Page 67 of MidKnight
“You don’t have to,” I whispered. “We don’t have to hide any more either. You could do this to me in the hallway and the guards would have to go around the corner and wait.”
Connor trembled beneath me. “I don’t want to hurt you—”
“We can be sweet for round two,” I promised. “Besides, I owe you for leaving you alone with those awful Countesses all day.”
“You do,” he moaned as I grabbed him through his trousers, stroking the length of his bulge.
“Go ahead and be dirty for round one then,” I told him, wondering what my sweet little Cee would do.
“We can’t.” Connor dropped my feet to the ground and backed away. “Not yet. We need to check on everyone in their rooms before the official dinner.”
I was disappointed. But he was right. We could use the opportunity to check on Aiden.
Connor latched onto my hand and hauled me quickly through the passages, cutting my arguments off with short shushes.
Torches lit our way and I realized Connor must have told a guard or two ahead of time, so they could light our path. Once we got close to the north wing, the torches stopped. Connor’s feet slowed. He leaned close to me and whispered, “We have to be absolutely silent now.”
I nodded. Then he led me into the pitch darkness, pierced only occasionally by spy holes. He stopped and I nearly ran into his back.
He pulled me toward the wall, and I put my eye up to a small peephole. Connor stood next to me and leaned forward to peer through another opening.
The room we stared at was Malia’s dressing room. Her maid was removing her day gown to replace it for the formal dinner we were set to have in a few hours. Malia was an older duchess, slightly plump, but quite curvy in a good way. She lifted her arms to let her maid pull down her overdress. Once she’d stepped out of it, she shed her chemise. And then Malia stood naked but for her thigh high white stockings and jeweled court shoes. A few glimmering blue scales ran up her backbone and on the back side of her arms, a sign of her mer heritage.
Her maid hung the dress and Malia stopped her before she grabbed another. “Can I just have my robe? And the letter again, please?”
The servant brought the requested items and then Malia shooed her away. “I just need a moment.”
Once the maid had left the room, Malia slipped on the robe, sat at her dressing table and unfurled a scroll.
Her eyes scanned the contents briefly before she leaned forward onto the table, propping herself up on her elbows.
A heart wrenching sob filled the room. I pulled back from the peephole, feeling guilty.
Connor leaned back and grabbed my hand. We had just turned away when there was a knock at Malia’s door.
Connor froze. Then he dragged me back to the peephole.
I touched his arm. When he looked over at me, I held my hands up in question, silently asking what we were doing.
He held up clenched fists and shivered in response. Shivering was his physical answer to me, from a secret communication style we’d developed as teens. It meant he felt fear from someone. Scared—Malia felt scared.
Malia’s maid answered the door.
“Oh, I must have the wrong room!” a deep, familiar voice said.
Malia put her scroll into a drawer in her dressing table, wiped her eyes, and stood.
“Lysa, go ahead and pull my gown, will you? I’ll help this gentleman.”
“But—” her maid looked in askance at Malia’s lack of clothing.
The duchess just waved her off and opened the door.
“You have the wrong room?” Malia asked. “We have a map of this floor of the palace from Jorad. Would you care to see it?”
“That would be so kind,” the man replied, stepping inside. Donovon followed Malia over to a writing desk on the far side of the room. She picked up a large sheet of parchment and handed it to him.
“Is this what you needed?” she asked.
