I feel naked. As though the featherlight layers of my strapless gown have suddenly become see-through, and I’m exposed, every eye in the room trained on the tuxedo jacket wrapped around my shoulders. I stare back, frozen. I can’t imagine a more awkward situation. Here I stand, holding hands with the pirate who just kissed me, in front of the boy who wants to marry me, his mother who hates me, his father who looks at me like I’m a secondhand sofa, and a handful of armed guards. My cheeks flame, and I’ve never wanted to disappear as much as I do right this second.
“How did he get in here?” Siobhan’s voice edges on grating, the accusation clear. From the soft huff beside me, I’m fairly certain I’m not the only one who catches the insinuation. Across the room, two maids sweep broken glass from beneath my window—guess that explains the raining glass we heard earlier.
“He can’t have gone far,” the minister says, placing a firm hand on his wife’s shoulder. I’m not sure if he intentionally misunderstands Siobhan’s question, or is simply choosing to sidestep it, but Siobhan stiffens under his touch. “It’s a two-story fall from here. He either jumped and is injured, or he’s somewhere in the building.”
“Or hiding in plain sight,” Beck says from the corner of his mouth, but he’s unequivocally ignored. Declan helps me out of the hidden chamber, yanking a little harder than is strictly necessary, and unceremoniously removes Beck’s jacket from my shoulders. He tosses it on the bed, where it promptly slips to the floor. Cool air floods in through the empty window pane, sending a chill down my exposed arms. I rub them, letting the friction warm me, and glare as Declan leans against the dresser, oblivious to my discomfort.
“I don’t understand why she’s still here,” Siobhan says as her hard eyes fix on Beck. She doesn’t even pretend to care that I’m standing right here.
“Because she’s done nothing wrong. All anyone knows is that someone broke into the estate, knocked out three guards, tried to abduct Arden, then broke down her door and shattered the window. This was an affront to her, not something she did,” Declan says, his tone impatient.
“Oh, please. She was shacked up in the closet with that wannabe pirate—”
“Name’s Beck,” Beck says with a rakish grin, stepping out into the room proper. She ignores him and shakes her head.
“I can’t stand to see this happen again.” She places a hand over her mouth and gasps, feigning a distraught half-sob. Her heavy sapphire necklace clatters against her pale collarbone.
“Oh, Mother. You haven’t had nearly enough of a hand in this for it to be anything like the last time.” The room is silent except for the scratch of glass shards being swept into an aluminum dustpan. Confusion chills my already cold skin. The last time? What does that mean?
“Declan, sweetness, I can see how this chaos is weighing on you. Perhaps it’s time to discuss a final resolution to this whole ordeal.” She glares at me, nose scrunched, as if she can smell the scent of Beck’s kiss on my lips.
“Mother—” Declan warns, but the minister interrupts.
“We have an idea of what he looks like, and we have people to handle this. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we have frightened guests downstairs who are waiting for an explanation.” The minister leaves, and Siobhan starts to follow. She takes one last look at me, raking her eyes up and down. Shaking her head, she crinkles her aquiline nose, and leaves.
Declan doesn’t move, still deep in thought, but Beck moves over to the bed. He places himself on the edge of it, leaning back on his hands, comfortable and nonchalant as ever. I cross my arms, feeling abandoned and alone. We watch quietly as two workers install plywood over the gaping hole in the wall, the tension in the room palpable.
“Close the door, would you?” Declan asks one of the workers as he gathers his things. The door has been patched as well, though it will need to be replaced. Still, it clicks shut as the man leaves and apparently satisfies Declan’s need for privacy.
“I can’t see straight around this,” Declan says, lifting his eyes from whatever unspecified spot they were stuck on. “I don’t like it, and I still don’t understand. Why were you even up here?”
“Because Beck was being an asshole,” I say. I try to keep my words even and unemotional, but even just saying his name sends a flush to my cheeks.
“What about that is so hard to understand, Skipper?” Beck asks, but Declan ignores him.
“So, you ran up here, where someone tried to abduct you.”
I shrug. “He was being a jerk, so I stormed out.”
