Page 36 of Wrath of the Never Queen

“Are you well?”

I press my lips together and nod. He cocks an eyebrow but says nothing more, turning back to his book.

After turning in for the night, I quietly change into the stash of clothes I had taken some days earlier. Comfortable leggings and a loose cotton shirt with flat-bottomed boots. I wait patiently until the moon is high in the sky, and I am certain the prince is asleep.

With effort, I steady the tremor in my hands and softly open my door. The prince’s room is quiet except for the gentle crackle of the hearth. Through the orange glow, I see the silhouette of the prince as he lays in his bed. His back is to me, the covers drawn up over his shoulders. I watch him for a moment to be sure he is sleeping. He does not move, and I can hear soft snoring under the sound of the fire. I exhale slowly, quietly, and steal out of my room.

My boots are heavy, so I move with care,planting each step carefully and freezing at the slightest creak of the floor. When I reach his door, my heart is thunderous, but the prince remains asleep and unaware. Silently, I leave.

The portrait is mere metres away so, with a quick glance down the hall to check I am alone, I pull it open to reveal the passageway. I step inside quickly and close the door behind me, plunging me in near darkness.

I take a moment to allow my eyes to adjust. There are infrequent torches on the walls, burning low, and all I can hear is the sound of my own ragged breathing. I breathe deep, despite the dampness in the air, before making my way through the passageway. I take slow, shaky steps, my nerves fraught. At any moment, I expect the prince to burst into the passageway behind me, ready to drag me back into my cage. Part of me does not believe that is true, but the other part does not want to trust the son of my captor.

I push the thoughts away. They are not helpful or improving my mood. The damp presses in around me, chilling my bones, and I curse myself for not bringing a thicker jacket.No matter, I think.Mossgarde will be plenty warm, even at night, when I make it back there.

I reach the end of the tunnel and press my hands against the door. I know it is disguised on the other side but still, I am reluctant to open it. Despite the gloom, I feel safer in the tunnel, knowing I am somewhere the guards do notknow about. But I have no choice. To turn back is to resign myself to the king and his chopping block. Steeling myself, I push the door open.

“What in Saint’s name?”

I stifle a cry at the sudden voice, locking eyes with three guards. They stare at me, eyes wide and swords half-raised, a few feet outside the passageway door. They must have been patrolling the area right as I opened the tunnel.

No.

Without thinking, I bolt. Bursting between them, I make it several feet before I am caught. Rough hands yank me back and throw me into the passageway. I land hard on my side, something snapping painfully against the rock. I shriek, clutching my ribs, and desperately scramble back.

“Don’t let her escape!” one of them yells. I try to stand, but the pain is blinding. A guard hauls me up, his fingers dipping into the flesh of my upper arm.

“What the fuck is this?” he says, looking around the passageway.

“Get her to the king,” another one pipes up.

“No,” I gasp, but they ignore me. My face contorts as a wave of agony courses through me, and I struggle to breathe.

“Shut it.”

“Not…not the king,” I insist, wheezing. “Take me back…to the prince.”

“I said shut it.”

My ophid thrums with indignation, and I curl my lip at him. A vile insult rises at the back of my throat.

“That is enough.”

The guards turn to look behind me but I do not need to look to know who spoke. They exchange glances before straightening, and the guard who grabbed me releases my arm. I curl into a painful ball, clutching my side.

“She was attempting—”

“I know what she was attempting,” the prince interrupts. His voice could cut glass. Saints, not only have I been caught, but I have also made an enemy of one of my only allies.

The guards take a step back as the prince’s arms slide underneath my knees and back. With little effort, he picks me up from the floor of the passageway. I try to look up at his face but spots explode in my vision.

“I will deal with her. Return to your stations at once.”

“But—”

“At once.”

The guards fall silent as the prince turns back into the passageway and follows the tunnel back to his chambers. I want to say something—an apology, a thank you, anything—but every breath I draw is like broken glass in my chest. Instead, I wheeze painfully and clutch the thin fabric of his nightshirt.

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