The Queen's Assassin (Queen's Secret #1) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,104
the same way? The way she kissed him in the duke’s study . . . and her jealousy that he had kissed the duchess . . . the way they held each other those cold nights in the mountains, that one night at the inn . . . it gives him a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, she shares his feelings.
All the more reason to make quick work of why he is in Montrice in the first place. After he uncovers the conspirator and returns the scrolls to the queen, he will be released from his father’s vow. He will be free.
Free to speak the truth of his heart. Free to be with her, to pledge his troth, free to make a family at last. Perhaps she would reconsider her desires as well. Perhaps he could persuade her to stay with him. The thought is so sweet that he is filled with ache and longing.
He will do whatever it takes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Caledon
CAL SENSES AN OPENING AS the music fades to silence. He slides past one of the hopeful suitors and offers his hand to Shadow. “May I have this dance?”
Smiling, she accepts. The orchestra begins to play again, a fast and merry tune. They twirl across the marble dance floor, looping around all the others in perfect harmony, until finally the rest of the couples begin migrating to the edges, toward the watching crowd, giving Cal and Shadow room to show off their new skills.
“Keep in mind, you’re my brother,” Shadow whispers to him.
“Thanks for reminding me. I almost forgot,” he says, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “That would certainly give them something to gossip about, wouldn’t it?”
Shadow stifles a laugh.
The sound of it almost makes him want to kiss her again, right then and there, but he is a man of restraint. The song comes to its end. All the guests clap for the orchestra. “I suppose I have to let someone else dance with you now?” he asks, although it’s the last thing he wants to do.
Shadow shakes her head with a smile. “Let’s not.”
A footman is making rounds. As he passes, Cal reaches out and takes two glasses of champagne. He hands one to Shadow. “To not.”
“I don’t want to dance,” she says. “But I would like to see more of the palace.”
“Let’s promenade,” he decides. “Perhaps we might stumble upon something interesting.”
Guests are lingering at the grand hallway, admiring the portraits of King Hansen’s ancestors and the suits of armor worn by past monarchs, including a smaller set that Shadow immediately approaches. It’s roughly her size. The portrait behind it shows a girl of about fifteen or sixteen years, looking back directly at the viewer, wearing a simple cream tunic dress under chain mail. Shadow reads the plaque underneath: PRINCESS ALESSIA OF MONTRICE, DAUGHTER OF THE FIRST KING.
“She looks like trouble,” Cal says.
“‘Led the king’s troops at the Battle of Caravan, 1000 ED (Era of Deia),’” Shadow reads. “I think she sounds amazing.”
So are you, Cal wants to say. But he doesn’t. They continue on, stopping at various portraits to read about the nobles who once walked these same halls. Cal is so caught up in it he almost forgets these are Renovia’s long-established enemies.
“Ready for another?” Cal asks, holding up his empty glass. He wants to leave the exhibit. Nothing of use here, and they need to stay on track.
Shadow says, “Sure,” even though he knows she’s enjoying the portraits.
Since they’re so close to the end of the hall, Cal keeps walking rather than go all the way back from where they came. It’s darker that way, fewer candles lit, but he saw some people go in that direction. He’s sure either passage leads back to the ballroom.
They turn the corner and find a wrinkled elderly woman sitting at a cloth-covered table in the hall. Her frizzy gray hair is tucked under a black cap and she wears a shapeless black cape and sacklike dress, so it looks a bit like her head is emerging from a pile of bedclothes. She is shuffling a deck of cards with long, gnarled fingers tipped with