“And I was being a jerk because I wanted her to storm out,” Beck says, his voice clear.
“Why?” Declan asks, hands on his hips as he finally acknowledges Beck.
“I recognized someone. A bounty hunter.”
“Why didn’t you report it?” Declan asks.
“I wasn’t sure what I was dealing with. You’ve got so many people here with money and power. I didn’t want to report it and be asked to leave. Especially if . . .”
“Especially if, what?” Declan asks. Beck is quiet, and his face pulls slightly at the corners.
“Especially if he was after Arden.” Declan winces slightly, and then looks at me.
“Did you see your attacker’s face?”
“No,” I say. He glares at Beck, and then steps closer to me, turning slightly, as if his shoulder can provide adequate privacy.
“Did he . . . interfere with you in any way?” It’s not a nasty word, interfere, but the way he’s used it, it feels like a black mark. I start to shake my head, but then stop, narrowing my eyes as I recall the way he lifted my skirt.
“He . . .” I start, but Beck snaps his head up and I stall. Somehow, the intensity in his gaze is more intimidating than the glare in Declan’s.
“He felt for my scar,” I say. Beck’s nostrils flare, and Declan closes his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. Beck’s gaze shifts to Declan, and there’s a wave of something I don’t understand rising in their depths—anger, recognition, resignation, and . . . disappointment?
“Well,” Declan says, and I’m not sure how to interpret his tone. “Was there anything familiar about him? Anything he said? Did? Anything at all?” I met so many people, I can’t remember one from the next. But then something tugs at my memory.
“There was one man . . .”
Declan leans forward slightly, waiting and eager. Beck is quiet, and I try to sort through it quickly.
“It was during the cocktail hour. Most people were introduced by others. But this man introduced himself. He said he was somebody’s aide. Never gave his own name . . .”
“Think,” Declan says, and behind him, Beck narrows his eyes.
“Thurston? Herston?” I remember his small teeth and massive gums. “Herston. That’s it.”
“Herston?” Declan makes a face and shakes his head. “No, that can’t be right. There’s nobody named Herston here.”
“I think that’s your man, diphthong,” Beck says, letting his head loll back, eyes glued to the ceiling.
“I can’t believe this happened,” Declan says.
“Seriously?” Beck asks, standing upright.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Declan rounds on him, crossing his arms over his chest.
“She’s finding dead animals in her room. Soap burned the skin off her hands. But you can’t believe someone would put a bounty on her head? What did you think would happen when people found out you promised to pick her?” My stomach drops.
“What?” I ask, my voice raw and exposed. Beck won’t look at me.
“Oh, your little tryst in the Rhododendron Garden made the rounds at record speed,” Beck says, avoiding my gaze as he scratches the side of his nose with his thumb. Declan’s cheeks flush pink, and he shrugs, dropping his hands to his sides.
“You knew?” I ask with a slight quaver. I’m not sure which is worse: that Declan knew I was in more serious danger and did nothing about it, or that Beck knew Declan had promised to marry me, and kissed me anyway.
“It got back to me, yeah,” Declan says, obviously assuming the question was for him. I’m honestly not sure who I meant to ask. “Why do you think Mother changed the seating charts? If I made it obvious, then the whole thing would be over, and they’d never get what they need from this season.”
“What do they need?” I ask. The air is still, and Beck leans back, tilting his head to the side.
“Yeah, what do they need, Declan?”
Declan closes his eyes and breathes through his nose, his nostrils flaring slightly.
“It’s complicated.”
“Oh, is it, man?” Beck asks. Somehow, the absence of an insult makes it feel that much more dangerous.
“Declan?” I ask, and he looks at me, his eyes stormy, pleading with me for some kind of understanding.
“Better placements. Girls keep going home early. Better placements ensure key votes and supporters for our agenda. Better placements ensure our position on the global stage, and . . .”
“And?”
“Better trade agreements keep Nordania afloat.” The room spins. I squeeze my eyes shut and am assaulted with the memory of Zerah's hazel eyes. I place my hand on the wall and try to feel the solidity of it, to push it down through my feet.
“You’re . . . selling us?”
