Page 55 of Vale of Dreams

“We need to prepare for a possible assassination attempt, like Viviane suggested. It will be aimed at Auberon and Talan, at the very least. We need you to map their living quarters. You’re the only one who can get close to them. Figure out the guards’ schedule, and preferably figure out any routine that the king or prince have. Note anything we can use. With your information, we’ll be able to plan our attack.”

“Got it,” I say. “I’ll get the intel. And what’s the plan for Raphael and his sister?”

“That’s not in the mission scope.”

“I know that’s not in the mission scope,” I hiss. “But he’s a knight of Avalon. We need to make sure he’s okay and get him out of here.”

“No,” Nivene says firmly. “That’s not our mission. We’re doing this to stop the war. And like I said, Nia, we all know the risks.”

Frustration coils in my chest.

Nivene stops before a grandiose wooden door flanked by torches. A flicker of movement turns my head, and I glance at a maid on the other end of the hall, dressed in black and carrying a basket of clothes.

“Can I help you, my ladies?” she asks, hurrying closer to us.

I clear my throat. “My sister had a bit too much to drink. She needs help getting to her bed.”

The maid bows. “Of course.”

“Don’t need help, I fucking…” Nivene slurs, pulling away from my grip. She nearly falls down, and the maid quickly grabs her arm to stabilize her.

“Just get her to bed,” I whisper to the maid. “Before she embarrasses me anymore. She’s only just arrived at court, and she’s making a spectacle of herself.”

The maid sets down her basket and nods at me.

I hurry off through the corridor, back to the banquet hall.

Nivene’s words still echo in my skull like a dirge. We all know the risks.

But I’m not okay with leaving Raphael here.

If Avalon Tower won’t help get Raphael back to safety, then perhaps Mordred Kingslayer will.

CHAPTER 19

By the time I return to the banquet hall, King Auberon is no longer gracing us with his presence, but everyone else is still dancing and drinking. The thick perfume of wildflowers floats through the air, and the ghostly sounds of the Fey music echo off the high ceilings.

With glass after glass of mead, the guests are spinning and twirling around the floor between the banquet tables.

In the far corner of the room stands Talan. Leaning against a stone column, holding a crystal goblet of mead. He’s talking to one of the nobles, who wears a jewel-encrusted brocade jacket, and while Talan’s body looks relaxed, his expression is predatory. The noble is literally trembling with fear, his face pale as moonlight. This is the effect my sweet, dark-eyed prince has on everyone around him.

I scan the room, searching for the shocking white hair of Duke Ker-Ys. Prince Talan doesn’t strike me as the kind who would look fondly on me if I borrowed Nivene’s “I got too drunk and had to go to sleep” excuse.

“Jasper, right?” A woman’s melodious voice interrupts my thoughts. I turn to see her moving smooth as a panther, her silver hair tumbling in waves over a jade gown. Candlelight warms her milky skin, and her eyes sparkle in the exact shade of her dress. Arwenna is standing right before me now, peering down at me, and a shiver dances over my skin.

I look down at my dress. “Jasper, yes. He designed this today, with help.”

She sips from her goblet. “Interesting. I am Countess Arwenna de Bosclair of Val Sans Retour, though I’m sure you already knew that. Jasper did my dress, too, of course, as I am to be engaged to the prince.”

“Right. Well, he’s very talented.” I look away from Arwenna, desperately searching for Ker-Ys.

Arwenna leans in, not letting me go. “You know, Prince Talan and I have had an understanding for years. But he gets distracted sometimes. He has already had girls like you. So many, many girls like you from the dirt-encrusted laboring classes.”

The look she’s giving me sends a whisper of icy dread cascading down my spine.

“Girls like me?” I ask.

“Girls like you.” Her voice rises, echoing off the tall ceilings. The rest of the banquet hall falls to a hush as people listen in. “Dull, inconsequential, easily forgotten. Girls who hike up their skirts, bend over in the dirt, and let the prince do what he wants. Sure, you can hold his attention for a few moments through sheer debasement. Of course, the humiliation of the peasant classes has a certain appeal to a man like him, but he will never respect you, and neither will any of us. You. Do. Not. Belong. Here.”

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