Page 130 of The Turncoat King

The collar and cuffs of her shirt warmed slightly and she dropped to the side, flat on the seat, and at the same time, the coach seemed to lurch, as if it had gone over a stone.

He hit the wall near the window instead of her, and she rose up slowly as he sucked on his bruised fingers.

“Probably better this way. She might not take well to any marks on you. She wants to see you as soon as possible.” He leaned back in his seat. “We’ll have to clean you up a bit first.”

That might mean having to remove her shirt, and she didn’t want to be stripped of her only remaining protection.

“Why not take me straight away? Show her you can follow orders.”

He shot her a nasty smile. “I’d love to drag you into the throne room looking like a half-dead peasant, but our aunt might take it into her head that I had something to do with it. And I am, as you’ve surmised, in enough trouble already.”

She said nothing more as the coach rumbled over the flagstones. She hadn’t been to Fernwell in more than twelve years, and she tried to see out between the gaps as the blinds swung with the rocking motion of the coach.

She caught glimpses of house-lined streets and trees.

The briny smell of the ocean was everywhere, even in the cell she’d been held in, and if you listened carefully, no matter where you were, you could hear the crash and retreat of the waves on the city walls.

The coach slowed as it turned, and then the going was a lot smoother for a short distance.

It came to a stop and the door opened instantly.

A man looked in. He was familiar, Ava realized, and had probably been here the last time she was in Fernwell with her parents.

“The princess’s hands are bound.” The man looked from Ava to Herron with distaste.

“I must have forgotten to unlock them, Balrick.” Herron lifted up the key as if taunting the man. “Would you like to keep her restrained until she’s inside?”

“If Her Highness discovers that her niece was brought into the palace in restraints, I assure you, she will not be happy.” Balrick stared Herron down. “And she will discover it. I’ll make sure of that.”

There was no love lost between these two. Ava wondered if Balrick had an escape plan for when her cousin became king, because he would need one.

She rubbed at her wrists as the metal shackles fell to her lap, and then stepped out of the coach.

The palace rose up above her, the peach marble catching the light in a way that was meant to delight.

It had always captivated her.

Just beyond the wall she could hear the sea, and she remembered the time she was last here with her mother and father. Her father had been sick with anger and outrage. He had learned about the Chosen camps, although they been going for nearly a year already by the time he’d gotten word, and he had come to beg his half-sister, the queen, to close them down and release the children.

Her aunt had refused, and they never came back to Fernwell again.

“Do you remember me?” Balrick asked.

She hadn’t remembered his name, but Ava did remember his face. She nodded.

“Good. Come with me.”

She followed him, not looking back at her cousin, but he caught up to them, clamped a hand on her shoulder.

Balrick turned, his eyes narrowed.

“I’m warning you now, Balrick. Do not let her have anything. Not a thing.”

“She will have the clothing appropriate for an audience with the queen.” Balrick’s nostrils flared, and his lips thinned.

“Nothing else. Not a piece of paper, not even a length of thread.”

So he hadn’t told her aunt what she could do. Ava had always wondered. And he was trying to keep it that way.

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