Page 46 of To Steal the Sun

Charlotte and Easton exchanged horrified looks, both still frozen in place.

The fist banged again and then the creak of the door opening.

“What is the meaning—” the voice of the count’s son started in cold tones, but the first voice cut him off.

“Don’t bother, traitor,” he snapped. “You’re surrounded.”

Instant chaos broke out just out of sight, shouts, cries, screams, and pounding feet. It sounded like furniture was being overturned, and Charlotte could barely breathe, let alone move.

Easton sprang into action, however. Dragging Charlotte with him, he pulled open a narrow door that was almost hidden in the paneling of the wall, just as the one in Gwen’s room had been. He shoved her inside. Following behind, he pulled the door closed.

Enough light came in around the door for Charlotte to identify their location as a storage cupboard. Easton bent down at an awkward angle and pressed one eye against the wall. Charlotte stared at him in confusion until he pulled back and gestured impatiently for her to go to the other side of the door.

There was just enough room for her to fit, so she obeyed, eyeing him as he bent over again. From the new angle, she could see he was pressing his eyes against a tiny circle of light. A peephole!

Searching the wall in front of her, she found another point of light and bent toward it. She didn’t know how long she could maintain such an uncomfortable position, and she couldn’t imagine why anyone would put peepholes at such a level. Charlotte was short, so if it was uncomfortable for her, it wouldn’t suit anyone but a child.

Understanding dawned. Of course. Easton and Gwen had spent their childhood roaming these halls. Apparently spying from storage cupboards had been part of their childish adventures. No wonder Easton had known just where to go.

She positioned herself so she could see out into the corridor beyond. It was empty, but the distant sounds of a scuffle were dying down now, replaced with barked orders and the occasional muffled cry. They didn’t have to wait long before a line of people came into view.

The rebels had their hands on their heads, their expressions ranging from terrified to resigned. A line of guards marched on either side of them, swords gripped in their hands and faces stern.

Charlotte had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out when she saw Jett and Lydia marched past, and Easton went rigid beside her. But the worst was the very end of the line. The final figure was much too short, his movement out of step with the others due to the crutches beneath his arms.

Behind him, two guards hauled a man who wasn’t marching but instead struggling with his captors. When his face flashed in their direction, Charlotte recognized the count’s son—Emmett’s father.

“My son is not part of this,” he said in heated tones. “I don’t even know why he was home. He’s only seven!”

Emmett flinched, and it was easy to guess he and his mother had been sent away for safety but he had snuck back. The clack of his clutches didn’t falter, though, his head high as he followed in the line of prisoners.

The guards at the back were all turned toward the struggling nobleman, but he twisted in the direction of the storage cupboard, facing directly toward their hiding place.

Easton straightened, and before Charlotte knew what was happening, the door had flashed partially open before immediately closing again.

The count’s son went slack at the brief glimpse of Easton, his eyes fixed on the now closed door. Several of the guards also turned that way, following the direction of his gaze. There was nothing left to see, however, thanks to Easton’s quick movement, and the count’s son quickly resumed his struggles, distracting them.

“What was that?” Charlotte hissed at Easton, as quietly as she could.

He shrugged. “I saw an opportunity, and I took it. At least now they know we’re still free. And that we know what happened to them.”

“But how do we know they’re not all being marched off to be executed?” Charlotte whispered as the sound of their marching line faded from her hearing. Tears of panic and horror pricked at her eyes, and she could only imagine how much worse it had to be for Easton.

Easton slid slowly down to sit on the floor, his hands fisted and eyes blazing but the lines of his body broken and weary.

“We can’t know for sure, but I doubt it. That isn’t the queen’s style. She won’t want to just eliminate her enemies. She’ll want to make sure no one else tries the same thing. She’s making a grand spectacle of this wedding—even some of the more prominent people from the city have been invited—so I don’t think she’ll miss the chance to make a show of this as well. Whatever she intends to do to them, it will happen tomorrow, in front of the wedding guests.”

“Tomorrow,” Charlotte said slowly. It was only a small reprieve, but it was better than thinking of all those people already dead.

“And surely she wouldn’t execute Emmett in front of a crowd,” she murmured. “That would hardly garner sympathy.”

“We can only hope so,” Easton said roughly, and Charlotte guessed he was thinking of his parents.

“She isn’t going to execute anyone,” she said in a bracing voice. “We’re still free, and we’ll find a way to rescue them.”

Easton gave a bark of humorless laughter. “How are we going to do that?”

Charlotte straightened. “We’re not. I am.”

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