The Queen's Assassin (The Queen's Secret #1)(73)

“One night a villager called for my mother to care for their sick daughter. She’d just had a baby herself, but my father said that only made her more determined to go help. She left me home with the neighbor and headed across town. She was there all night, nursing their daughter. She did her best, but for some things, there is just no cure. The girl died a few days later. The parents blamed my mother. Claimed she was evil, a witch, using Aphrasian secrets nefariously, for her own gain somehow. That she’d stolen their daughter’s lifeblood. A mob came to the house while my father was away on a mission for Queen Lilianna. Broke down the door. Tied her to a pole. Set her on fire.”

I want to comfort him, but I don’t know what to say. “I’m so sorry, Cal. That’s . . . it’s . . .”

“I know,” he says. “But I don’t remember anything. I was just a baby. The mob left me sleeping in the cottage. Luckily she still had at least one friend left—a neighbor who stole me away from the house and kept me until my father could return to collect me.

“When my father died, an old blacksmith took me in as an apprentice and left me the shop in his will. It’s a good cover while I’m bound to service by the oath my father made. I’m the Queen’s Assassin, and if not that, I’m a blacksmith.”

I grab his hand. “Cal—you’re more of a prince than any I’ve ever met.” The words fly from my mouth before I can stop to think about what I’m saying. He looks at me with surprise, and his eyes soften. Maybe he’s thinking of the kiss, maybe even considering another. Because I am.

I feel my heart pound in the silence between us. But he does nothing. I was right, he forgot about it and gives it no further thought. He’s probably kissed dozens of girls.

I drop his hand.

“Everything will be fine tomorrow,” I say to smooth things over and move on. “Get your dancing shoes ready.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Caledon

UNBEKNOWNST TO HIS TRAVELING COMPANION, Cal has not forgotten about the kiss. It is all he can think of when he is not trying to remember where he has seen the duke before. He knows it is important, but for the life of him he cannot recall. He is almost certain the duke is the conspirator against the Renovian crown, but he cannot act until he is certain.

As for the kiss, since it appears Shadow has given it no further thought, and is cheerful and friendly toward him once more, he is careful not to show his feelings. They are friends again, and that is all that matters. But images and sensations keep returning to his mind—her soft, sweet mouth, and the way their bodies moved together, fluid and graceful, during the impromptu dance lesson.

He almost kissed her again, after telling her about his family. It is a good thing she pulled away. Whatever is happening between them has to stop.

On the night of the Small Ball he leaves his room and heads downstairs to meet her in the entry hall, conscious of keeping his stupid cape from getting underfoot.

As he descends the wide staircase, he sees Shadow standing near the door.

She doesn’t see him yet, but it’s clear that she’s waiting for him, and the sight of her takes his breath away.

Her gown is deepest midnight blue, slightly shimmering, with delicate floral embroidery across the bottom of the skirt. A golden sash is tied around her tiny waist, and he makes a silent offer of gratitude to Montrician aristocrats for their preference for incredibly low necklines. Instead of wearing the traditional headpiece, a large conical shape with a sheer veil, she wears her hair pulled up under a blooming crown of flowers to match the embroidery.

His cape is the same shade of blue, with a red dahlia at his breast like the ones on her dress and in her hair.

Her eyes sparkle when she finally catches sight of him. “Cal! How handsome you look!” she says, even though she saw him in it yesterday.

“And you, my lady, will have a dozen proposals before the night is through,” Cal says, bowing to her.

She laughs. “I hope not!” So do I, Cal thinks as he offers his arm to escort her.

The duke and duchess join them in the entry hall. The duchess is flustered. She fans herself frantically with her right hand, balancing her tiny puppy in her left. “The ambassador has taken ill,” she exclaims. She looks at her husband. “Is it contagious, do you suppose?”

“I told you, dear, the doctor assured me it is not,” he says calmly.

The fan shakes even faster. “Oh dear. I do hope it’s not . . . foul play . . .”

“People do get ill,” the duke says, dismissing her.

“I suppose you’re right. Terribly disappointing.” The duchess hands her yapping pup over to a footman and brushes hair off the front of her gown.

“Honestly, don’t you know better by now?” the duke says to her.

“Oh, hush,” she says. “Let’s go or we’ll be late!” She takes a long look at Cal. “Well, don’t you make a fine knight in shining armor, oh my!” She pats his shoulder with her fan on her way past him to the door. “And, Lady Lila, you look positively . . . interesting.”

The couple exits ahead of Cal and Shadow and climbs into the first waiting coach.

Once they’re settled in their own carriage and the clopping of hooves covers their voices better, Shadow whispers: “What do you think about the ambassador?”