The Ring and the Crown (The Ring and the Crown 1)

—LORDE,

“ROYALS”

“What was that?” Marie said, hearing the sound of gunshots from the courtyard. She turned, looking back at the palace walls. It had taken a while to make her way through the tunnels to the gates, and she was nervous that someone would find them, that she would be caught before they could escape.

“Nothing that concerns us,” said Gill, taking her bag and putting it in the carriage. “Come, Marie—please.”

She nodded, still shaking, shivering. She was so frightened. She was leaving the only life she’d ever known. Leaving not just St. James Palace, but England, the empire, the Continent. New York was only the first stop; it was Gill’s plan to make their way south: first to Mexico, then as far south as they could go. They could not stay anywhere within the empire’s reach; they would have to find a small independent country where they could hide and create new lives.

Gill looked tense. His eyes were bloodshot, worried.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I didn’t think you would meet me.”

“I am here,” she said.

He folded her into his arms and kissed her hair. “This is a dream.”

“My dream,” she said, putting her arms around him and kissing him on the lips tenderly. “Let us go and make it a reality.”

“Here,” he said, putting a cloak around her shoulders and helping her into the warm carriage.

“How did you know the wards would be down? And where did you get the money?” Marie asked, when they were safely on their way. “Who helped us?”

“A friend,” Gill said. “My captain handed me an envelope, said it came from someone very important. Inside were two thousand emperos, and a note that said the wards would be down at midnight. It said for me to do my best by you. That’s all I know, as it was unsigned. I didn’t ask any questions, and the captain had no answers. But a friend helped us tonight, Marie—a real friend.”

A real friend…Marie thought. As the carriage rolled away from the palace, Marie thought she would feel complete, happy; but she was nervous, agitated. Those gunshots in the courtyard—and that strange smell in the basements.…She tried to shake them from her mind, tried to focus on the warm body next to her. The reassuring solidity of Gill Cameron. But something in her mind nagged at her.…

“We have to go!” Isabelle said, crazed, as their hansom took them away from St. James. Louis-Philippe was sitting between her and Hugh, his hair wild, his cheeks red, breathing heavily. “We have to leave as soon as possible! Good God, Louis, you shot the prince! You killed him!”

“Isabelle! Calm down,” Hugh ordered, his normally placid voice agitated. “We have to think this through. Louis-Philippe shot the prince in a duel. Duels are protected by law. He is not a criminal.”

“What about the queen? What about the Merlin? The princess—? When they find out what he has done—they will take away everything they have allowed us to keep,” she said bleakly. “They will send us away, even from our homes, and burn Orleans down.”

“We have nothing to fear from House Aquitaine; they are our friends,” Hugh said with a smug smile. “I have taken care of the princess.”

Louis-Philippe was dazed, his eyes blank, but at Hugh’s voice he came to life. “I did it for you,” he whispered, looking deep into her eyes. “I did it for you. I won…and I saved your honor.”

Isabelle was shocked. In the middle of her panic, she had forgotten this part—this essential reason for his valiant action. She stared at him, and she realized what she’d told him before the duel was still true. She loved him. She loved him, and he had saved her honor. And when she looked into his eyes, she knew he was not thinking of Celestine anymore.

What was having a girl for a season, compared to a lifetime of loving her?

“Louis,” she whispered.

It was he who turned to her, who took her in his arms and kissed her like a man; and at last, at long last, Isabelle found what she had been looking for all her life: safety, security, love. At last, all her dreams would come true.

His brother was dead. It was all his fault. He should never have let him duel. But Leopold had been so confident in his success, and Wolf had never been able to stop him from doing anything. Still, when the shot rang out, Wolf was sure it would be the young French boy who fell to the ground, but it was not. It was his brother. Leo. I don’t need magic to win my fights, Wolf thought fiercely. I should have been the one to hold the gun. I could have cut that boy down before he drew a breath. But Leo had insisted, had assured him nothing would happen, that nothing could happen to him.…

And so Wolf had let him, because his older brother was always right, and now Leo was dead. He was kneeling in the bloody courtyard. People were screaming, milling about; the healers had taken Leo’s body into the palace. King Frederick was being roused from his sleep, as was Queen Eleanor. But Wolf was alone. He couldn’t find anyone. He was alone among strangers, alone in the courtyard with blood on his hands, and his brother was dead.

“He’s not dead,” Oswald said, appearing by his side. “Get up, Wolf. Get up.”

Wolf looked up with bleary eyes at his mentor. “Leo’s not dead?”

“He’s still breathing,” Oswald said. “The healers are looking at him now, the Merlin as well. He is unconscious and gravely wounded, but he is still breathing.”

Wolf said a prayer of thanks.