“No,” he says. “But there are certain benefits to the placements. It’s up to the girls to do their patriotic duty and push Nordanian interests. It just so happens that many of our trade deal renewals coincide with this time of year. And . . . we don’t have as many remaining girls as usual.”
“‘Just so happens?’ You’re using us for your own political agenda.”
“No, it’s not like that.” He looks offended and flustered, but my anger has reached the tipping point in the intersection of fury and heartbreak.
“Then what is it like? What was it like with Zerah?” I step closer to him, fisting my hands to keep my voice from shaking. “Are we going to get some kind of special discount when we ship things to Osterstan?”
“It’s not me!” he says, his voice too loud.
“Sure it is.” Beck moves toward us, splits the distance between me and Declan.
“Excuse me?”
“You know exactly what’s happening, and you do nothing to stop it. You’re part of the problem.”
Declan laughs with a mirthless, biting bark and raises his palms.
“Okay, fine. It’s all my fault. I haven’t been able to put an end to a systemic problem from generations past, and so it’s all my fault.”
“Well, don’t act like you’re innocent. You’re playing the game as much as anyone else,” Beck says.
“Oh, what, like you? Why are you even here?”
“Love a buffet.”
“Cut the crap, Beck. Are you here because of my mother?”
“Not my type. Too shrill. And so pointy.” He shudders.
“You know what I mean,” Declan says. His nostrils flare, and his hands curl into fists, but Beck doesn’t retreat. They stare at each other until something in the moment breaks. Beck sighs and looks away.
“Look, I’m just here. Waiting for my marching orders. I’m out of here as soon as I get the word.” Something chips away inside me, a hairline fracture, sending bits of dust and pebbles falling.
“Taking an awfully long time, aren’t they?” Declan asks, stepping closer to Beck.
“Not really.”
“You could stay closer to port.”
“Yeah, I could. But like I said, I love a buffet. Those shell-shaped butters do me in.” Declan snorts and rolls his eyes.
“Why don’t you just go home?” Declan’s voice is cutting, and Beck’s chest rises and falls with a stiff sort of stutter, as though it’s been dented or deflated.
“You know why,” he says, his voice quiet.
“I think you should go,” Declan says, edging closer. “Be a good son. A good brother.” Beck’s laugh is bitter as he shakes his head.
“Why do you care so much?”
“I don’t,” Declan says, but now he’s the one on the defensive.
“If you think I’m leaving right now, you’re insane.”
“I could have you removed.” I’ve never seen this look on Declan—hard, aggressive, haughty and entitled; it reminds me of Siobhan. Beck, though, seems unfazed, almost as though he expected nothing less.
“Go ahead. But let’s look at one unmistakable fact here.”
“What? That you’re an asshole?”
“Sure, if you want to go with that, fine. But I was thinking more along the lines of, someone came to your little shindig tonight and almost kidnapped Arden. We didn’t find him. It will happen again.”
“You heard my father. He has everyone on high alert. It won’t happen again.”
“Forgive me if I’m not convinced by your daddy’s promises. How many times have you told her it won’t happen again? I’ve lost count,” Beck says, his voice acidic. Declan seethes as Beck continues, “You don’t even know who you’re looking for. It will happen again. There’s someone out there threatened enough to risk kidnapping Arden. They will be back.”
“Oh, and you would know,” Declan says, his jaw taking on a hardened edge.
“You got something you wanna accuse me of?”
“Hey, the apple can’t fall far from the tree.” They square off, close enough to spar or waltz, and I am completely lost. And furious.
“This is ridiculous,” I say, and they both whip their heads around, as if they’ve forgotten I’m here.
“Arden,” Declan says, stepping away from Beck to place his hands on my arms. The shift in his demeanor is so sudden, it leaves me feeling sick. “If something had happened to you, I would have been devastated. I can’t even begin to imagine . . .”
“Well then, thank God for Beck.”
He freezes. His fingers are taut against my arms, and he looks like I’ve slapped him. Then he closes his eyes and recalibrates, leading me toward the hastily patched window, away from Beck. To his credit, Beck busies himself with his nails and pretends he won’t eavesdrop from ten feet away.
