When I awake, I have one blissful, quiet moment when I think everything was a dream, and Iโll blink into the morning sunlight and shudder over the tricks my mind played on me.
Instead, I canโt blink the darkness away, because thereโs something over my head.
I canโt move my hands because theyโre still chained, and the right one seems to have gone a bit numb.
My heart immediately leaps into action. I struggle to sit up, to right myself somehow, but Iโm lying in what feels like a pile of pillows, and I canโt gain any leverage or traction.ย ๎ขe guards did exactly what he said, and thereโs a hood over my head, tied at the neck the way the prisoners wore them on the stage. I canโt tell what Iโm wearing, but the heavy warmth of my homespun skirts is gone. Iโm not naked, but the idea of someone undressing me while I was unconscious, of being at Prince Corrickโs mercy in that way, is . . . abhorrent. My stomach rolls and threatens to empty itself.
But my body doesnโt feel abused, aside from the aches from being chained. And I feel dressed, just not in my own clothes. From what I can tell, Iโm alone.
I choke down my panic, little by little, until I can force my thoughts to organize. I need a plan.
Iโm chained and e๏ฌectively blindfolded. No plan is forthcoming.
๎ปink, Tessa.ย ๎ขereโs aย re somewhere to my le๎; I can hear it crackling. And Iโm not sure how I can tell, but this room feels . . . large. Maybe I can roll myself somewhere that I canย nd . . .
Find what? A key? Iโm not sure who I think Iโm kidding, but Weston wouldย nd this hilarious.
What are you going to do?
Iโm sure you canย gure it out.
I canย gure it out. I already have. Every time I think of it, the pit of my stomach gives way and I nearly vomit into this burlap sack. Just the memory of his terrible voice saying the words sets a tremor rolling through my body again.
No. A plan. I need one.
A door clicks, and I go still.
๎ขereโs no noiseโor maybe I canโt hear anything over the rush of my heart. Tension holds my body rigid, braced against the chains.
Something brushes against my bruised and aching wrist, and I jerk so violently that I think I might break my arm. I drive my feet into theย oor, onlyย nding more pillows and no traction.
โNo!โ I cry out as a hand closes around my forearm. Iโm choking on each word, pulling away, my head shaking violently. โNo! No! Noโโ
โMind your mettle, Tessa.โย ๎ขe voice is low and so๎ย and so familiar that it forces me still the way nothing else would. โYou donโt want to draw the guards in here.โ
Iโm frozen in place. Iโm dreaming.ย ๎ขis isnโt real.ย ๎ขisย canโtย be real. โWes?โ I whisper, and my voice is so so๎.
โIโll unchain you, but you have to be absolutely quiet.โ
Itโs his voice. Itโs hisย voice. Maybe Iโm hallucinating, but Iโm nodding almost involuntarily. I donโt know how heโs alive, or where he found a key, or how he got in here, but I donโt care. His hands, always warm and sure, brush my wrists, and the chains give way.
โTessa,โ he says so๎ly, โI need to tell youโโ
I launch myself forward blindly and throw my arms around his neck.
๎ขereโs still a sack tied around my head, and one hand has all but fallen asleep, but the relief that courses through me is so fast and true.
โPlease say itโs you,โ I whisper. โPlease tell me Iโm not dreaming.โ
His hands come around my back, and heโs holding me lightly. His scent is in my nose, comforting and familiar. I was shaking in terror before, but now Iโm shaky with adrenaline and relief. Wes is here. I want to burrow into him.
โEasy,โ he says so๎ly. โEasy.โ
I have so many questions that they allย ght to get out of my mouth at once, and I draw back. I have toย ght to keep to a whisper. โHow? How did you escape? Whoโs hanging on the gate?โ I startย ghting with the knot at the
base of the sack, but half myย ngers are numb and refuse to work. I need to see him. Nothing matters now that Wes is hereโnow that weโre together. โHow can we get out? How long do we have before youโre discovered? How
โโ
โLord, Tessa.โ He brushes my hands away with typical Wes-like impatience. โHold still.โ
I hear the swish of a blade and a quick rip of fabric, and the burlap sack loosens. Now Iโm the impatient one, and I reach up to yank it free. I blink in the light as everything snaps into focus. I need to see the blue of his eyes and the stubble across his jaw and the few freckles the mask reveals and theโ
My brain stops short.
