Page 39 of Of Glass and of Gold

“Then I better get to him quickly.”

Seb might find it strange that a man of my rank would personally inquire about a singular murder, but it was more than that. Something fishy was going on by those docks—no pun intended—and any additional information was valuable. This suspect could reveal something pertinent to add to the well of knowledge I’d recently acquired.

In one night, a disguised prince and a femme fatale uncovered an operation with a shielded ship. I didn’t want to disparage my guardsmen, but I’d found that seeking answers myself proved more informative.

My feet carried me effortlessly down the halls and corridors that led to the dungeons. As we descended further into the depths of the castle, shivers erupted over my skin. The cold thrived down here. It tracked that my father heavily believed in incarceration and had no problem frequenting this level. As a boy, he’d often bring me along. Wanted to teach me why those who got out of control deserved to be shackled to this place. The torches on the walls fought every second not to lose the battle against the chill, their flames licking and struggling to cling to life.

Two guardsmen stood at the entrance of the long, foreboding hallway. They nodded in greeting, and I extended my hand in which they placed the iron keyring. I whipped around to come face-to-face with Sebastian, who had followed. “Remain here with the guards.”

“Your Highness, I should go w—”

My raised hand silenced him. “I’ll be but a few minutes. Plus, I think I can defend myself against an unconscious man.” I winked, then clapped him on the shoulder, hoping to loosen the tension gathered at his shoulders.

He laughed, but the joy didn’t reach his eyes. He probably remembered the little boy who fled up the stairs the moment his father dismissed him. I might still be young at twenty-four years of age, but that boy had become a man capable of handling a prisoner interrogation. Though, maybe not in the same vicious way my father loved so much. Still, I couldn’t mask that it pricked me a little to see the pity in his softened eyes that were usually hard as stone.

Ignoring it, I pressed toward the cells. The whistle of the wind played through the decaying walls, crumbled stone dusting the floor. The stench of death and decay had rooted itself so deeply that I always imagined the wind found its way in here, only to weep. To mourn for the life and health that would never quite reach.

When my gaze fell upon the man laying across the cell floor, not even on the stone bench, my hope dampened. The keys jingled together, the sound almost muted by the chilly moisture in the air. I turned the rusted lock, and it opened with a thud. The bars screeched as they swung on their rusty hinges.

The man didn’t stir. Where any hair remained on his head, it’d silvered from age. His skin looked weathered and worn, an array of age spots and dirt scattering his fair complexion. He cradled his body, hugging himself against the cold. The joints on his fingers whitened from the tense grip of the well-worn, oversized tunic.

A flicker of hope swelled within me. He was conscious.

I stepped inside, my boots scuffing against the stone, and the man jolted to see who had come near. The whites of his milky blue eyes shot to mine, and through his gasps of terror at my closeness, I offered consolation.

“It’s alright, I’m not here to hurt you.” I held my hands up in a placating way, bearing no weapons.

It took him a moment to look me over, but he started to calm once he’d assessed for himself. Dried blood smeared down his forehead from a nasty gash, and his cheeks were cut up and bruised. How this old man had put up such a fight against my guards was awe-inspiring.

“Why did you kill that man on the beach?” I asked.

His pale lips fumbled. “I-I, w-what man?”

Anyone with a soul would feel empathy for this man in such a frightened, weakened state. Generally, those caught for their bad actions resorted to lying about it. Despite already being imprisoned, a classic tactic was deny, deny, deny. Yet the flicker of confusion in this man’s stuttering question looked convincingly genuine. “Was anyone else with you on the beach that night?” Changing the question to one with incriminating language would further this along.

His coarse, sparse eyebrows pinched together, trying to decipher my question. “I don’t g-go near the beach, Y-Your Highness. Can’t sw–swim.”

I didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that he realized who I was. Depending how he felt toward the Crown would determine how much truth he would share.

“What’s your name?”

“Heathson.” He shivered, clutching his arms tighter. The movement called my attention. His bulging knuckles were white, but nothing more. No sign of cuts, bruises, or blood. My stomach turned over on itself. Murderer or not, a feeble man lay in agony before me, shivering from an unholy holding cell. I loosed the knot of my navy cape and tossed it over him like a blanket.

“Why did you attack my guards, Heathson?”

“I-I didn’t, Your Highness, I w-would never.” The man clutched my cape like a buoy in stormy waters.

“Your Highness,” Commander Druller appeared with whisper-like silence. “Reports of another abduction have just come in.”

Shit. I glanced at the trembling man. “I’ll send a healer to tend to that gash on your head.” I left the cell and locked it. Commander Druller fell into step beside me, my mind shifting to the recent revelation. “Tell me everything.”

20

Nicholas

Receiving a report about an abduction during the day didn’t fit the normal pattern. Something about their execution had changed. Perhaps it was a slipup in their operation. An action like that could very well leave behind incriminating clues. Once Sebastian gave me a full rundown, I began planning. “And you’re sure?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Sebastian said. “And may I ask, where is your cousin?”

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