A Court This Cruel & Lovely (Kingdom of Lies, #1) (108)

I angled my head. “You’re becoming surprisingly perceptive, Marth.”

He shivered and took a step away from me.

I had many reasons I’d attempted to stay away from the little wildcat. Among those was the fact that I was as different from these courtiers—and from her village boy—as night was from day. My affections were dark, possessive, all-consuming.

Sabium began his speech, spewing his usual poison. Thankfully, it was shorter than usual, and I politely clapped with everyone else as the music began once more.

Rythos appeared at my shoulder. He’d been staying out of sight, but he leaned close. “There’s something wrong with Prisca.”

I went still. Wrath rose inside me, a beast that howled for vengeance.

The world narrowed, until all I could see was Prisca, weaving across the dance floor toward the wall. Fear flickered in her eyes, and she stumbled.

“Lorian,” Rythos hissed, but I was already moving.

My arms came around her as her knees almost buckled. “Too much wine?”

I knew the answer before she managed to lift her head, her gaze clouded. “You. I know you.”

A chill began in my stomach and radiated outward. “Prisca. You’ve been poisoned. I need you to do exactly what I say.”

She tugged weakly at my grip. “Let go.”

“No. You’re going to walk toward that door over there. Can you do that?”

“Gold door.”

“That’s right. The gold door.”

“Pretty.”

My pulse thudded as the color began to drain from her face. She stumbled, and fear plunged into my chest, as sharp as my sword. Whatever she had been given was fast-acting. I had to get a healer to her before she collapsed.

“Prisca, listen.” I was trembling, I realized. Shaking more than the woman in my arms. My every instinct told me to carry her away from here. But Sabium was already frowning at me, clearly wondering why I was taking the time to dance with a woman so far below my station.

Sending him a wicked smile, I waited until realization crossed his face. Let him think I’d decided to bed one of the queen’s women. A woman who was clearly incapacitated.

The king smirked, his gaze drifting away, and I let out a long breath. There was no way Prisca could walk alone. She could barely stand. We would both have to deal with the rumors and interest.

Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I turned and escorted her off the dance floor, ensuring my expression showed nothing more than bored amusement.

Not a single person stepped in front of me to ask what I was doing steering a clearly drunk woman away from the ball. Most of them smirked, turning to whisper to their friends—already creating vicious gossip.

Rythos fell into step next to me, his expression serious, eyes hard. Courtiers glanced at his face and away, and we suddenly had a clear path to the door.

“You’re being remarkably well controlled,” he murmured.

I glanced at him, and he stiffened. “Fuck. Keep your head down.”

Turning my attention back to Prisca, I allowed Rythos to lead the way.

“What happened to her?” a feminine voice asked.

I recognized this woman. This was Farrow’s daughter. The hybrid who was now beholden to Prisca. Our first piece of luck.

“We need to get her to her room,” Rythos said.

She gave me a cool look. “I’ll take her.”

I showed her my teeth. Rythos elbowed me.

“She’s unwell,” he said carefully. “We will escort her.”

“I’m not letting you take her alone.”

“Come with us, then,” Rythos gritted out.

I was already turning, guiding Prisca up the steps. She stumbled again, almost going down, and Rythos took her other arm, until we were practically carrying her between us.

As soon as we were far enough from the ballroom to avoid most of the curious eyes, I hauled Prisca into my arms, striding faster.

“Get a healer,” I ordered Rythos. “One of ours.”

Our eyes met and he nodded. He knew exactly who to find.

“Why would she need a healer?” The woman puffed behind us, her shorter legs and heavy gown making it difficult for her to keep up.

Ignoring her, I glanced down the corridor. “Which room is hers?”

No one could know just how much I knew about this woman.

“That one,” the woman pointed. She opened the door, and I strode inside, laying Prisca on the bed. Her breathing had turned thready, her skin almost gray. She shivered occasionally, and her lips had already taken on a blue tinge. Dread expanded through my veins, tinged with a kind of brutal helplessness I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

“You can leave now,” the woman said.

My gaze met hers, and she flinched at whatever she saw in my eyes. “Get away from her,” she hissed.

“What is your name?”

“Madinia.”

“Madinia, look at her.”

The woman complied, and her eyes widened.

“Poison.”

“Yes. You need to leave.”

She immediately shook her head. “I’ll inform the queen.”

My dagger was nestled against her throat before I was aware I’d moved. “Say anything of this, and you’ll wish for a death as kind as poison.”