Page 26 of Within the Hollow Heart
“Her…” Nickolas glanced at Jules. Whatever question he’d meant to ask shriveled at the sight of her. It appeared she was, to put it mildly, unsettled. He pushed to his feet, not bothering to brush off the soil and muck he and Ian had rolled in. Something was wrong. “My lady, what is it?”
She shook her head, the distress he’d seen in her expression tinged with grief.
“You can’t tell me?” he asked. “Because of the curse.”
She nodded.
Nickolas glanced at—well, at her coachman, evidently.
“Ian doesn’t know,” she said. “He can’t give you the details any more than I can.”
The man sighed then gathered himself to his feet. “I only know what I saw.”
“What did you see?”
He gave Nickolas his full gaze. “That something very bad happened. And she needed my protection.”
“Was it the prince of the Riven Court? Did you see him? You would have known—been given the sight.”
“Doesn’t work like that where we come from. That bird she carries around isn’t dressed up to look like a bird. Heisa bird. Laying eyes on our fae doesn’t win you a thing. That’s your kingdom’s curse, not ours.”
“Hold a moment,” Nickolas said. “What kingdom is yours, specifically?”
The man’s mouth went into a flat line, and Nickolas let out a long breath. “Right. So, she cannot tell me, and you’re unwilling. You’ll only say that something bad happened, that she needed protection, and…”
At Nickolas’s prompt, Ian added, “And I went after her. Whatever it is, whatever was done, I know she had reason. I trust her.”
Nickolas’s gaze slid to Jules. Her eyes were on him, but her cheeks had gone hot. Ian had said more than she’d meant to have revealed. “Someone is after you,” Nickolas guessed. And not just her family to tie her to a betrothal. She’d been accused of a misdeed, some sort of serious offense, so she’d fled to Westrende. “And that someone is from your own kingdom.”
There was a muffled scraping sound in the courtyard, and they all glanced toward the narrow window that bordered the door.
The man from Princess Mireille’s court—the one who’d been arguing with Gideon outside of the chancery—peered back at them through the thick glass.
Ian stood with a curse, and when Nickolas moved with him, Ian said, “No, stay with her. I’ll catch the rotter.”
Jules had shrunk back, and Nickolas moved toward her, eyes on the closed door through which Ian had disappeared. “Who was that?”
With no real spirit, she swatted a glove at him, so he turned to face her. “The man I washidingfrom.” Then she burst into tears. Or at least the impression of such. It was a sort of dry, soundless sob, all emotion and none of the wet, unpleasant fluids or noise.
It did not make the whole thing less terrible. In fact, it somehow made it worse. It was like another dagger in his heart—how many was that now, seven? “Jules,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around her where she struggled to draw breath. It was not merely a bit of distress. Hers were the motions of pure grief.
Hiding, she’d said. “Why? Because he was from Norcliffe? Is that your home?”
She shook her head, not, he gathered, to indicate it was or was not the kingdom from which she’d escaped but rather that she could not tell him more.
“And I have brought you to him, paraded you at a ball where any one of them might put you in harm’s way.” He ran a hand lightly over her back. “What if Ian finds the man? Will that sort it?”
She shook her head against his chest. She’d already said she could not involve Gideon, which meant whatever she’d done was serious enough they would be law-bound to send her back.
He slid one hand up to cradle the back of her neck. It was warm and soft, and so was his voice. “Then we will find a way to hide you.”
She drew away to look up at him, her face soft in the moonlight, her nose tipped with pink.
He ran a thumb over her cheek. “Does that sound agreeable?”
“They will come for me. It won’t matter about the…” Her fingers curled around the ring that hung from her neck as if its chain were choking her.
He placed his hand over hers. “You’re afraid they will return you home and you’ll be forced to marry, or is it something else? How much trouble are you up against, my lady?”