“I don’t trust him. It has nothing to do with you—it’s a long story . . .” I nod and look at the shuttered door to the panic room, the memory of Beck’s kiss still fresh, sending heat up my neck and into my cheeks.
“He did the right thing,” I say, still not looking at him. “And not for the first time.” Declan shuts his eyes and exhales hard through his nose, pressing his full lips tight against each other, as if burying something he really wants to say. When he opens his eyes again, his countenance is calmer. He turns and stretches out a hand to Beck.
“I’m sorry, Beck.” Beck lifts a lazy eyebrow, shooting me a cockeyed glance, as if begging me not to make him shake Declan’s hand. But he does.
“So, what then?” Beck asks.
“You’re right. It’s just going to happen again.”
“I can handle it,” I say. “Beck’s been helping me.” The now familiar distrust appears in Declan’s squinted eyes.
“Helping you do what?”
“Learn to defend myself.” His eyebrows arc in surprise, but then the lines of his face relax into something almost like relief.
“Oh,” he says, his shoulders softening. “Good. Thank you.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna cut it anymore,” Beck says, leaning into the side of the footboard. “Now they know what you can do.”
“So, I’ll train harder,” I say, but he presses his full lips together and tilts his head.
“They’ll expect it. You’ve lost the element of surprise—you can’t train fast enough. We don’t know how deep these pockets go. They could be back tomorrow, for all we know.”
“So, what then?” I ask, and they look at each other, seeming to have a conversation with nothing more than a few facial expressions.
“She can’t just leave,” Declan says.
“Nope,” Beck responds.
“Leave? Not this again,” I say, trying to ignore the panic edging into my throat.
“You couldn’t come back,” Declan says, his voice soft. “I couldn’t help you.”
“Why would I leave?”
“Because that’s the only way we can protect you.” Beck’s words are matter-of-fact. Too matter-of-fact.
“So, what? Are you going to kidnap me?” I ask with a harsh laugh. Declan raises his eyebrows, and Beck shrugs. “You’re not seriously going to kidnap me?”
“I won’t tie you up or anything—unless, of course . . . you ask nicely,” Beck says with a devilish grin that makes me blush. I shake my head, avoiding Declan’s gaze.
“This can’t be a real option.”
“It’s a terrible option,” Declan says, but his eyes are fixed on Beck. “You know what the penalty is for accused kidnappers?”
“No more buffets?”
“You’d never be allowed to dock here again. They could destroy your business.”
“Only one other ship out there that can go where mine does. It’s collecting barnacles in a port up north, and you know why it’s not going anywhere.” Beck holds Declan’s gaze for a long second.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Not really, but I know how to avoid people I don’t like. Notice how I don’t smell like orange shit? Avoided the Countess of Brandeissland downstairs, didn’t I?” Declan cringes, as if the memory is still too fresh.
“I imagine that list has grown over the years?”
“Sure has,” Beck says, pride radiating from his broad smile. I raise my palms.
“This is asinine. You want to pretend I’ve been kidnapped . . . so I won’t be kidnapped?” I ask, looking from one to the other. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous.
“She’s got it!” Beck beams as Declan turns to me. He places his long fingers on my forearm.
“Look, it’s not safe for you here. You already know that if you leave, you can’t come back. But if you’re kidnapped, you didn’t choose to leave. You could return. I could commit to finding you, stall until the other girls are placed well enough . . . it could work out for everyone.” A crawling feeling slips under my skin, and I shake it off in a long, uncomfortable shudder.
“Unless . . . you don’t want to come back,” he says, a question in his voice and real fear in his eyes. I shake my head.
“What would I even do? I have nowhere to go.”
“My offer still stands,” Beck says in a low, business-like voice, and I grin.
“There, see? I’d be Beck’s second mate. Can you picture that?”
“Honestly?” Declan squints and tilts his head. “I can picture you doing anything you set your mind to.” A wash of something strange and strong tugs at my heart, and I blink away the evidence of its impact.
“Well, this is sweet, but if you want me to do this, we need a plan. And fast—probably before morning,” Beck says.
“Why before morning?” I ask.