๎ขe man in front of me isnโt Wes.ย Canโtย be Wes.
Every ounce of relief shrivels up and dies. Panic swells toย ll the space. I try to shove myself back, but my feet are still chained and my body isnโt ready for quick motion.
Regardless, he doesnโt pursue me, just sits crouched in front of me, the length of his black jacket pooling on theย oor beside his boots. Reddish- brown hair dri๎s across his forehead, and I know the pattern of those freckles.ย ๎ขe knife hangs loosely in his hand.
I remember Karriโs words from the day of the riots.ย ๎ปeyโre very handsome, donโt you think?
Prince Corrick.
My mouth is dry, my pulse a steady thrum in my ears. I canโt comprehend how heโd know the right words or have the right voice or why heโd go to the trouble, but this is a trick. A manipulation. It has to be. His eyes arenโt like Wesโs eyes at all.ย ๎ขeyโre cold, and shuttered, and completely unreadable.
But theyโre vivid blue.
When I donโt move, he sheaths the knife and reaches for my ankles.
I shove myself back again, and itโs easier now, my hands more willing to workโbut thereโs a wall beyond these pillows and I donโt go far. โDonโt you touch me,โ I snap.
โI told you to keep your voice down.โ His voice isnโt quite like Wesโs now either.ย ๎ขereโs a command in his tone that Wes lacked. An edge. An impatience.
He reaches for my ankles again.
โNo!โ I kick out at him. He seizes the chain easily, taking hold of my feet, but my hands are free, so I lurch forward and punch him right in the face.
I think I genuinely take him by surprise. He swears and rocks back, and it grants me a few feet of freedom, but I donโt get far before he grabs me again, so I swing around with myย st ready.ย ๎ขis time I catch him in the stomach, but he deย ects.
โTessa! Enough.โย ๎ขereโs blood on his lip.
Good. I donโt care. I throw a punch right at his crotch. Direct hit. He doubles over. I scramble for the door.
My feet are still chained and I trip over myself, crashing to theย oor. Corrick recovers faster than Iโm ready for, and he takes hold of my shoulder andย ips me over. I scream and kick at him again.
I hear the door click, but suddenly heโs on top of me, his hips pinning my hips, his daggerโwhat Iย hopeย is his daggerโjutting into my abdomen. I shove at him, but he catches one of my arms and slams it to the ground. I cry out and try to wrench free. He doesnโt give, but my shi๎ย does, and I hear fabric tear.
โI told you to be quiet,โ he growls, his face terrifyingly close to mine. I jerk back and more fabric tears, revealing my breast.
Something in my abdomen clenches, and my vision goes spotty, as I remember the cold note in his voice when he told the consul,ย Iโm sure you canย gure it out. Iโm wheezing now, and tears haveย lled my eyes. โNo,โ I cry, trying toย nd leverage to strike at him. โNo.โ
โYour Highness,โ says a male voice, and I freeze.ย ๎ขe only thing worse than being assaulted by Corrick would be having it happen in front of an audience. But then the man says, โAre you in need of assistance?โ
โDo I look like Iโm in need of assistance?โ Corrick snaps. โGet out.โ
๎ขe door clicks closed. Corrick looks down at me from inches away. Blood has smeared across his cheek. His weight still pins me to theย oor. My breathing is a wild rush between us.
โYou snuck in here to kill me and my brother,โ he says to me, and his voice is cold. โIf you continue toย ght me, the guards will continue to check.
๎ขeir captain wanted to station a guard inside my quarters. Do you understand me?โ
I swallow and shake my head. I donโt understand any of this.
โEveryone in this palace expects the worst of me, Tessa.โ When he reaches for the ripped fabric at my shoulder, Iย inch and shudder, but he simply pulls the cloth back up to cover any exposed skin. โ๎ขe only place I can o๏ฌer you safety is here, in this room.โ
Either Iโm insane or he is. I donโt know what to make of any of this. I sure donโt feelย safe.
