Page 29 of Betraying Korth

“No,” Edric said. “We may still need her as a hostage if this doesn’t work. As long as one or two other people are here to make sure Odette stays in line, the rest of us don’t need to be. They’ll need us more back in Ebora.” Growls of approval met his words.

“It’s almost time! The second that Haven Harbor’s military is there, Raquel will be”—Curdy drew his finger swiftly across his throat—“and we will be out of here.”

“Are things still progressing well with the prince?” Thad asked me.

Curdy snorted. “I can answer that. Dahlia’s been throwing herself at him and he barely even notices she’s there.”

“That’s not true,” I snapped, wondering how Curdy would even know such a thing when he was tasked with watching Odette. “Just because he isn’t pawing at me every second like some drunkard doesn’t mean he doesn’t notice. He’s a gentleman.”

“Ah, but you are the only one here who isn’t a man,” Simon noted. “The more often a man touches you, the more he likes you. It’s not a good sign if he doesn’t even give you the time of day.”

“He holds my hand all the time.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the rebel members present. “Men are never fully committed until they have some sort of physical affection,” Edric remarked. “Just holding hands isn’t enough.”

“Are you suggesting that you want to be the one to go back and tell my father that you encouraged me to sacrifice my virtue?” I quirked my eyebrow. “I’m sure he would have plenty to say about that.”

“Not to that extent. But have you even kissed him yet?”

“Prince Korth is very proper and respectful.”

“So, no,” Simon said, raising his eyebrows while Curdy clenched his fists.

“I have other ways of ensuring his loyalty. He said he cares about me.”

Their laughter swelled.

“Don’t take it personally,” Thad told me, patting my shoulder in a fatherly fashion. “All men say that, but that doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“No man is entirely loyal to a woman he hasn’t even kissed, and no man can go without physical affection for too long. Is he seeing someone else?” Simon said.

“No!”

“Not everyone is as woman crazy as you, Simon,” Thad reminded him. “Some of us, myself included, still have families waiting for us at home.”

Simon scoffed. “Oh, does this prince have a family waiting for him somewhere?” He folded his arms as a light drizzle began.

Thad rolled his eyes. “Ignore him,” he told me. “You’re doing just fine.”

Even so, a drop of doubt lingered.

It rained allthe next day. A colossal crack of thunder woke me up only a few hours after I’d left the rebellion’s meeting, and the sound of hammering rain thundered against my closed windows during the night. Even though the several nights’ worth of sleep deprivation tugged at my eyelids and made me rub my itching eyes, I couldn’t fall back asleep. Simon’s suggestion kept coming back to niggle at the back of my mind. For all my supposed confidence and bravado, I couldn’t deny my trepidation. I thought I understood men, but Korth wasn’t behaving in any way I’d come to expect. How was I supposed to ensure his loyalty if he pulled away every time I showed an interest in him? When I’d tried to kiss him before, he’d acted as though I’d burned him.

It could be due to the simple fact that any time we went anywhere together, we were tailed by our obnoxiously proper chaperone. I couldn’t fault him for not wanting an audience. But even so, I’d been here for more than three weeks, we saw each other every day, we were engaged to be married, and he had yet to do anything more than hold my hand.

Korth showed up at the usual time for our stroll and just like always, offered me his arm.

I smiled flirtatiously. “Are we going for walk in the rain? How romantic. Shall I catch cold so you can nurse me back to health?”

The corner of Korth’s mouth twitched upward a fraction of an inch. “I planned to show you around the library.”

“Even better. Do they have books about bridges?”

“Many. There aren’t as many about dumbwaiters, but I did read the ones they had.”

Just as it was with the dumbwaiters, the library was also much larger than the one in Ebora. The grand oak doors, intricately carved with scenes of siren lore, looked solid and heavy. When Korth pulled them open for me, my breath hooked. An expansive hall stretched out before me, with rows of shelves that soared upward. The towering mahogany bookcases were meticulously organized, each containing a treasure trove of tomes bound in leather and decorated with gilded letters.

Lit chandeliers hung suspended at intervals above the long, heavy tables, which had ornate candelabras set on green velvet runners. Flickering light from beeswax candles illuminated the open books, quills, and ink pots set out in front of the scribes who diligently scratched at their manuscripts, noses held close to the papers. The high windows, currently darkened from the rain, were stained glass depicting historical triumphs. Once sun returned and filtered in, patches of colored light would be cast on the shelves and tables.

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