Page 45 of To Steal the Sun

Easton had suggested Charlotte could stay behind with Patti and Dane, but he didn’t argue when she refused. He must have already known the attempt was futile. There was no way Charlotte was remaining in the city while the false queen attempted to marry Henry to Gwen. And if everything went wrong, she would be the only one thinking of Henry first.

The count had commanded them to wait until the end—the last of the rebels to arrive in the palace grounds. Easton had protested that, reminding them he was supposed to help guide the other arrivals. But the count insisted Jett and Lydia could manage the task, pointing out that Easton was the most important of all of them. As the man Gwen loved, he was the only one who could free the mountain court from their enchantment.

Easton had reluctantly agreed, and Charlotte had been assigned as his companion. The two of them would creep in together, and they wouldn’t need a guide. But as soon as everyone else had departed, they made a slight adjustment to their plan. Instead of going straight to join the other rebels, they would find Gwen first. They were both desperate to see her for their own reasons, so neither needed much convincing.

They wore cloaks pulled up high over their heads as they strode through the streets in the waning light, keeping to shadows wherever possible. The afternoon was already wearing down, and the city’s people had started dispersing to their homes. If they’d left their departure much later, they would have stood out on the nearly deserted streets.

It wasn’t their first time making the same trek together, but Charlotte had never felt so tense as they crept into the palace gardens. Last time, when they saw a patrol in the distance, Charlotte had made enough noise to draw their attention before fleeing back into the city before they could see her identity.

This time they both needed to make it inside. But Easton must have been right about the guard numbers. They didn’t even encounter a patrol as they wound a circuitous route through the gardens, staying out of sight of the palace windows. Charlotte even grew bold enough to stop and dig up her golden ball and Gwen’s harness. Who knew what need they might have for the objects before the next sunset.

Inside the building, Easton took the lead. But as they walked the corridors, something nagged at Charlotte. The route felt strangely familiar. A door came into view, and she instinctively slowed, half a beat before Easton did.

When he also slowed, stopping at the door, Charlotte’s eyes widened. The gardens and furnishings were so different that she had nearly forgotten the palace was the original version of her and Henry’s castle. And Gwen had the same room she and Henry had shared in the other version.

Chasing away a shiver, Charlotte slipped into the room behind Easton. As soon as he stepped aside, she gasped.

Someone had torn the room to pieces, leaving shredded stuffing, loose feathers, and torn material everywhere she looked. In one corner smashed glass and broken bottles lay shattered across the floor, and even the wardrobe had been toppled.

Her hand flew to her mouth. “What happened to Gwen?” she cried.

“What?” Easton whirled, his pale face fixing on her. But a moment later he relaxed. “Oh, you mean the room? She did it herself.”

Charlotte’s brows rose. “Wow. She really…” She shook her head. But part of her felt proud of her friend. Had it felt as cathartic as it looked? “That’s all right, then,” she added. “I thought someone must have attacked her.”

“I thought that at first too. But where is she now?” Easton looked around uneasily. “The state of the room doesn’t mean anything, but she’s not here. I thought she’d be here this late. Her bear form is supposed to be a secret.”

Charlotte shrugged, trying to chase away the tendrils of panic that stirred on the edges of her own mind. “We knew it wasn’t a guarantee we’d find her here. It isn’t quite sunset yet. And we can’t go blundering around the palace looking for her. That would be asking to be caught.”

Easton reluctantly nodded, but his body didn’t relax, the lines of his muscles remaining tense.

Turning abruptly, he strode to one of the walls and fumbled with something out of Charlotte’s view.

“It’s locked,” he said, clearly frustrated. Banging his fist on the wall, he raised his voice. “Gwen? Gwen? Are you in there?”

“Shhh!” Charlotte hissed. “What are you doing? Do you want someone to hear us?”

Easton slumped. “It didn’t use to be locked.”

“Is that a door?” Charlotte said, able to see the lines of it now she was paying attention. It wasn’t entirely hidden, but it had been designed to blend in with the wall. “I’m sure if she’s in there, she would call out and let us know.”

“We both wanted to speak to her,” Charlotte continued, “but it’s not essential to the plan. We should get to the others so they know we’re safe, and then we’ll come back at night when we know for sure she’ll be here. The count said we had to make contact with her.”

She could still read the reluctance on his face, and she suspected she knew the reason. The count wanted a rebel to make contact with Gwen, but it didn’t have to be Easton. Once they joined the others, it was unlikely Easton would be allowed out again until the crucial moment. But his importance was the reason they couldn’t put off going to the specified apartment any longer. If the rebels thought something had happened to Easton, they would risk going out into the palace to look for him.

Easton knew the realities as well as she did, and he finally sighed and nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

Charlotte winced sympathetically, staying quiet since she knew any words of hers would be meaningless. She felt the same tension in her own belly, urging her to run off and find Henry. But she had already done that once with nearly disastrous results. This time she was going to follow the plan.

Easton’s pace had slowed, but he still led them steadily down corridors and around corners, presumably making for the apartment of the count’s son.

“It’s just up ahead,” he murmured at last, gesturing to the nearest corner.

But before they rounded it, they both pulled up short, exchanging looks. The tramp of boots sounded in the distance. Not the measured tread of a routine guard patrol or the casual stroll of a courtier—multiple people in heavy boots were running full pace in their direction.

Charlotte had only had time to panic when the running feet stopped. She didn’t even finish her breath of relief before the fear returned, however. The sound of an aggressive fist pounding on wood reached them.

“Open in the name of the queen!” a man called.

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