There’s a queue of vehicles at the palace gates trying to leave, but their way is blocked by a delivery van with its rear doors open. Several pallets of goods have spilled out onto the road and the driver and two guards are working to load everything back in. Behind the truck is a sleek black car with a chauffeur, and a decorator’s truck.
I glance at the spill and into the car, and then the man sitting in the decorator’s truck, something feeling familiar. Then, across the grounds, a flash of scarlet catches my eye.
A man is striding quickly toward the administrative offices. He disappears behind a column, and when he reappears, I realize that it’s Archduke Levanter, his steel gray hair neat and an expression of fierce concentration on his face; his habitual expression when he isn’t looking at his wife.
I don’t agree with Levanter about a lot of things, but he can strike a balance between being hard for his work and then soft for the woman he loves. I wish Jakob could be more like that.
Our paths cross as we near the entrance to the offices. I stop at the bottom of the steps and dip into a curtsey. “Your Grace.”
“Lady Sachelle.” His mouth twitches, as if he wants to ask if I’m here to see Mr. Rasmussen. Doubtlessly, he disapproves. First Aubrey marries a commoner, and now I’m engaged to one.
I’ve got an odd feeling as I look at him. Not déjà vu, though the feeling is making me uneasy. Not the prickling sensation on the back of your neck of someone walking over your grave, either. More like my senses have picked up on something dangerous, but I don’t know what.
“Are you all right, Lady Sachelle?”
“Hm? Oh, yes. I’m fine. Thank you, Your Grace.”
I start walking up the stairs to the door, and my bodyguards follow. With everything that’s happened lately, I’m probably just being paranoid. Between Jakob’s City Guard nearby and Levanter’s King’s Guard safeguarding the palace, this is one of the safest places in all of Paravel.
18
Jakob
I check my messages every ten minutes as Sachelle has her meeting with Matilda, and the guards I’ve assigned her let me know she’s arrived safely. I’ll be able to relax when I know she’s back at Balzac House. Then she can stay there, for good, until this disaster has been sorted out.
That’s what it is. A disaster.
I don’t know where Tieman or any of his people have gone. They’ve melted into the cracks of this city, and god knows what they’re planning now. The most destructive thing they’ve done so far was smoke-bombing Hotel Ivera, but from what Briar’s told me, they’re planning something bigger. Much bigger.
I push back from my desk. I need a cup of coffee and a walk to clear my head. I come upon Archduchess Levanter in the hallway, clutching a doorframe and hunched over. Her blonde hair is falling around her chalk-white face.
I hurry over to her. “Are you unwell, Your Grace?”
She nods with her hand over her mouth but doesn’t speak, as if she’s frightened that if she opens her mouth, she’ll throw up. I put my hands on her shoulders and steer her into my office and over to a chair. She sits down, her knees trembling.
“Should I call His Grace?”
Wraye shakes her head. After a moment, she’s able to sit up and take a breath. “Just a little nausea. It passes.”
“All the same, I should call His Grace. He’ll want to know.”
She scowls at me. “Honestly, must you all be so overprotective? I’m fine.”
I smile, because she reminds me of my Sachelle. They don’t realize that we need to be protective and worry about these things. “Yes, we must. It’s best you go home. I’ll walk you over to the barracks so His Grace can take you himself.”
“He won’t thank you for interrupting him,” she tells me as she gets to her feet, but follows me to the door.
“On the contrary, he’ll horsewhip me if I do nothing or send you home alone.” Her and his unborn child, because I’m fairly certain the Archduchess is pregnant. Levanter has a chance to hold his baby in his arms for the first time. He’s going to be overprotective to the point of insanity, and Wraye will just have to accept it.
The fastest way to the barracks is to head out the front and across the palace grounds, but it’s cold and wet out and so I lead the Archduchess along the inner corridors. We walk slowly and she has the inward expression and glassy stare of someone who’s doing her very best not to throw up.
I can’t wait for Sachelle to be like this. Not on the verge of being sick, but pregnant and her body changing. Her head full of thoughts of our child. She’ll carry that little bean inside her wherever she goes, and I’ll hate the thought of leaving them alone for even a second.