Maybe he can tell, because his eyes search mine. He sighs. โIf I let you up, can you agree not to punch me again?โ
I shake my head quickly, and he rolls his eyesโand all of a sudden, just for aย icker of time, he looks like Wes. โWell, thatโs true enough, Iโm sure.โ
He lets me go anyway, rolling agilely to his feet. He tosses a small ring of keys onto theย oor beside me. โUnchain yourself.โ
I try to pick up the keys, but my hands are shaking, and they rattle between my palms.
Corrick can surely hear it, but he moves away, toward a low table near the door.ย ๎ขereโs an array of bottles and glasses that sparkle in the light. He takes a glass and pours an amber liquid into it.
Iโve unchained my ankles, and I knot the fabric at my shoulder, but when he turns around, I coil the chain between my hands and glare up at him deย antly.
He raises his eyebrows, then drinks whatever he poured in one swallow. โWould you rather be thrown into the Hold?โ
No. Yes. Maybe. I donโt know.
Perhaps he can read thatย icker of indecision that crosses my face because he nods. โFair enough.โ He pours another glass. โPut the chain down.โ
I tighten myย ngers on the links.
๎ขe corner of his mouth turns up, but he looks more disappointed than amusedโand again, just for the briefest moment, he reminds me of Wes. โLord, Tessa.โ He tosses back this drink just as quickly.
โWas it you the whole time?โ I whisper.
โIt certainly wasnโt me half the time.โ He pours another drink. โPut the chain down. Now.โ
๎ขat cold tone of command has reentered his voice, and it speaks to a place inside of me that wants toย inchโbut also wants to rebel. My palms have gone slick on the links, but I donโt let go. He might have backed o๏ฌย for
now, but he certainly wasnโt gentle in the throne room, when he must have known who I was.
Betrayal burns in my chestโbut itโs also wrapped up in shock and disbelief. Wes is too kind, too compassionate, too . . . not this man.
โProve it,โ I say, and my voice wavers, but I square my shoulders and keep my eyes locked on his. โProve youโre Wes. Prove youโre not tricking me.โ
I expect him to refuse, because Iโm in no position to make demands, but he sets down his glass and moves across the room to a low chest. He burrows through it for a moment, then draws out a length of black fabric and a hat.
He ties the mask into place, then eases the hat onto his head, giving the brim a tug in a way thatโs unequivocally Weston. My breath catches.ย ๎ขe length of chain slips out of myย ngers to rattle against theย oor.
I donโt know what this means. I donโt know what to do. I press my hands against my mouth to keep from crying out. Too many emotions are warring in my chest. Relief. Fury. Despair. For days, Iโve been grieving Westonโs death, and now, to discover that it was all a trick . . .
๎ขis is an entirely di๏ฌerent kind of grief. An entirely di๏ฌerent kind of loss. When Wes died, I lost the hope of . . . of any kind of future with him.
With this discovery, itโs like losing all of our history, too.
He takes o๏ฌย the hat and removes the mask, burying them down in the chest again. When heโs done, he returns to the side table and picks up the glass with the amber liquid.
I expect him to toss this back as quickly as he did the others, but to my surprise, he approaches me and holds it out. โYou look like you need this more than I do.โ
I donโt want to take itโbut heโs not wrong. When he releases it into my hands, the liquid is trembling.
I close myย ngers around the glass and breathe. I want to throw it at him.
As if he can read my thoughts, he says, โIf you throw it at me, Iโll cut your hands o๏ฌ.โ
I keep my hands clutched tightly around the drink. If he were Wes, Iโd know he was kidding. But heโs not Wes, heโs one of the most feared men in all of Kandala, and I know for a fact heโs done worse. I donโt have to look farther than the men hanging from the sector gate.
I stare up at him and wonder who he killed to make this secret last.
I wonder why he kept this secret. Why he did this at all. Why he killed someone else to fake the death of Weston Lark. For as betrayed as I feel, the confusion about all of it is almost worse. What did he have to gain?
Heโs looking back at me without any hint of emotion on his face, o๏ฌering no clues. So I keep the glass and I take a sip, and the liquor burns a path all the way down to my belly.
And then, because all of this fury and loss and anger and disappointment has to go somewhere, I draw back my hand and throw the drink right at him.
