Of Heirs and Havoc ✔️ | Of Crimes and Crowns Book 2

twenty : of hearts and hands

Victoria would have gladly stayed in bed for the rest of her life.

But unfortunately, she could not.

Perspiration, sticky and damp, clung to her covered limbs, pooling beneath even the lightest linen sheets. Never, except in her faintest memories of her early childhood in Ruida, had she experienced such heat. It was both despised and welcome, because it reminded her that she was no longer in Arlea, no longer under the thumb of a power-hungry tyrant, no longer trapped in the cold dark but rather free to move as she wished in the bright warmth of the Sleeping Island. Although it seemed less luminous today, tainted as it had been by yesterday's tragedy. The blood, the girl, the knife... she wished she hadn't seen it.

She and Francisco had been returning from a languid stroll on the grounds, him showing her flowers she had never seen before and surprising her with his quick wit that made her want to match him, challenge him. Victoria has been on the verge of kissing him, when they heard the scream. The one that brought her heart to a standstill, that brought back memories she had thought locked away... It had brought back nightmares, as well, that contributed some to the sweat beading on her forehead. He had graciously seemed to sense that she needed to be alone, and had let her go.

Francisco. He was charming—but none of it felt false; every compliment that fell from his lips like honey seemed genuine, and even if they weren't, she was inclined to believe them. Some men flattered women for their beauty. Francisco... he seemed to notice everything but her appearance. It wasn't that he didn't compliment her looks, but that he didn't make them out to be the sum total of her worth. The feeling was refreshing, a far cry from the droves of suitors back in Arlea who could drone for hours about any woman's figure or hair or eyes—as easily as they forgot the same woman's name.

Victoria forced herself out of bed and out of the suffocating room, stumbling into the bathing chamber. A basin of water with blue petals floating on its surface awaited her, and she splashed the cool liquid onto her face with a relieved sigh. She saw, gladly, that a bath had been drawn for her, and just as she was about to sink into it, Dolores entered the room. Victoria gave herself over to the maid's ministrations with a sort of routine blankness, her mind wandering elsewhere as she was groomed and pampered.

Who—or what—had been the cause of that girl's death?

She didn't want to involve herself in another murder, another dark and morbid scandal. Yet it seemed to be her fate, to be drawn to the macabre as surely as a moth to a flame, because she wanted—no, needed—to know. She knew there would be no stopping herself once she caught the first taste of danger, of a mystery. Yet that had been her downfall, had it not? The belief that she could have some sort of effect on the machinations of killers and thugs?

She shook her head. Best to focus on living, on the life ahead of her and the people in it. Better to think of silly, insipid things such as gowns and gentlemen, not knives and knaves. Yet, even as she told herself this, Victoria still wondered. Gratefully, she allowed her corset to be laced, allowed herself to be dressed in the thin linen shift and emerald-green overdress that she selected quickly, fingering the material with an absent mind. She ate the morning meal delivered to her chambers with little fanfare, alternating between contemplating the circumstances of the maid's death and scolding herself for it. Finally, with the luscious fruit and honey-drizzled bread tasting like ashes in her mouth, she left her chambers in search of the library, hoping an adventure novel or two would allow her to escape the confines of her own mind.

Victoria hadn't gotten very far through the corridors of arched windows and porcelain vases before she was stopped, however, by an unexpected yet utterly welcome visitor.

"Oh!" Tori clapped a hand to her mouth in feigned shock, more out of habit than any real emotion. She was still in a daze.

"What a pleasure to see your lovely face, and so early in the day," Francisco declared, with a grin that was like a beam of sunshine, warming her entire body. "It gives a man hope for the future."

She ignored the second comment, unsure of his insinuation—or perhaps only hoping to find one. "Good morning, Francisco."

"Good morning, Victoria. I hope I haven't interrupted you on some important mission?" He made it sound as though she were someone exciting, like a spy or a pirate.

"The only adventure I planned on partaking in was an adventure novel, so no," she replied, taking his proffered arm. "And yourself?"

He gave her a secretive, fleeting grin. "A gentleman never reveals his secrets."

She rolled her eyes, despite her mother's voice in the back of her mind telling her to remain ladylike. "I thought it was magicians who never revealed their secrets?"

"Mayhap, I am one," he responded cheerfully just as they approached the leaden-glass doors leading to the gardens. "Would you care to walk with me, Victoria?"

Perhaps he was a magician. Because the way he looked at her, the grip of his hand on hers... All of it made certain she could not find any refusal on her tongue, in her mind, could only hear her pulse like a drumbeat, screaming at her to say yes. "I would love to."