Ruined (Ruined, #1)(49)

Em hesitated. That meant two to three more days in the castle.

Two to three more days with Cas.

What if she used those days to warn him? She couldn’t just let him die when Olso attacked. Was it foolish to think she could attempt to make him understand?

“Fine,” she said quietly.

“Good,” Iria said. “I’ll send word for some warriors to head down to the Vallos Mountains to help you.”

“That’s another thing,” Em said, rubbing her finger across her necklace. “I’d like you to spare Cas in the attack.”

Silence met her words, the only sound the clock ticking from the other side of the room. Aren’s brow was so furrowed she thought it must have hurt to keep it that way.

“I’m sorry?” Iria finally said.

“Em . . .” Aren’s voice trailed off, and he shook his head, as if trying to find the words. “Why?”

“Cas is not the same as his father. He shouldn’t—”

“You have got to be joking,” Aren said. “Em, please tell me you haven’t fallen in love with him.”

Iria snorted. “You’re the only one who hadn’t noticed, Aren.”

“I’m not in love with him—”

“Of course you’re not,” Iria said.

“I know him,” Em said. “He disagrees with all of his father’s policies, and he’ll change things. If you give him a—”

“I can’t . . .” Aren laughed in a way that almost sounded deranged. “I don’t . . .” He shook his hands in exasperation. “I don’t even have any words.”

Em pressed her lips together, fighting back the sudden urge to cry. Aren was staring at her as if she’d just disappointed him for the first time.

“Our orders are to kill the entire royal family,” Iria said.

“Not Cas,” Em said quietly. Aren sank deeper into his chair, moaning as he put his hands over his face.

“Yes, Cas,” Iria said. “And the king, the queen, and Jovita. The entire royal line needs to be eliminated, which, I would like to remind you, was the plan all along.”

“I know it was. But if you allow Cas to talk to your king—”

“I assure you that King Lucio has no interest in talking to Cas.”

“At least give him the option of surrendering his kingdom willingly!”

“Do you really think he’d take that option?”

Em pressed a hand to her forehead. No. She couldn’t see Cas bowing down to the Olso king and willingly surrendering the kingdom he loved. Even to save his life.

“Listen,” Iria said, her tone softer. “I won’t do it myself. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t kill him. But it’s not up to me. There will be a lot of warriors here—at your request, I might add—and they have orders.”

“Fine.”

“Fine? What does fine mean?”

She stood and walked to the door. “It means fine.” She pulled the door open.

She absolutely had to warn Cas.

Cas rounded the corner, smiling at a staff member scurrying past. He’d felt light all day since waking with Mary by his side. He’d been thinking of nothing else but the expression on her face when she agreed to come back to his room tonight. And hopefully all the nights after that.

He turned into the open door of his mother’s study to find both his parents waiting. His mother stood by her desk, tapping her fingers against it with such vigor she was in danger of denting it. His father was pacing the room.

A large portrait sat in the corner. It was of a man, woman, and young lady. Cas didn’t recognize any of them.

“Shut the door,” his mother said.

He pushed it shut, the sound echoing through the room. “Is everything all right?”

“The painting arrived.” His mother’s mouth was set in a hard line, and she had an expression on her face that he’d never seen before. If she’d had a sword, he might have taken a step back.

“The one of Mary and her parents?” He squinted at the painting. He’d never met the king and queen of Vallos, but he didn’t think the dark-haired girl was Mary. Her skin was paler, her eyes lighter, and she had small, graceful features, like she might break if shoved too hard. The man and woman stood just behind her, a hand on each of her shoulders. The man had impressively bushy eyebrows, his light-brown hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. The woman was pale and thin like her daughter.

“I think you were lied to,” he said. “But it was a nice thought.”

His mother’s chest started heaving, like she’d just been running. “They did not send the wrong painting. That is the king and queen of Vallos.”

“Then who is that?” he asked, pointing to the girl in the painting.

“Oh, wake up, Casimir,” his father snapped.

“That’s Mary,” his mother said, her voice shaking. She clenched her fingers into fists at her side. “The question is, who is the woman you married?”

The world tilted, and he grasped the edge of the chair as he lowered himself into it. That was preposterous. Who would take her place? Why? Where was the real Mary?

More importantly, who had slept in his bed last night?

“Why?” he managed to gasp out, because his mouth wouldn’t form any other word.