Blood for her Crown

Chapter Forty-One

Jamie

Two weeks had passed since the invitations for the upcoming ball were delivered. All of them had been accepted. Every member of the five royal families was coming, at least the ones who were remotely alive. Ayvon Feltain was the only royal who couldn't make it. As far as Jamie knew, the poor man could barely move out of bed. His two sons, Keiran and Killian Feltain, would represent Merrisan instead.

The ball was taking place in seven days. Preparations were already being made all around the palace and the gardens. Young women and men swarmed through the halls—not servants; they were all a part of the court and apparently held high ranks within the kingdom, though that didn't make such a difference in Maldevìe. Everyone helped with decorations, stocking the kitchen, or cleaning the quarters for the guests.

The families were meant to arrive in five days. That gave them enough time to ensure their success. Everyone knew their role and assignment. The only thing that greatly unnerved Jamie was the fact that Tyros couldn't possibly be stupid enough to arrive without suspecting something. He had to have a plan as well, or, at least, an insurance that would keep Grace by his side. Whatever it was, Jamie hoped they were prepared enough.

While their plan was still in the making, he wondered about Ciden, despite trying to avoid those thoughts. Could he still be alive? If so, would Dyon bring him to the ball, or would he not dare take his likely mutilated brother to a ball of peace? Should he actually come, no part of the plan involved a rescue mission for the young Ammadon prince...

He hoped he wouldn't be there. Jamie had gotten too attached too quickly, which probably wasn't as unexpected given his overall lack of friends. He wasn't sure if he could leave him in the claws of his brother when he would have been able to help him.

Aderah had done her best to keep him hopeful about Grace. She had barely left his side, not even during the sleepless nights he had spent sitting at a desk, staring at papers containing every detail. He wasn't like Grace—nearly every plan, or idea he'd ever had had failed. She was the one who was exceptional at scheming and fulfilling her visions. It could all come crashing down so quickly was he to be left in charge of a situation...

Sighing, he rested his heavy head in his hands. The light of a dying candle flickered to his right, seconds away from burning up. Just like many other nights in the last few weeks, papers lay scattered before him. A map of the palace, secret passages, drawings of what the ballroom was going to look like, sketches of every person who would be attending, detailed descriptions of every niche of the plan. The only things he had looked at since they had discussed their situation. He knew every single thing that was said during the meetings, every word of the notes at his hands, every person who would be there. He couldn't be better prepared.

By the time Grace got there, it would have been six weeks in the claws of her father. He didn't even want to imagine what he had done to her during this time. No matter how strong she always appeared, there was one person who could shatter her entire being, and he was afraid six weeks might have been enough time to achieve that. He feared she had lost her fight, the armor she had developed after she'd escaped the first time.

The image of her sitting in a barn alone, a blade pressed against the pale skin of her forearm, pushed its way into his mind. Had he not come hours before they were supposed to meet, he would have been reunited with her dead body. She had been so close to giving up. It had taken him ten sleepless days to help her recover from the torture until he'd been sure she wouldn't harm herself. Ten days of holding her while she'd sobbed, woken up, shaking, in the middle of the night, or barely been responsive. Seeing her like that again was his biggest fear.