51
Evangeline had thought Marisol had betrayed her before, but she hadn’t, not really. Bewitching Luc wasn’t betrayal. There’d been nothing to betray. Evangeline and Marisol had lived in the same house, but they weren’t really sisters. They’d never shared secrets, they’d never shared heartaches, and they had never been as honest as they’d been with each other tonight. But Evangeline should not have been so truthful.
“Marisol, don’t do this,” Evangeline pleaded.
Marisol’s only reply was to sink to the ground and hug her knees, making herself look small and vulnerable as the door to her suite flung open.
Evangeline frantically searched for an escape, but there was only the balcony. She wouldn’t survive a jump, and there wasn’t enough time. Two guards, quickly followed by another pair, rushed into the room in a clatter of drawn swords all pointed at her.
“She just confessed to murdering Prince Apollo,” Marisol lied.
“That’s not true—” Evangeline was cut off as several soldiers converged, grabbing and restraining and cutting off her words.
“My heart! My heart! Are you all right?” Tiberius burst through the open doors. He sounded just like his brother, when he’d been cursed, as he rushed into Marisol’s arms, and Evangeline felt utterly stupid once again for believing her stepsister had not bewitched him. Marisol might have confessed some things, but clearly she hadn’t been honest about everything. She was really behind all of this.
“Put Evangeline in my chambers,” Tiberius ordered.
“Darling, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Marisol latched on to his arms, doing an excellent impression of a helpless maiden. “Shouldn’t you take her down to the dungeon? Lock her up where she can’t hurt anyone else?”
“Don’t worry, my heart.” Tiberius pressed a kiss to Marisol’s forehead. “I just need to question her. Then I’ll make sure she’s put somewhere she can’t hurt anyone else ever again.”
* * *
The guards used little care as they dragged Evangeline into Tiberius’s chambers and tied her to one of the chairs. After they relieved her of Jacks’s dagger, her ankles were roughly secured to the legs, and her arms were stretched behind her. Her hands were bound at the wrists and then tied again with a rope that went all the way around her midsection, cutting into her ribs and making it uncomfortable to breathe.
Tiberius didn’t spare her a glance as it was done. He didn’t acknowledge it when she repeatedly cried, “I swear, I didn’t kill your brother!”
Tiberius simply stared into a great black stone hearth and ran a hand through his long copper hair, watching as one of his guards started a fire.
He no longer looked like the impish rebel prince she’d met at her wedding. Lines that had not been there before bracketed his mouth, and his eyes were full of red. He didn’t appear bewitched right now; he looked as if he were in mourning. Which was one good thing. If Tiberius were really mourning, if he really loved his brother as she believed, then he would want to know who the real killer was.
All Evangeline had to do was to stay alive long enough for Tiberius to see the blue bottle of Fortuna’s Fantastically Flavored Water containing the antidote she’d made. It was sitting on the low center table across from her, next to his other bottles of liquor. If he just saw it and drank it, all would be right in the world.
Evangeline would have tried to bring the bottle to his attention, but she imagined mentioning it would only make them all suspicious.
She sensed how each of the soldiers in the room had felt about Prince Apollo from the way they regarded her. Disgust. Anger. Loathing. There were no hints of pity. Although Havelock—his personal guard, who’d also been there the night that Apollo had died—looked regretful. He probably felt as if he’d failed his prince.
Tiberius continued staring into the fire. He picked up a fireplace iron shaped like a trident, placed its tip in the burgeoning flames, and watched as it turned red.
Evangeline started sweating, skin going slick against her bonds. She didn’t know if Tiberius was planning on torturing her with the fire iron or killing her, but she feared either option.
“Your Highness,” Havelock said softly, “now that we have Princess Evangeline in custody, we should delay tomorrow’s wedding. This news may—”
“No!” Tiberius’s voice was slightly unhinged.
The soldiers did a good job schooling their expressions, but Evangeline swore at least two went wide-eyed, and she wondered if they suspected something was amiss with the young prince’s engagement.