I turned, spotting Grady entering the hall. I started toward him. I started to speak.
“Whatever you have to tell me is going to have to wait for a few,” he said, placing his hand on my lower back. “There’s something you need to see.”
Curiosity rose, but so did that anxious energy. It made me jumpy, chest too tight.
“Hymel just came out of the Great Chamber.” Grady led me through the narrow hall, to one of the many interior doors. He kept his voice low as we entered the main hall, one now filled with vases overflowing with those flowers I’d seen earlier, placed upon numerous marble pedestals. “He wasn’t alone.”
I glanced down the wide hall of the foyer that opened on both sides to the outside, my gaze landing on the pillared, stone doors. “Who was he with?”
“You’ll see.” Grady nodded toward one of the windows that looked over a part of the circular drive leading to the manor.
I saw Hymel standing with his back to us, but it was those he stood below that caught and held my attention. There were three of them astride sable-black horses that towered over the shires. One had long, fair hair that reminded me of the lord we’d seen in Union City, knotted at the nape of his neck, but the blond wasn’t the icy white of Lord Samriel’s. Another’s skin was a warm clay in the sun, and the third was raven-haired, and that was who spoke to Hymel.
It was clear they were Hyhborn, but none that I knew who had arrived with Thorne. Besides, Commander Rhaziel and Lord Bastian had left with Thorne.
“Are they from Primvera? Bringing more food?” I asked.
“That’s what I thought until I saw the one who’s speaking to Hymel now,” Grady said, placing his hand on the window. “That’s Prince Rainer.”
My eyes widened as I stepped closer to the window, unable to make out much of any of their features.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Grady questioned.
“Maybe it’s about the Westlands threat,” I said, though I never knew the Prince to have visited Archwood before. “Or about the shadow market.”
“Yeah.” Grady angled his body toward me. “But what the hell is he doing talking with Hymel about those things and not the actual baron?”
That was a damn good question.
Hymel handled quite a bit of the day-to-day functionality of Archwood, but there was no way that the Baron would not be available to speak to the Hyhborn.
Especially not a prince.
The anxiety was now a dread I couldn’t name, but it was pumping through my veins as I hurried through the maze of halls, the hem of the pale gray tunic snapping at my knees. My thoughts bounced between the possibility that Claude and his family had descended from Deminyens— that I had— and what that really meant. If it meant anything. But I set aside what I’d learned from Maven as I reached the gold-adorned doors of the Baron’s personal apartments.
Something wasn’t right.
When I knocked and there was no answer, I tried the handle, finding the door locked. Cursing, I pulled a pin holding the shorter strands back from my hair and knelt.
A wry grin tugged at my lips as I gripped the handle and worked the thin edge of the pin into the keyhole. One thing I could appreciate from my life before Archwood was the certain . . . skills I’d acquired.
Taking a deep breath, I willed my hand to be steady and gentle as I wiggled the pin left and then right. Picking locks was truly an exercise in patience, a virtue that neither living on the streets nor in a nice home had helped me develop. Must be nice to be a Hyhborn and able to just will the door to unlock.
Or able to simply kick it in.
If I tried that, I’d likely break my foot.
Finally, I heard the soft snick of finding the tumbler. Biting down on my lip, I continued to wiggle the pin until I felt the mechanism give a little. I kept my hand steady as I turned counterclockwise. The handle turned in my palm.
A brief smile of satisfaction tugged at my lips as I shoved the pin back into the braid and rose, pushing open the door.
The private quarters of the Baron were all wealth and luxury. I remembered the first time I’d been in these chambers. I hadn’t been able to stop touching everything.
It had been at least two years since I’d entered Claude’s chambers. Maybe even longer, and it was strange being in here now. I ran a hand over the plush back of a couch. Fruits and meats were left out, half eaten, on a polished table. Ceiling fans stirred silk curtains finer than any clothing most lowborn would ever own.
“Claude?” I called out.