Céleste located a rickety chair within the suite and dragged it to sit before the fire. She rubbed her hands together, breathing in the gentle fumes, letting comfort seep under her skin.
Antoine and Sébastien paced behind her.
All three were concerned the Giromian King had figured them out. Sébastien had tried so hard to stay hidden, but his probable failure weighed on their souls and chilled them to the bone. A mist of doubt fluttered overhead, sending shivers up and down Céleste's legs.
"He will think my letter to Prudence was a ruse, and that I came to invade," said Antoine, breaking the silence, sourness spilling from his voice. His footsteps had been the loudest since the two royals had started thundering to and fro.
"Yes, you have declared that fifteen times already." Sébastien walked slower, his shoes barely hitting the floor-boards. But he wasn't any less irritated at the situation, and Céleste could tell from his turbulent, testy tone.
She kept her back to them both, but had no trouble imagining their frustrated expressions. She preferred to stare at the flames, remembering she had two options: be thrown into Romain's dungeon and left to rot, or dragged home by the hairs on her neck by her father, who also would throw her into a dungeon and leave her to rot. So she enjoyed the warmth, telling herself it might be her last time ever sensing heat on her hands.
The suite door banged open, and all three shot towards the noise, on alert.
"Majesty," said one of Antoine's guards, halting at the threshold. "Apologies for the intrusion, but carriages are racing down the bridge and out of Westten. Some Giromian riders, too. Fleeing." He heaved and hunched over, struggling to catch his breath.
"Fleeing?" Sébastien peered at Antoine, then at the soldier. "Fleeing what?"
"Giromian riders?" Antoine strode up to his man and hauled him upright. "Who? Romain?"
The guard, still winded, shrugged. "Too far to tell, Majesty. Some wore uniforms, a few of them appeared to wear armor—"
"—armor?" Antoine stomped away and groaned as he tipped his head back to scowl at the ceiling.
Sébastien shooed the man out and sealed the door behind him. "Armor."
Céleste blinked at them both and set her hands on her hips. "Armor? Am I missing something?"
"Armor, to prepare for a battle. Romain is rushing off because, as I said," Antoine sent a piercing glare at his brother, "he fears invasion. I guarantee Prudence was in one of those vehicles. He escorts her out and hopes to draw me out, too."
Sébastien huffed as he trudged over to the windows, wrenching the curtains apart. "But my message..."
"He got your message, dammit!" Antoine growled as he tugged through his greasy locks of hair. "Seventy-five percent, remember? That blasted Cornelius was likely one of the other armored riders. Of course he would egg this on, he would insist. He and his dreadful family thirst for blood. Mother said his miserable father helped Gregor kill Philippe. And now he wants to help Romain murder me."
Céleste hugged herself as pain lanced from her toes to her temples. "I nearly forgot about that."
Sébastien remained before the window, scanning the horizon, his spine tense and his lower limbs jittery. "No, Derek is the best. He... no." He banged a fist to the glass. "No one is murdering anyone!"
Céleste joined him and rubbed his back, hoping to ease some of his tension. But she sensed fear lacing around her organs and constricting them.
"We were sighted at the border, I am positive. Cornelius' men..." Antoine's storming footfalls resumed in the background, interspersed with grunts. "When we passed Terter, they sniffed us out, those rats." He barreled up and jerked Sébastien around. "Why did we pass Terter? Did you not have other passages to use?"
Sébastien dipped his chin and fumbled with his words, like a boy in a man's boots, cowering before a god. "All passages were manned but that one." He then inhaled a deep breath and perked up, doing his hardest to return his brother's glare. "It was our best shot to get you into Westten, as you requested!"
"Did you not think that was a trap? That Cornelius knew we were coming and made it easier for us to show up so that he might sway his fearless leader into tricking us?" Antoine's breaths were fire, and his eyes were ice. He whirled away and punched into a wall, shaking his hand out as he hissed.
Before Sébastien could justify himself—he'd rolled up his sleeves and snarled, bracing to stand up to his brother—the suite door opened once more.
Céleste flipped to the arrival, expecting another guard with dire news. She assumed the brothers thought the same, as they mimicked her.
It wasn't a guard.
They watched as a frail womanly figure entered, draped in an oversized maroon garb. A few strands of golden hair escaped from beneath the hood, trailing down her shoulders, and she wore lacy gloves that stood out against the fuzzy fabric of the coat.
"Hello," she said, her voice familiar, but fragile.
Antoine gawked at the newcomer. "You?"
The woman lowered her hood, revealing a pair of glowing emerald and sapphire eyes, rosy cheeks, a small nose tipped with red, and pale lips that slid into a shy smile. She hadn't aged a day—not that Céleste had expected her to—and yet there was a mature, seasoned air to her demeanor, a Princess-like manner as she batted her lashes and clasped her hands near her navel. "Were you not waiting for me?"
Sébastien's jaw dropped. "Prudence?" Before the Giromian Princess could finish nodding, Sébastien lurched up to her and tugged her into his arms. He breathed in her hair, kissed her cheeks, and shoved golden locks from her forehead. "You came!"
"Oh, Séb." She let out a strained giggle. "Look at us; Prince and Princess, at an impasse. Who bows to who?" She smiled at him. "What are you doing here?" She switched her gaze to Céleste. "And you!" She nudged Sébastien out of her way and plowed into Céleste, squeezing her tight in her arms. "Best friend, oh, my sweet girl. Insane girl! Why have you come?" She gripped Céleste's shoulders and slanted away, scanning her.
Céleste's heart thumped a million miles a minute, and her legs shook so much she struggled to bend them, to curtsy. "Your Highness—"
Prudence stopped her. "Nonsense. Not here." Her voice was a melody, a hymn compared to the gruffness of the arguing siblings Céleste had traveled with. "Explain to me what possessed you to travel to Giroma? Well accompanied, I see, but your father—"
Antoine's throat clearing broke into the conversation, and everyone focused their attention on him.
