blythe like a current. She turned her attention to her borrowed horse, suddenly finding its coat remarkably fascinating.

“I see.” Aris’s tone held no inflection. “And when are you expecting her to return?”

“Not for a long while, I suspect.” Eliza sat taller. “She moved back to her family’s home. I imagine she’ll be settling in. None of us had any idea she was leaving; it was all very sudden.”

Eliza could barely manage to conceal her pleasure at reporting this, and Blythe was surprised at her own reaction of annoyance. She had to remind herself that it was good that there was someone else who didn’t want Signa to return. Perhaps for a very different reason, but still.

Blythe shouldn’t have been annoyed; she should have been glad. She should hate Signa with every fiber of her being and never want to see her cousin again, instead of being plagued by such stupid, frustrating worries about how Signa was faring in her new home.

She shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t keep thinking about how Signa had admitted things too easily, and that there were pieces to her story that didn’t make sense.

What reason would she have had to kill Percy? She didn’t need the money. And Signa certainly hadn’t seemed bad by nature, just a little odd. So why, then?

Only when the horse twitched beneath her did Blythe stir, noticing that Prince Aris’s eyes were practically boring into her. She adjusted her hat’s strap and said nothing.

Ahead, a voice called out something indistinguishable and the hounds took off, riders on horseback keeping a close distance. Blythe’s own mount didn’t wait for the command before it followed suit. She gasped and held tightly on to the reins as it burst forward.

Everett was at the head of the group, leading the charge. Aris should have been up there with him and the other men, yet no one seemed to miss him when he ruined Blythe’s plans to corner Eliza by keeping back with them. It was strange how easily he seemed to maneuver through society. A thousand people should have been clamoring to get at him, yet he navigated easily, unbothered by a single soul. Blythe wondered what he’d done—or how unapproachable everyone else must have found him—to earn such freedom.

With a snap of the reins, Eliza moved beside Aris. “Are there many fox hunts in Verena?”

Given how severe his face became at the question, one would believe she’d asked whether his mother was a woman of the streets. “Hardly. I have no taste for the sport. If it takes this many people and their hounds to catch a fox, it seems that everyone’s time would be better spent elsewhere.”

Blythe agreed, though she didn’t voice her opinion or her surprise at how plainly he spoke of his distaste, especially in front of a Wakefield. Eliza cleared her throat, only a little thrown from her pursuit. “All the same, I’m glad you came. Perhaps you’ll find that you enjoy it more than you expected. The Wakefield family has been breeding hounds for these hunts

for generations.”

It was certainly a lovely morning, early enough that even the birds were still rousing, with weather clear and mild enough to see endlessly ahead. Still, Blythe didn’t have much of a taste for the hunt and preferred to keep at the back of the group and far from where she’d witness anything. Her entire purpose was to see what information she might glean, and while she had hoped to get Eliza alone before she started prying, it seemed there was no choice but to begin.

“I imagine it’s been the furthest thing from his mind, but has Everett had his eye on anyone this season?” she asked. It was similar to the question she’d asked at tea, though this time Eliza sported a scowl so remarkably well practiced that Blythe couldn’t feel that bad for being on the receiving end of it. It was rude to gossip, especially in such company, but Blythe didn’t care what Aris thought. If anything, he looked as curious as Blythe.

“Please, don’t stop the conversation on my account.” So coy was the prince’s smile that even Blythe blushed. He looked every bit a natural atop his mount, seated perfectly straight and all too comfortable as he lorded above them. “I wouldn’t want to step on any toes.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Eliza acknowledged graciously. “On the contrary, finding a wife is very much a focus of my cousin’s. With my uncle gone, an heir is more important now than ever.” There was a grimace in her words, and Blythe had no choice but to push.

“Has Everett found someone?” she asked, praying for something— anything—that might help her father.

“There was almost a contender once, but my uncle did not approve the proposal. Everett was heartbroken; it took him a while before he was ready to resume courting. He seems happier now, though, so I imagine there must be someone.”

Blythe fisted the reins so tight that her leather gloves gave a squeak of protest. Charlotte. That’s what Diana had meant when she asked if Charlotte was still circling Everett.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Blythe said, trying to sound nonchalant even as her mind raced and her blood pulsed a manic rhythm in her ears. “Surely that must have been a while ago that he wanted to propose? I don’t remember him courting anyone other than Signa.” At this, Blythe couldn’t help but notice that Aris’s frown grew severe.

