Page 60 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
“I’m very sorry, Your Grace,” he says. “Your servants may drop you at the palace entrance but must go no further.”
I huff in indignation but sit back, allowing the official to wave the carriage on.
“Well, that’s put the cat among the pigeons,” I breathe once we’re out of earshot.
Damia doesn’t miss a beat, turning to Hyllus. “We’ll find a way to get you into the palace with Stratton. We still have a few days. That’s more than enough time to think of an alternative.”
My mood is eased by her certainty. With her around, it’s difficult to believe we can fail at anything. I’m not sure I would’ve ever agreed to this insane scheme if it weren’t for her, no matter what promises I’ve made to Morgana Angevire.
Warren brings the carriage to a stop in a courtyard, the palace’s pale stone walls soaring up around us. I step out and turn, stretching an arm toward Damia, unable to resist teasing her a little.
“My poor, delicate darling—you must be so weakened from the journey. Allow me to give you a hand,” I say.
Fury flashes in her eyes, but she begrudgingly accepts her role, allowing me to help her down from the carriage. Her palms are slightly calloused,like you’d expect from a warrior. But as I brush my thumb across the back of her hand, I notice how soft the skin is there.
Damia snatches her hand back as soon as she reasonably can.
The palace staff crowd in around us, getting our names from Hyllus before they start to whisk our luggage away into the palace. I feel a twinge of discomfort at the idea of our belongings in strangers’ hands. In Hallowbane, if you let anything precious out of your sight, you’ll likely never see it again. I have to remind myself that I’m a noble now, wealthy enough to be careless and smug, certain that nothing unpleasant will ever befall me.
“If you’ll please follow me, Your Graces,” says another palace servant, “I can show you to your rooms.”
With one last look at Hyllus and Warren, already being hurried back onto the carriage, we follow. As we walk down the corridors of the palace, I realize that this place is heaving with crowds of lords and ladies in all shapes and sizes. Tall, elegant types from the southern regions bump elbows with rugged figures from the chilly north. There are even a few barons I recognize from my establishments in Hallowbane. I twitch, instinctively going to hide my face from them, only to remember that I’m wearing a glamour for this very reason.
Thankfully, all the bustle means no one is likely to take any notice of us.
I admire the thick carpets and polished marble, the fine oil paintings and the stained-glass windows casting rainbows across the walls. I take care not to gawp, however, acting as if this is all no more than mildly interesting—the kind of finery I’m used to.
The servant opens the door when we reach our rooms, bowing smartly as we pass by him and dismissing himself swiftly. I suspect he has a hundred other places he’s meant to be right now.
I’m impressed to see all our luggage is already neatly unpacked and the trunks stacked in the corner. I can only imagine magic was involved in dealing with it so quickly. I step past the sitting area and chuckle a little.
“Care to share the joke?” Damia says. As soon as the servant left, she’d sat down and tugged off her heeled shoes, padding across the room in bare feet.
“I was just wondering if you’d prefer to sleep on the right side or the left,” I say, raising an eyebrow and offering her a dazzling smile.
Her steps falter for just a moment before her expression hardens and she strides forward to stand beside me. We both look down at the wide, plush bed.
“The right,” she says. “It’s closest to the door, so if anyone attacks?—”
“I was joking,” I say quickly, ignoring the heat pooling under my collar. “The entire bed is yours, of course. There’s a perfectly good chaise for me.”
“Oh don’t be ridiculous,” she says scornfully. “I’ve spent decades sharing quarters with men much more intimidating than you, Wadestaff. I’m not some blushing damsel.”
“Of course,” I say, refusing to be offended. “That dress just had me fooled for a moment.”
“Well, don’t forget what I really am,” she says. Somewhere in the depth of her long sleeves, a little serpent hisses. “We’ll share the bed. It’s more than big enough for the both of us. But don’t get any ideas. Reach a hand toward me in the night, and you’ll be pulling back a stump.”
Gods know I believe her threat. But the fire smoldering within me only burns a little hotter as I meet her gaze.
“Noted,” I say casually.
She draws back, pacing over to the sitting area. “Now let’s focus on why we’re really here.”
“As if I need reminding,” I say. I’m desperate to cool off and begin to unfasten my cloak. Throwing off the thick fabric, I straighten my dress jacket and the white shirt underneath. When I glance up, I see Damia’s eyes on me, an interesting expression on her face. When we left the safehouse, I was already wearing the cloak. This is the first time she’s gotten the full effect of my baron’s getup.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” I say, turning to display myself at the most flattering angle. One mustalwaysbe aware of angles. “One might even say dashing.”
She coughs lightly. “You certainly look the part,” she says, distracted for a moment before she glances away.