"Sir Richel—senior and junior—will hear nothing of this." He wandered over, his steps cautious, his gaze resting on Prudence. "I put measures in place to protect her from both, should they search for her during our absence."
Prudence's frame rattled as she witnessed the King's approach. From her profile, Céleste caught her cheeks darkening, her chin trembling, and her chest caving in as she sucked in a heavy breath.
"Antoine, I—"
He stopped within a few feet and inclined his head. "Highness." Flushed, he averted his gaze to the hem of Prudence's cloak. "I know you hate me, but I traveled a long way, and Miss Richel was to be our buffer, but since you are here—"
Prudence snorted. "Shut up, you fool." Antoine's neck jerked up and his eyebrows raised, but before he had a chance to speak, Prudence jumped into his arms.
He hesitated to hold her, at first, but soon he pulled her close, pressed her to his torso, and weaved his fingertips through her curls. His nostrils expanded as he took in her scent and relaxed.
Sébastien pulled Céleste away, and she smiled at the feel of him, at his cheek next to hers. She was about to turn and kiss him when bells rang. Disturbing and distant, but resonating into the room as if coming from outside.
Antoine and Prudence released one another, and Sébastien jolted towards the window.
The bells were faint, at first; like nips in the breeze, baby animal screeches. Then they became louder, like shocks to the nervous system, echoing closer and closer to the Inn, vibrating its walls, shaking its core.
Sébastien opened the window and looked out. The noise grew again, and Céleste could have sworn she heard hooves on pavement, encircling the Inn, grouping in the streets below.
Her gut twisted into knots.
We have been found!
The patrol officer from earlier dashed into the room. "Majesty, Highnesses, quickly!" He motioned at them to exit. "Fire. Fire! We must get you out at once!"
"Fire?" Antoine glowered at the man, then at Sébastien.
The guard's gesturing became more pronounced, and slick sweat coated his forehead. "Yes, fire! We are unsure from where, but smoke and fumes have enveloped the town and Giromian soldiers have sounded the alarm and they are everywhere! We must get you to safety before you are discovered, or caught in the flames!"
After slamming the window shut, Sébastien bolted to Antoine's side. "Safety, my arse."
Antoine tapped his brother's back. "Agreed. It is a diversion, to get us out."
The guard's face paled. "The fire is real, Sire! I saw the smoke, I smelled it."
"It may be real, but it is meant to draw us out. To make us leave town." Antoine's fists clenched at his sides.
"They might be attacking the wrong Inn, hoping to catch us." Sébastien winced. "You know what we have to do, Antoine. We discussed this."
Céleste, gluing to Prudence's side, her flight or fright reactions nonexistent, didn't recall any discussions about what to do in the event of a fire caused to trap them. "What? What do we do?"
"You do nothing." Antoine swept over to them, and snatched Prudence's hand to kiss it. "We will diffuse the situation by going straight to Romain and confronting him."
Prudence gasped and gripped his hand, refusing to let him walk away. Céleste glanced at her betrothed, a scream catching in her throat.
"He will kill you," said Prudence, drawing Antoine closer, letting their noses touch.
"No," said Sébastien, hastening over to place a chaste peck on Céleste's mouth. "Because unlike our uncle, Antoine will have back-up. Me. I am unsure why our father failed to defend his brother, but I will not make his errors." He squeezed Prudence's arm. "Can you take her to safety? In the castle, perhaps?"
Prudence shook to life. "Yes. I remember the secret passage I came through... she will be safe with me.
The Princess didn't protest any further, but Céleste couldn't let Sébastien go. She couldn't let Antoine rush right into what she feared was a deadly trap.
"There must be another way—"
"—there is not." Antoine pushed Sébastien towards the door. "It is our fault the Giromians are so riled up, and if they are causing a ruckus and setting fires to summon us, to confuse us... then we will confuse them by locating them and attempting a talk. We did not come here for malevolent intent, and we need to prove that." With that, he and Sébastien vanished out into the corridor.
Prudence lifted her hood and urged Céleste to do the same before taking hold of her wrist.
"Come. We must go."
On the brink of erupting with tears, Céleste obeyed, and let the Princess haul her down the hallway, down the steps, through the foyer, and outside. Her ears rang with the chiming bells, getting harsher with each fleeting minute.
Prudence guided her through the misty atmosphere; a pungent odor of smoke hung in the air. They sloshed through melting snow, and the farther they went, the worse the fumes became, thick like clouds, toxic to their lungs.
They kept on, passing panicked citizens shouting, running, slipping in the snow. Their forms were blurred, as Céleste's eyes loaded with tears from the haze. Giromian soldiers yelled commands up above, to the left, to the right, and pounding hooves echoed all over. It was utter chaos; as if the entire town had caught flame and a war had started.
Céleste overheard some of the townsfolk's cries.
"It is in the forest!"
"The Westten Cliff woods are aflame!"
"Fire in the Westten Forest, outside the gates! Spreading around the entire city!"
"Are we being attacked?"
"Totresians have invaded Giroma!"
It took forever for Prudence to halt, at last. Several feet ahead of them, and between two run-down buildings, she indicated something—a stone and wood indentation in the rock. After rubbing her eyes, Céleste understood what it was—a camouflaged doorknob.
Prudence waded through piles of snow, dragging Céleste along. She glimpsed Céleste with a grimace. "Ready? It is not an easy trek." Her once vibrant gaze had dulled, and despite the blizzard-like cold, her cheeks had no color.
Lost for words, overwhelmed, and afraid for her life, Céleste nodded once.
Prudence opened the door.
•••