The Queen's Assassin (The Queen's Secret #1)(74)

“Certainly suspicious.”

“Do you think he was poisoned?”

“It’s possible. But I think it’s more likely he’s using illness as an excuse, like we did. Maybe he thinks it will be easily believed because it will seem like he caught it from us.”

“Not sure what to make of ‘the doctor assures me it’s not contagious.’”

Cal shrugs. “We don’t have enough information. And right now, it isn’t our concern. You need to get King Hansen to talk. Dance with him. See what you can find out, who is close to him. I think he’ll like dancing with you a lot more than me.”

“I’m not so sure about that. You look awfully dapper tonight, Lord Callum. I think you could loosen anyone’s lips.”

“Even yours?” he asks.

She turns toward the window, pink spreading across her cheeks.



* * *





THEIR CARRIAGE DRIVES UP the lane leading to King Hansen’s castle. It’s illuminated by torches all the way up to the curved approach in front of the entry. They pull up behind other carriages and wait their turn to exit and go inside. Footmen rush to open carriage doors, while royal guards stand outside the doorway. Yellow light spills out onto the front steps.

Finally, it’s their turn. A footman opens the coach door and Cal steps out. He turns and offers his gloved hand to Shadow. As she emerges, people stop to stare, dazzled by her beauty. Shadow seems not to notice, but Cal does, feeling a surge of pride at being her escort. She is mine, he thinks, before he can stop it.

The palace has been transformed since the last time they were there for the weekly audience. For one thing, it’s much more crowded, though Cal can’t tell if there are more people or if the elaborate gowns and capes are taking up all the space. There are thick green flowered garlands strung over every window and doorway. Tables are covered in shimmering white tablecloths that are accented in thin gold and silver thread. Urns of flowers are set up in every corner and at every table, along with gold candelabras holding bright white tapered candles. Blazing chandeliers are suspended from the ceiling, and hanging gems glitter in the firelight. A fire roars in the giant hearth. Musicians wearing green and white play merry tunes while guests dance or gather in groups, talking and laughing over plates heaped with food. A chef carves fresh meats from a spit in an adjoining room while footmen pour bottles of the finest Argonian wine into long-stemmed glasses.

King Hansen, in head to toe gold brocade and white lace, glides across the dance floor with a flaxen-haired maiden in a flouncy mint-green gown, one of the higher-ranked noblemen’s eligible daughters. “I wonder if that’s her,” Shadow says to Cal. “The one he’s meant to marry?”

He shakes his head and points to a line forming on the other side of the dance floor. At least a dozen similar-looking aristocratic young women stand there, waiting for a chance to dance with the king. It’s already clear they can’t get near Hansen. “Every woman in Mont wants a turn with him,” Shadow says. “So which one is the one?”

“Does it matter? Once he sees you looking like that, I have a feeling he’ll let you skip to the front of the queue,” Cal says.

Shadow looks at him out of the corner of her eye.

“What?” he says.

“Nothing,” she answers.

“Tell me,” he insists.

“You are full of compliments tonight.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, it’s just . . . you’ve never noticed before. How I look.”

How could I not? Every man in here does. “That’s not true,” he says. “It’s just that you look different this evening.”

“Just different?” But there is a teasing lilt to her tone and not the hostility from the other day.

“You look very pretty,” he admits finally.

“I’ll accept it,” she says with a smug smile.

A nobleman in an outfit like Cal’s comes toward them. “Uh-oh. Here we go,” Shadow mutters to Cal.

The man holds out his hand to Shadow. “May I have this dance?”

She accepts his hand. He leads her to the dance floor. She looks back at Cal with a pleading expression. He puts his hands up. What can I do? he mouths. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at him just as the nobleman swings her around and sweeps her away into the crowd.

Cal moves to the edges of the room and stays in the shadows, as far from the dance floor as he can while still observing the guests. His gaze sweeps the room and settles on two men in the opposite corner, deep in conversation. He follows their gaze toward King Hansen. He must get closer to them, but it’s almost impossible to concentrate on them when he’s so distracted.

Shadow twirls by, holding her skirt up so that it billows out even farther, led by another member of Montrice’s lesser nobility. This one appears to be respecting her space, at least. She is smiling politely but keeps looking around the room. Another nobleman cuts in. She isn’t going to have a moment alone at this rate—they all want her attention, however brief. And who can blame them? She’s practically glowing tonight.

Her face is fresh, natural, and she holds herself with a charming forthrightness. No one would ever guess she’s a beekeeper’s ward, let alone an apprentice assassin.

Shadow glides by again, with a new dance partner. More are waiting at the sidelines, itching to step in. They all think they’re wooing the titled heiress to a substantial foreign estate. Cal’s amused at the thought of them finding out who she really is.