Page 212 of Royal Rebel

There was no response.

Perhaps Razan hadn’t heard.

Rather than calling out again, Imara set aside her wine and lifted her cane. Getting to her feet was difficult, but with one hand on the cane and the other on the arm of the chair, she pushed up and stood. She was getting used to walking with her injury.

She started forward, the cane tapping mutely against the rug. When she reached the doorway she paused, peering into the shadows. Her eyes couldn’t discern anything yet. “Razan?” she whispered.

When Razan said nothing, the fine hairs on Imara’s body lifted. Instinct had her taking a small step back.

“Don’t,” a deep male voice rumbled from the bedroom. “Do not make a sound, or Serai Krayt dies.”

Imara stilled, though her heart pounded. Terror clutched her chest in a painful fist. “Jekem.”

Her old bodyguard materialized from the darkness as he stepped forward. A small crossbow was in his hand, loaded with a dart that was pointed at her. Instinct told her the dart was poisoned. His breathing was steady and his eyes were frighteningly calm. “Princess,” he greeted, almost softly.

Imara trembled, her grip tightening on the cane. “Where is Razan?”

He glanced behind him. “Can you not see her?”

Imara eyed the shadows, and—gradually—her eyes picked up enough details to see Razan sprawled on the floor, in front of the dresser. The bottom drawer was still open. Razan wasn’t moving.

“What did you do?” Imara breathed, dread pooling in her gut.

“She is alive. Merely unconscious.” Lines appeared on Jekem’s forehead. “No one else needs to die tonight. Just you.”

Bile stung her throat—she swallowed it back down. She stared at the dart, aimed uncompromisingly at her heart. “Why?” she asked, still whispering. She didn’t know if she had enough air to scream, even if she dared.

“You cannot marry Skyer,” Jekem said. “The clans cannot have a legitimate claim to the Zennorian throne. The monarchy would be ruined. Zennor itself would be torn apart. I’m doing this for the good of Zennor.”

“I appreciate your loyalty to Zennor,” Imara said. “But if you revere the monarchy so much, you must honor my father. He wants me to marry Skyer—”

“He’s wrong. He doesn’t see the danger. He thinks this marriage will stop the bloodshed, but it will only bring more death.” Jekem’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and Imara saw true regret in his eyes. “I do not want to do this. But I must. I tried to make it painless, but you woke, and Kaz . . .” His voice trembled. “Did I kill him?”

“No. He’s alive.”

Relief flashed across his features. The crossbow wavered, then steadied, the dangerous point of the dart still aimed at her. “Good,” he said firmly. “That is good.”

Screaming would do no good—the dart would hit her before help could arrive. With her bad leg, Imara couldn’t run. She didn’t have a weapon, other than her cane. Razan was unconscious, but she wouldn’t stay that way forever. And Desfan and Karimwerecoming—eventually. If she could just distract Jekem, keep him talking . . .

“How did you get in?” she asked. It was the first question she could think of.

“I’m a good climber,” he said. “Once I snuck into the castle yard, it was easy enough to reach your balcony. From there . . .” He let his words trail off.

Imara eyed the dart. “It was a bit daring of you to come back to the palace.” Presumably through the window he’d jumped through the last time he’d been in her room. She didn’t feel any breeze, so he clearly hadn’t broken the glass this time. Had he managed to lift the latch? He must have done just that—he’d been nearly silent.

“I was going to wait until you left for Zennor,” Jekem said. “But Skyer arrived, and . . . I can’t overpower him and all his men. This was my best chance.”

“You swore oaths to protect me,” Imara said, allowing the pain of his betrayal to strain her words.

Jekem winced, reinforcing the fact he had a conscience—at least of some sort. “The oaths I swore were to protect the monarchy,” he said. “It is painful for me to do this, Princess. But it is the only way I can see to truly protect Zennor. You must understand.”

“I really don’t think I have to understand,” Imara said. “And let me be clear:I don’t. Murder is never a good answer to a problem, Jekem. If you had concerns, you should have expressed them to my father.”

“He didn’t listen to the others, and they were nobles in his court. Why would he listen tome?”

Imara noted the frantic edge in his voice. She didn’t know if it showed an advantage on her end, or if it would just mean a quicker death. Unable to decide, she looked him in the eye and said honestly, “I don’t want to die.”

Jekem grimaced. “I’m sorry. But it will be virtually painless. Just hold still.”

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