“Signa was my uncle’s choice for him,” Eliza said with a wave of her hand. “She has a fortune behind her. Everett liked her well enough to entertain his father, though Signa never showed an interest and Everett developed new desires.”

Aris’s frown smoothed. Blythe, however, was trying her best to quell her churning stomach.

She was perhaps one of the only ones who knew that Everett and Charlotte were still together. She had seen their happy glances, had seen the way they kissed with the excitement of young lovers.

The duke had forbidden Everett to marry Charlotte. And if he’d gone back to her as soon as the duke died…

Blythe could think of no better motive for murder.

She kept her mouth clamped shut and her focus pinpointed on the back of her mount’s neck. If she dared to speak now, the words that slipped out would cause more trouble than they were worth.

So lost in her thoughts was she that Blythe barely heard Aris as he asked, “Are you well, Miss Wakefield?”

She stole a look just in time to see that Eliza’s skin had gone pale, and she was swaying atop her mount.

“Forgive me, Your Highness.” Eliza was as brisk as Blythe had ever heard her, and when she tried to smile her reassurance, it only made Eliza look even more ill. “I believe I’ve left something important back at the manor.”

“Would you like us to accompany you?” Blythe asked, having to reel her focus back in as Eliza turned a faint shade of green.

If a look could kill, Eliza’s would have had her in the grave within the second. “That’s not necessary. I’ve held you hostage long enough as it is. Go and catch up with the others—I’ll find you both as soon as I’m able.”

Eliza snapped the reins, taking off in the direction they’d come from. Though Prince Aris should have ignored Eliza and accompanied her to safety, His Highness seemed content watching her race back toward the estate. His glinting eyes caught the rising sun, and for a moment they were so rich a gold that Blythe nearly scoffed. A beast as foul as him had no right to be handsome.

It was then that she realized just how quiet the forest had become. Though she’d seen Everett and his men in the distance only moments

before, there was nothing of their red coats now. She could barely hear the hounds, either, and with a dawning horror realized the situation she’d gotten herself into.

All she wanted was to race back to Thorn Grove to figure out her next steps. She wished at once that Signa was still there to help her concoct a plan now that she suspected Everett. Yet she forced such thoughts from her mind as she instead found herself alone with Aris, unattended in the middle of the woods. One wrong rumor and she’d be as good as useless at helping free her father from prison. The last thing she needed was anyone suspecting she’d seduced the prince into speaking on his behalf.

“We ought to get back to the others,” she urged, nudging her horse forward. “Anyone who sees us out here might think—”

“Be quiet.” Aris slipped from his horse and tossed the reins to Blythe. She barely managed to catch them before they smacked her in the face. She very well almost throttled him with them before he whispered, “Something’s nearby.” Each of his steps was precise, trying to make as little noise as possible.

“You’re probably hearing the hounds.” Blythe scanned the forest for any hint of prying eyes. “We need to get back. There are things I have to take care of.…”

“Stop your muttering and listen.”

She had half a mind to ignore his request and to take off with his own steed in tow, convinced he was toying with her. Yet Blythe gave him a single, begrudging chance, shut her eyes, and listened.

She heard the songs of the forest. A symphony of insect wings and chirping birds. The steady rhythm of a woodpecker high above, beating on the trees. A fluttering of the branches as birds flitted between them.

And somewhere beneath it all a quiet, chittering whine. Blythe’s eyes flew open. “What is that?”

Aris held out his hand, silencing her as he crouched and crept toward the direction of the noise. So deep into a thicket of trees did he venture that she nearly lost sight of him. Her horse blew a snort, as if sensing Blythe’s unease and wanting no part of it. When the reservoir of her patience ran dry and she could no longer quell her curiosity, Blythe slid from the saddle and tied both horses to the sturdiest nearby branch.

She should have followed Eliza back to the manor. She should have used

her illness as an excuse to try to speak with the staff and pry for more information about Everett. Instead, she was trotting after a prince through the woods, fully aware of what this would look like should anyone find them. She tried to be as mindful of her steps as he’d been, though, given the vast number of scattered twigs and bramble littering the ground, it was a more difficult task than she gave him credit for. She hiked her skirts to her knees, breathless and flushed with the effort by the time she found him several minutes later.

