Page 122 of A War of Crowns

He knew when that woman first extended her hand to him on Nerina Reef that she was simply inviting him to partake in one of her games. He had entered this farce of an arrangement with his eye wide open, prepared for any of her trademark trickery.

And yet he hadn’t accounted forthis. Finally realizing his fiancée was just as ruthless as he.

Aldric made a quick study of the assassin, but he didn’t recognize him. The corpse looked young. Lanky. Pox-scarred. Poor. But he couldn’t ascertain the dead man’s heritage within the low light. He could have been from anywhere.

Probably some mutt, like many of his Sons.

A bitterness coated Aldric’s tongue when he lurched to his feet and stalked toward his pack, which was still tucked beneath the bed. He had never bothered unpacking. He was ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

But now, he rifled through the bag until he found the narrow wooden box Edmund had given him back on Nerina Reef. Once, the idea of using the weapon housed within on any person at all had turned his stomach.

Now, the realization that sweet and innocentSeraphina de la Croixwas out for his blood saw him flinging open that box without a moment’s hesitation to reveal the unnaturally dark blade nestled within.

Forged as if from black steel, the blade seemed to drink in what little light streamed in through his window. As if it had ahungeronly luminescence could sate.

A witchblade.

Aldric had never seen one in person until his fool of a brother foisted this one upon him. But he had certainly read enough books in his youth to recognize it immediately for what it was.

He didn’t want to think too hard about just where Edmund had come by such a blade. Nor did he want to think too hard about justwhat was going to happen when he stabbed his betrothed with it to frame Arath for her murder.

He knew what he had to do.Tonight. His brother’s idiotic plans be blasted straight into the Underworld.

And yet, still, Aldric hesitated.

He couldn’t bring himself to touch the accursed blade’s hilt.

Rumbling under his breath, he limped back to the dead assassin—ignoring the growing pain throbbing through his abdomen—and tore off more of the other man’s shirt. Only once the witchblade was wrapped in the bloody cloth did he finally slip the dagger into the waistband of his trousers.

Knowing the unholy blade was so close to his body was enough to make his skin crawl, but he had no other choice.

He needed his hands free for what he was going to do next.

From his pack, he retrieved one last bundle before making his way toward the window. That point of entry was still splayed open from the assassin’s attack. Cool night air poured in, ruffling the sheer curtains and prickling his skin with goosebumps.

He didn’t have a room with a balcony like the queen, but still the ledge outside the window was wide enough for a man to stand if he was careful.

And Aldric was always careful.

The iron-forged "bear claws" he slipped free of the bundle and fitted to his hands were old and worn but serviceable. Snugged tight over his knuckles, he knew they would help him keep his grip while he clung to the outer wall of the palace.

He had quite the trek ahead of him. The queen had placed him and his Sons on the opposite side of the palace from her person.

And there were exactly 120 windows between his bedroom and hers.

The night air whipped against him, plucking at his bloodied nightshirt as he eased his way out onto the ledge. The ground was but a distant memory this high up, but heights had never bothered him. Funnily.

He took a moment to gaze outward across the palace grounds toward the sight of Goldreach sleeping far beyond. Beyond that he knew lay the Straight with its stormy waters. And beyond that, home.

With any luck, he would be on a ship sailing that way in the morning.

I could just leave now. I don’thaveto do this.

That thought pierced its way into his mind unbidden, leaving Aldric hesitating on the ledge while the breeze found all the damp places on his clothing. Shivering, he hunched his shoulders against the wind.

But the memory of his little brother’s final warning to him snuffed out that spark of hope.“I tell you I will kill your little forest nymph if you do not comply, and yet,clearly, you do not believe me.”

He couldn’t leave. He had to do this.

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