“It’ll be much easier to convince people you’ve been kidnapped while the real kidnapper is still at large,” Declan adds, understanding where I didn’t.
“Wait, I haven’t agreed to anything,” I say, and Declan takes a step closer, placing a lukewarm, gentle hand on my cold arm.
“We talked about all the good you can do, Arden. But you can’t do any of it if you’re not safe. We need you to be safe. This really is the best option.”
“But . . . this can’t be the only option,” I say, and my voice wavers as I consider how much worse it could get. I literally had a bag over my head, and if not for Beck, I would have been taken—God knows to where. Regardless of what happens with Declan, I need to be here. If I’m here, I can help Zerah and Carla and Neve. Maybe I can even figure out a real way to negotiate trade agreements. Beck grabs my dark pants, a dark shirt, and a jacket he finds in the drawers and tosses them on the bed.
“You have a thing for black?” I ask.
“I’m not taking you in a ballgown,” he says, though his eyes linger on my dress a moment longer. I take the clothes from him, and he turns around, yanking out drawers to make a mess, stuffing jewelry from the case on top of my dresser into his pockets. I arch an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs as if to say, what?
“Do you trust him?” Declan asks in an almost whisper.
“Yes,” I say. He sighs and nods.
“Then I do, too.”
“Good,” I say, a little softer.
“So . . .” he says, eyebrows lifting.
“Fine. I’ll go. This is ridiculous, but . . . you’re right. I can’t make any changes if I don’t survive this.” His smile is bittersweet.
“I don’t know how long this will take,” he says. “You’ll have to ignore the papers.”
“The papers?”
“The newspapers,” he says, furrowing his brow. “They’ll be reporting what’s happening here.”
“Oh, you mean about how you’re moving on and dreaming of little devil-haired babies with Fiona?”
“Or incredibly timid children with Avery.” I stifle a laugh, and he grins.
“Just promise to name a cute one after me?” I ask. The laugh lines around his eyes fade into something more serious.
“It’s you, Arden. It’s been you since our first conversation. I know that now.” I don’t know what to say. His words are so firm and sweet, and I don’t know that it’s me, or that it’s him, but I do feel something strong toward him.
“There’s a back tunnel out of here or something, right? For skulking necromancers and general hexing types?” Beck says.
“Yeah, something like that,” Declan says. Beck’s standing next to the door, something pale and clean washing over his face as he watches us, exposing—for just a moment—what’s hidden under the shiny, snarky veneer.
“I should change,” I say, and Declan nods.
“I’ll stand awkwardly in the hall,” Beck says, passing through the door. He casts a backward glance at his tuxedo jacket, lying in a heap on the dirty floor, and with a half-hearted shrug, he leaves and shuts the door. I dress in the dark clothes Beck chose, lacing up my sparring boots, and when I emerge from the bathroom, Declan is once again leaning against the dresser. He does a double take, as if he doesn’t recognize me in this getup.
“Take this,” he says, placing a solid brass disc in my hand. I smile and wrap my fingers around his compass.
“Finally, a good use for it,” I say with a smile.
“You looked really beautiful tonight. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you that before.”
“Thank you,” I say, smiling at the memory of my dress, draped now across the bathroom sink, and how beautiful I felt wearing it. “And thank you for—” Beck clears his throat louder than necessary from the hallway, interrupting, but it’s a necessary reminder. There’s no time to waste.
“Stay safe,” Declan says, cupping my face in his cool hands.
“You, too,” I say. “Don’t let the other girls . . .” I trail off, not quite sure what it is I want him to not let them do.
“I’ll do my best,” he says with a sad smile. He leans in and kisses me. It’s nice. But I don’t lose myself in it like I did before. Though, I’ve never had a goodbye kiss. Maybe they’re not supposed to be more than nice?
“I’ll be back,” I say.
“You better,” he says. He opens the broken door to my room for me, and we join Beck in the hall. Together, we go down the back staircase to the basement, and then through a door that leads to yet another set of stairs. Declan squeezes my arm at the top. I pause, turning to him. He gives me a sad smile, and then shuts the door, separating us for good.