The last thing she expected to see was the prince on hands and knees in the dirt, his backside in the air as he reached into a tiny hole in the base of a tree.

“Brace me,” Aris demanded.

Blythe flushed from head to neck. “I beg your pardon?”

“Believe me, love, if I was aiming to seduce you then you’d know it.

Brace me so I can get hold of whatever’s in there.”

She opened her mouth, then pressed it shut with a huff. Checking once more that no one was near, Blythe moved behind him to settle her hands on his hips. Even if Aris himself appeared to have no shame, Blythe tried to keep her gaze averted from the trousers that fit around his thighs frustratingly well.

Aris grunted and dug around inside for a moment longer before he started to lean up, relying on her help to properly straighten. Only then did Blythe see the source of the noise—a tiny black fox, hardly even a kit. He held it out by the scruff, looking the poor creature over.

“There’s blood on the ground,” he said. “I’m surprised it managed to avoid the hounds.”

Blythe’s throat went tight. She had half a mind to push Aris aside and snatch the poor thing away from him, though what she’d do beyond that was a mystery. It wasn’t as though she could take the creature back to Thorn Grove. Perhaps that would have been possible were her father still there, but Byron would have it thrown back into the forest the moment he saw it.

“Are you going to kill it?” she asked, unable to hide her unease. Though she understood that was the entire point of the day and that she had agreed to come, the whole thing felt hopelessly cruel.

Aris held the kit out toward her. “I hear some people like to wear them.

Someone could make it into a scarf.” She blanched. “You wouldn’t.”

He drew the kit back into his chest, cradling it there as though it were a newborn child. “Of course I wouldn’t. Do I look like a barbarian?” He brushed a hand down its dark fur, taking great care with his touch. “We can’t just let the beast go. The hounds will find it in no time if it keeps making that awful noise. Besides, I don’t think it’s old enough to hunt for itself.”

Blythe brushed a soft hand down the fox’s back, careful to avoid touching the prince. “It’s only making that noise because it’s frightened. It can’t help it.”

“Frightened or not, it”—he paused and stretched the fox out again, inspecting its lower half—“excuse me, she is as good as dead if we leave her here.”

Blythe’s gaze flew upward, checking for any sign that he might be joking. Yet his too-bright eyes were as serious as ever, and already he was marching back to his horse. Blythe sighed and hiked up her skirts to follow him.

“You want to bring home a wild fox?” she asked.

“Would I be correct to assume that you’ve a carriage waiting for you at the Wakefields’ manor?” He grimaced as the kit squirmed in his grip. “Be still and stop your fussing, you beastly thing.” Despite the harshness of his words, Aris’s voice was admiringly soft.

Blythe had to shake off her surprise before she could answer. “Of course. Though wouldn’t you want to use yours—”

“And dirty it with a wild animal?” He looked back at her as though she’d sprouted a third eye. “I think not. Yours will do fine.”

Blythe reeled in her temper, telling him only that he was horribly impolite for a prince, which he accepted as a compliment. She kept behind him with the horses in tow. The more she thought about his words, however, the more Blythe realized that she hadn’t seen any carriage fine enough to belong to a prince when she’d arrived.

It made her wonder—where was the rest of the royal family? And why had she never heard of Prince Aris or the country of Verena before? She tried to remember whether she’d seen them the night of Aris’s ball, though most of that night at Wisteria was a haze upon her memories. She

remembered walking in. She remembered speaking with the prince and dancing with him… and then she remembered being back in the carriage with Signa, on their way home.

There were gaps in her memory she hadn’t recognized before. Huge, glaring holes that filled her with unease.

“We can use my carriage,” she said at last, forcing the words out. There wasn’t enough time to muse over strange memory lapses and even stranger possibilities. Especially not when he might notice. “We’ll drop the horses off with the groom and—” She cut off as she saw one of the Wakefields’ stable boys bringing Eliza’s horse into a stall. It seemed Eliza was too ill to continue her ride.

Perhaps it was because of everything she’d suffered through this past year, or because she knew that Eliza could very well be living with a killer, but something about the situation clawed at Blythe with a ferocity she couldn’t ignore. She gripped the reins tight and hurried toward the manor, not waiting for Aris to protest as she called back to him, “Wait for me in the carriage! I’ll be right behind you!”