The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(102)
“Thank you, Your Highness.” I lifted my voice. “I look forward to repairing the damage of the One-Night War and the years since.”
The prince took my hand and kissed it, lingering just a second too long. My heartbeat throbbed as he whispered, “I’m sorry,” against my skin.
Sorry for what?
He drew back, squaring his jaw. “The last item I would like to share with you is this: my father’s death has convinced me of what must be done. I am moved to act for the benefit of this kingdom and the people within it.”
The crowd below was absolutely silent.
“I’ve already announced my engagement to Lady Meredith Corcoran.” He motioned the duchess to stand next to him, and she did. They were beautiful together, his darkness and her lightness, regal in the way they complemented each other just as King Terrell had said they would. “My lady, I humbly apologize for the delay in setting a date.”
She nodded, all forgiveness.
“It was my father’s dream to see us married. Though he’s gone now, I must believe his spirit is still with us. Immediately following my coronation, I will begin the preparations for our wedding. I hope the winter solstice is soon enough.”
Meredith hadn’t taken her eyes off him the whole time he was speaking, and now her face lit up with a smile. “It’s perfect.” Daintily, delicately, she lifted onto her toes, and kissed him.
Below, the crowd cheered and celebrated. Tobiah’s mother and cousin smiled approvingly.
Only years of disguising my emotions saved me from the urge to stagger back, to press my hands against my heart or mouth. He was really doing it. He was really going to marry her.
I shouldn’t have felt betrayed. He’d been promised to her from the start, and I’d been the interloper. I hadn’t even liked Tobiah. Only Black Knife.
But maybe that didn’t matter.
As the cheering crescendoed, I gazed across the courtyard, praying my expression was cool and unaffected by the prince holding his duchess in his arms.
On the rooftop of a nearby mansion, a figure moved. A man. On the next rooftop over, another shadow lurched up, frighteningly graceful and unusually long. The wraith boy?
The first shadow lifted something in front of him, and aimed.
“Get down!” The words were out before I realized, and everything happened in quick succession.
The shooter on the roof loosed his crossbow bolt.
I grabbed Tobiah’s shoulders and pulled him back.
The wraith boy surged across the rooftops with a thunderous roar.
Screams erupted in the courtyard below.
The bolt struck Tobiah in the stomach, rather than his heart where it had been aimed, and the prince collapsed to the balcony floor, half in my arms.
Uniformed men rushed through Tobiah’s apartments and onto the balcony, shouting and creating a barrier of bodies.
Francesca and Meredith were pulled inside, even as they reached for Tobiah.
Blood poured from the wound in Tobiah’s gut, filling the air with an angry scent of copper. I was already sitting over him with his head cushioned in my lap when men began cutting away the bloodied shirt to inspect the wound.
“Trust Wilhelmina.” Tobiah’s order came out weak, but the men exchanged glances; they’d heard. “Protect her.”
Gently, I cupped his cheeks in my hands and tried to meet his gaze, but his eyelids kept drifting shut. “When are you going to learn?” I rasped. “I don’t want to be rescued.”
His mouth twitched into a pale smile. “I don’t want to fight.”
Then he closed his eyes.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
LIKE REVOLUTIONS, PUBLISHING a book is a team effort. Many thanks to the people (more than I could ever name!) who helped get The Orphan Queen out into the world.
My dear ladies in the palace of publishing:
Lauren MacLeod, my agent with an arsenal of highlighters and soothing words. I could never have stormed this castle without you.
Sarah Shumway and Laurel Symonds, my editors who wield red pens like swords. Ladies, songs will be sung in your honor. They will tell tales far and wide of your editorial wisdom.
Katherine Tegen, the queen of KTB. I am ever honored that my books are worthy of holding your logo on their spines.
Alana Whitman, Lauren Flower, Onalee Smith, Rosanne Romanello, Aubry Parks-Fried, and Margot Wood: an extraordinary and supportive team of ladies who can talk books like no one’s business.
Amy Ryan, Erin Fitzsimmons, and Colin Anderson: costumers extraordinaire who understand that authenticity is key to any disguise.
Lots of love to the Ospreys in my life:
Adam Heine, who understood immediately where I was aiming with this story.
Christine Nguyen, who code-named this story Batprince. How you read entire first drafts in little chat boxes, I will never understand.
C. J. Redwine, a terrific writer, critique partner, and friend. Sorry I’m not sorry that your street smells like pee. It’s out of love.
Gabrielle Harvey, who didn’t disown me for what happened to that violin bow. I probably don’t deserve you, but I’m glad you stick around anyway.
Jaime Lee Moyer, one of the strongest people I will ever know.
Joy Hensley, my friend, fellow writer, and surprise fifth cousin by marriage (totally a legitimate relationship). Remember that time I trapped you in the car for two hours and made you listen to my mad plot ramblings?