Amalia leans out, frowning at the roof below. It’s only mildly slanted, and the drop from the window isn’t that great. The problem is the ledge beyond it. One misstep and it would be a long, deadly fall to the courtyard below.
She glances at me. “You’re taking me to Braeton?”
“That’s right. You might think I could simply walk you to his quarters, but no, Father insists on making things difficult. It’s not because of you—in fact, he’s quite pleased with you at the moment.” I pause. “Of course, that’s only because he doesn’t yet know that you married Rhys in Renove—is that true, by the way? Did you actually marry Rhys? I can’t get a direct answer out of my brothers.”
“It’s true,” she growls, shaking her head as if Rhys is a subject that’s still causing her great irritation.
“Hmm.” I shake my head, baffled by the entire situation. “Anyway, Father is being so stubborn about Braeton because we caused a bit of trouble not long before you arrived in Draegan.”
“We?” she asks.
“He caught me in Braeton’s quarters—a place I’m not allowed to be. Don’t worry,” I add quickly. “It wasn’t nearly as scandalous as it sounds.”
Unfortunately.
The princess studies me with the strangest expression. “What were you doing in his room?”
“Hoping to convince him to sneak out of the castle for the afternoon. There’s only so many times a girl can lose to your brother at Echelon before she’d rather not play.”
“You’re Draegan’s princess,” she says suddenly.
I raise my brows. “Yes…”
As if the fact means far more to her than it does to me, she takes a step forward. Her eyes lock on mine as she demands, “Do you have feelings for Braeton?”
Suddenly nervous, I laugh and turn toward the window. “So, what do you think? Can you make it?”
Reluctant to change the subject, Amalia looks out the window once more. “Does Rhys know what you have planned?”
“No.”
“Do you think he’d approve of it?”
“Not likely.”
Amalia gives me a grim smile. “Then, I’ll do it.”
5
At first glance, Rhys’s sister was not at all what I expected. She’s lovely and petite, with a sweet voice, fair skin, and deep auburn hair.
But now I realize first impressions can be deceiving. In the sunlight, Cassia’s hair flames a deep scarlet, and her eyes are shockingly green. She hops across the roof like a mountain goat—like she’s done it a hundred times. And maybe she has.
“Careful here,” Cassia coaxes from the other side of the roof ledge. “It’s just a bit narrow.”
“A bit?” I lean against the stone wall, rethinking the wisdom in crawling out the window.
“All right, it’s a lot narrow,” she amends. “But only for a very short section. If you’d rather, you can jump it.”
Gritting my teeth, I cling to the stone ledge with one hand and grasp my skirt with the other—drawing it to the side so I can see my feet. Cassia’s right—if I can make it across the Chasm, I can make it across this.
I walk the short stretch, exhaling with relief when I make it to the window Cassia stands beside.
She leans over to peer inside. “I’ll go in first to make sure the hall is clear.”
Cassia then pushes the glass open and disappears. I stand on the roof, looking across the dead kingdom. The summer sun is hot, but a cool, welcome breeze tugs at my hair and gown. I turn to the south, hit with a sudden bout of homesickness.
What are Mother and Father doing right now? What about Keir and Gage and Kess?
Moments later, Cassia sticks her head out the window, interrupting my gloomy thoughts. “No one is around.”
I kneel down and step inside the window. My feet have barely touched the floor before Cassia is out of the room. She looks back, motioning for me to follow her down the hall.
“We have to hurry through here,” she whispers. “If we get caught, it will be now.”
We walk briskly, neither of us speaking. But when we pass a painting with familiar faces, I pause. Rhys stares back at me, younger but just as solemn. Tryndon stands next to him, along with Cassia and a boy I assume is their youngest brother. He’s older now, but I recognize him. He was in the throne room when I was first brought in, standing close to his father.
The king and queen sit in the middle of the portrait, surrounded by their children.
My eyes land on Rhys’s mother. She’s the only member of the family I haven’t seen in person.
Cassia pauses. “That was done several years ago.”
“Before your mother was sick?” I ask softly, remembering Rhys’s words from the manor.
She glances at me and then nods.
“You look like her.”
“Yes.” She turns down the hall. “We’re almost there. Let’s hurry.”
I follow her until she stops in front of the wall.
Cassia runs her hand along the stones. “I can never remember where it’s at.”
“What are you doing?”
“Here it is,” she says when a section of the wall swings open.
I gape at it. “What is this?”
“A passage,” she says, stepping inside. “I remembered to light a lantern before I came to your room. Half the time, I have to navigate it in the dark.”
Hesitant to enter, I stand outside the passage. An intricate spider web hangs from the ceiling, draping down like a curtain and casting ominous shadows in the flickering firelight. “What made that?”
Cassia follows my eyes. “It’s all right. I travel these every day, and I’ve never seen a Chasm tarantula in here. Just stay close to the wall when you come in, and you won’t get the web in your hair.”
That’s reassuring.
I’m just about to step inside when a hand falls on my shoulder. I whirl around, barely able to muffle a startled scream.
Edwin frowns past me at Cassia. “What exactly are you doing?”
Cassia hurries over, pulling first me, and then Edwin, into the tunnel. Once we’re clear, she shuts the entry and turns to her brother. “What are you doing here?”
“Imagine my surprise when I glanced out the window of my study and happened to see you leading Amalia across the roof.”
I study Rhys’s elder brother in the dim light, truly looking at him for the first time. I haven’t seen him since he escorted me from the throne room.
He looks a bit like Tryndon. They share the same blond hair, and they’re both a little stockier than Rhys.
“I’m taking Amalia to see Braeton,” Cassia says, squaring her shoulders as if she expects him to argue. “She has a right to see her brother—they aren’t prisoners.”
Edwin glances at me, and then he nods. “I agree, but perhaps there are better ways to go about it.”
Humor lights his sister’s eyes. “It was Tryndon’s idea.”
“Since when do we listen to Tryndon?”
Imagining how indignant their younger brother would be if he’d heard that, I accidentally snort out a sudden, unladylike laugh.