Page 26 of The Crownless Prince

“Maybe.” Although Marcus didn’t want to ask the woman he loved to help him escape and leave her behind. And if she was marrying Lord Thorne because King Mortimer’s treasury was running low, she wouldn’t be able to help them with their debts. However, if this convinced Edwin to stop arguing with his plan to approach Adriana, fine. “But to even broach that subject, I have to talk with her in private.”

Begrudgingly, Edwin nodded. His gaze searched Marcus’s face. “And if she doesn’t want Thorne? Are you truly planning on merely talking before we escape?”

“I’m not delusional.” Marcus turned away. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t desperately want to know if she still loved him and if she did, he couldn’t abandon her—so he didn’t say it.

It took forever for the other servants to turn in for the night, and even longer for it to sound like everyone’s breathing had deepened to thatof sleep—or snores, in a couple of cases. Everyone other than Marcus and Edwin, of course.

Marcus crept past the cots and the slumbering forms of his fellow servants. The room had no windows, but a small fire burned in the fireplace at the opposite end of the room, providing a feeble orange illumination. Edwin propped himself up on one elbow, his expression grim as Marcus opened the door. The hinges creaked softly, but no one stirred. He poked his head out, confirming the hallway was dark and empty, then slipped into the corridor.

This hall ran the length of the rear of the castle. Even though thick, woven tapestries covered all the shuttered windows, the temperature immediately dropped. He shivered and wished he could have brought his cloak, but it would get in the way where he was headed.

Hurrying down the hall, he kept one hand on the outer wall and the other extended in front so he wouldn’t run into any walls in the impenetrable blackness. He tiptoed, trying to prevent his boots from clacking against the stone floor. At last, he touched the door at the far end of the hall that opened into the tower with its curving granite staircase. He froze as the door squeaked quietly, but no one shouted or came running, and only the snow-brightened moonlight streaming through the arrowslits provided illumination to the stairwell. No torches or candles announced guards or passing servants.

Rather than climbing the stairs, though, Marcus turned and exited through the door set into the left side of the tower, which opened into another hall. Feeling along the wall, he fumbled for the tapestry covering the first window. It was tricky in the dark, but he freed thebottom two corners from the metal hooks that anchored the hanging and pushed the heavy fabric up. Hints of moonlight showed around the wood shutters. The bolt locking the boards shut was stiff with the cold, but soon he’d swung open the shutters and crawled through the window.

The trellis rose to his right, and he grinned, as happy to see it as he would have been to see an old friend. He shimmied off the sill and grabbed the trellis, avoiding stepping onto the snow. He did not want to leave any footprints. Thankful for the clear night and the bright moonlight reflecting off the snow, he climbed up. While he’d scaled this wall several times, he’d never done so when it was dusted with snow and ice. His gloves quickly soaked through, and his nose was freezing. By the time he reached the window on the third floor, he’d started to shiver.

“Please have kept your promise,” Marcus breathed as he stretched toward the shutters. It took his icy fingers a moment to catch the edge of a shutter, but once he did, he tugged and…

It swung open. Unlocked.

His heart gave a little leap.

Releasing his pent-up breath, Marcus pushed open the other shutter and carefully hauled himself onto the deep windowsill. This was always his least favorite part, with the greatest chance of something going wrong and sending him tumbling to his death. But he did what he always did during that terrifying moment when he released the trellis and scrambled onto the sill—focused on his love for Adriana instead of his fear of falling.

Within moments, he softly dropped through the opening onto the cushioned bench wedged into the alcove in the wall. He stepped onto the wood-paneled floor of Adriana’s bedroom and stilled. A fire popped quietly in her fireplace across from the window, and the brocade curtains surrounding her bed were drawn closed. She still had that potted plant she loved on a stand next to her door, and for some reason, that made him smile.

What was the best way to go about this? He didn’t want to frighten her any more than could be helped. The moonlight from one side and the glowing hearth on the other meant that from either direction, he’d be backlit, merely a looming, dark form pushing aside her curtains. His gaze fell on her little round nightstand, which held a wood cup of water, a clothbound book, a candle on a silver candlestick, and a set of flint. Perfect.

After lighting the candle, he pulled aside the lower half of the two curtains that were drawn along the long side of her bed facing the window—that way, if she was awake, he wouldn’t be directly over her. She didn’t stir, so he drew back the top curtain and used the cord looped around the post at the head of the bed to tie it open.

Moonlight and candlelight fell across her pillow, creating highlights in her short blonde braid, which her curls were doing their best to escape. His throat caught, the ache of forbidden love settling back in his chest.

Enough standing there and gawking. He wasn’t some stalker. Unfortunately, he also needed to make sure she didn’t scream and attract the attention of any guards.

Cringing, he eased one knee onto her bed, leaned forward, and pressed his palm over her lips. “Adriana.”

She shifted, but the pressure of his hand on her mouth kept her from moving, and her eyes flew open, wide and panicked as she drew in a deep breath through her nose.

“Don’t scream—”

Adriana thrashed on the bed and shoved against him, shrieking into his hand.

If she alerted the guards, he’d be dead. He pushed his other hand against her shoulder, trying to force her to still.

“Adriana,” he begged, daring to raise his voice above the muffled sound of her attempted scream. “My—” He bit his tongue. It’d been nearly four years, and she was engaged to another. Even if she had left the window unbolted, he had no right to call her beloved. “It’s Marcus!”

She stilled, her cry breaking off on a squeak. Her gaze darted over him, and he edged back so they weren’t so close and more candlelight fell on his face, but he didn’t yet uncover her mouth. Her hands trembled as she gently grabbed his fingers. Holding his breath, he let her pull his hand away.

“Marcus?” Adriana’s voice came out strangled and broken.

“Yes.” That was all he could get out, his own voice betraying him.

As she sat up, he eased off the edge of the bed, ignoring the twinge of heartbreak when she released him. She seized the candlestick, holding it up between them.

While she studied him, he drank in the sight of her. Although heregretted the shock etched into her pale countenance, she was beautiful. The candle’s flame reflected in her hazel eyes, and she was as lovely as she was in his dreams, from her slender fingers on the candlestick to the curls that had escaped her braid, frizzing around her neck, to the definition of her collarbones above her nightgown…he forced his gaze back up to her face.

Adriana brushed her fingertips across her lips in a way that had his mind careening toward thoughts of holding and kissing her. But he stood firm where he was.

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