Page 52 of Between Smoke and Shadow

I look back to the floor. Even with my hands clenched between my knees, my fingers tremble. I want to argue that the queen, the Architect, the Committee…their words are above his. I might not be punished for this here, but I will once we return. The guards will report to the queen, and I’ll be whipped or worse.

I don’t argue. As far as words go, mine matter the least.

“Yes, my prince,” I say instead.

There’s a heavy, pulsing quiet between us. Harrick lets out an unsteady sigh, moving again in front of me. As before, he kneels, looking at me until I finally return his stare.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says, surprising me. He touches my chin, tilting it upward. “You won’t be punished. Please, I—I need to know what you’re thinking.”

“He won’t touch me here,” I say finally. My voice shakes, but I force myself to continue. I force myself to trust Harrick, to believe his promise not to punish me. “With the way you’re acting, I imagine they’re all drawing the same conclusion as Malek. They think I’m your pet whore. Even if the otherservant is vile and cruel, he wouldn’t dare touch the prince’s entertainment. He won’t touch me, Harrick.”

Harrick’s eyes flash, but the anger disappears almost immediately, replaced with something unrecognizable. While I remain in perfect stillness, he seems to relax.

“Okay,” he says. “You’re right.”

My lips twitch without permission. It’s bizarre, hearing a crown member speak like this, especially tome.

Harrick rises to his feet, stooping to avoid the ceiling. With a sharp tug, he slides open the carriage door. Through the rain, his men move hurriedly between the luggage carriage and a short, rectangular building. It’s constructed entirely of wooden logs, and dark green vines claw up its sides, as if they’re trying to consume it. It’s beautiful, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The City is bleak and gray; the Tower is cold and magnificent. This…this is lush and beautiful andalive.

“Joran!” Harrick calls.

Within seconds, the masked guard stands in the carriage doorway again.

“My prince.”

“Bring Miss Rune’s belongings to my quarters,” he says. “Ensure the others know she’s mine. I will kill anyone who touches her. Understood?”

I suck in a breath, and I swear, Joran does too.

“Yes, my prince,” he says after a lengthy pause. If he wants to say more, he doesn’t.

“Good,” Harrick says. Then, without sparing me another glance, he exits the carriage, calling back, “Come along, Rune. I’ll show you our room.”

SEVENTEEN

RUNE

I am alone in Harrick’s room, sitting on the floor beside the four-poster bed. I’ve never been in such a magnificent place, and I’m too terrified to touch anything. Two walls are composed of wide, golden logs with windows twice my height. This room is on the home’s second level, giving me the perfect view of the surrounding forest. It’s hard to see much beyond vibrant green leaves and rolling hills, but I think Haver Lake is visible in the distance.

Aside from the bed, which is fitted with an elaborate red duvet and matching pillows, the room contains a spacious wardrobe, an intricate rug that spans the entire floor, and a large desk beneath an enormous painting of the Wilds. I imagine this is one of the Architect’s properties, but I don’t know for sure.

I pick at a loose thread on the rug, careful not to make it worse. After hours of raucous laughter and drunken shouts, the guards have fallen silent downstairs. It sounds like they’re all asleep, though I doubt that's true. I strain my ears for sound, but it’s quiet for nearly an hour straight. The first thing I finally hear is creaking steps. I slink against the bed, expecting a guard to appear in the doorway. Instead, it’s the male servant, watching me with an assessing gaze. I hold my breath. I’m sure he knowsnot to touch me, but what if he does anyway? Harrick might not be back for hours.

“They’ve passed out,” he says, and he speaks like his words should be a comfort.

Until now, I’ve never been around a crown servant. They’re a bit in both worlds, unlike the rest of us. Only elites can serve the crown members, meaning this man was born into wealth and prestige. It’s only his circumstances that have landed him here, wearing the same stark yellow coverall as I am. His elite insignia taunts me from his breast.

He’s like me, but he’s also likethem.

I don’t respond to the servant. I can’t decide if he’s here as a friend or a predator, and I’m too scared to risk speaking.

“They’ll think it’s the nightwater,” the servant explains. His posture is relaxed, but it doesn’t make him less threatening. If anything, it’s only unsettling. His large frame fills most of the doorway as he leans against it. “That’s our strength, you know. They always underestimate us.”

“What did you do?” I ask. My voice sounds raspy, like I haven’t spoken in days.

“They’ll be fine,” he says. “I only put a few drops per cup.”

I run my tongue over my teeth, deciding not to ask anything else. Outside, the sky is getting darker, but there’s no sign of Harrick’s carriage. There’s no way he’ll be back in time to stop…whatever this is.

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