game forgotten. I take another step toward him. “I, myself, saw with my own eyes as he nearly rode over a group of children who could not get off the road fast enough. I saw him order six of his men to attack a single knight—from behind—with no warning or challenge. The man is completely without honor and possesses a cruel streak that is truly frightening. Your instincts are correct,” I add softly. “He is not to be trusted. And maybe now you might understand why Sybella has fought so hard to keep her sisters from having to return to his custody.”
I have his full attention now.
“When you look at her behavior from that angle, it all makes sense, does it not? Would you want someone you cared for, the Princess Marguerite, for example, to be in the custody of someone like that?”
I can see from his eyes that it does make sense, although he does not go so far as to say so. Not wishing to push the point, I change the subject. “As for the regent, she has consistently—and in large ways—gone against your express wishes. She has undermined you, made alliances without your permission, and emptied the coffers, bribing otherwise honest men. Why would you trust her?”
He stares at me, his breath coming hard, then slams the ball into the wall. “Why indeed.”
Chapter 52
Guilt chases at my heels all the way to the smithy. I long to glance over my shoulder to see that I am not being followed, but that would only call attention to myself. I consider not going—if I am caught, the repercussions will be huge. It is a foolish chance to take—especially with the king’s most current demonstration of trust. But I told Maraud I would, and I will not abandon him again. Besides, he must know that General Cassel has the regent’s full support before he attempts to bring his cause before the king.
When I slip into the smithy, it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the room, the banked furnace giving off a faint red glow as well as heat. Maraud steps away from the wall. “I wasn’t certain you would come.”
“I should not have. There are palace intrigues everywhere I turn, but since some of them may affect you, I decided to risk it.” That and my silly heart defies all reason where he is concerned.
“Come.” He takes my hand and pulls me nearer the furnace. “Sit and tell me of these palace intrigues.” He does not look perturbed at all, as if he doesn’t believe such machinations can touch him. Irritation flares—irritation that he would hold his own safety so lightly.
“Count Angoulême is here in Paris.”
His hand around mine tightens briefly. “Does he know you’re here?”
Remembering the knife, I smile. “Oh, yes. We’ve spoken. One of the things we spoke about was you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. He holds no ill will against you for your escape.”
“Well, that’s noble of him. Too bad I hold great ill will against him for imprisoning me.”
I watch him closely as I say the next words. “It turns out, he wanted me to free you.”
He lets go of my hand. “What?”
“It made no sense to me either.” I have spent hours running Angoulême’s revelations through my mind, feeling the heft and weight and fullness of them. I would never have expected him to play such a deep game. I have been studied, analyzed, and prodded along a path I thought was of my own choosing and feel like a game piece on a board. “But more important than whether or not you two decide to kiss and reconcile, he divulged that the regent ordered you imprisoned—”
“We knew that.”
I shoot him an annoyed look. “In order to hide General Cassel’s actions and protect him from the king’s wrath. She is as fiercely loyal to the general as he was to her father.” Maraud’s mouth flattens into a hard line. “So you will have twice the battle to make your case, with the regent fighting tooth and claw to shield not only her involvement, but Cassel’s as well.”
Maraud swears. “Does the man have no weak spots?”
“He has a son.”
Maraud’s eyes narrow. “Then mayhap I will begin by aiming my revenge at him.”
I watch him closely. “Do you know the Beast of Waroch?”
Maraud’s entire face breaks into a wide grin. “Yes. I count him among my closest—” He scowls. “You don’t mean . . .”
“He is Cassel’s son.”
He looks as if he has taken a club to the