It rained the day of the queen's passing ceremony, as though the skies grieved, their tears seeking to dampen Henrietta's pyre.
I hung back from the guests, royal and common alike. My presence didn't seem fitting. I wasn't of their court, my family wasn't from this land, and there was no place for an entertainer here, at a time of grieving. Yet, I couldn't seem to bring myself to leave.
After retreating under the cover of a large, gnarled oak, I watched the procession of people march toward the flower meadows, where the pyre was stacked and waiting for its flame.
Countless brightly colored umbrellas bobbed, like a field of primroses.
The passing ceremony was joyous in its colors, but solemn in its silence.
Rain soaked my hair and clothes, and a chill gnawed on my bones, although the weather wasn't cold. The cold was within me.
Days and nights had come and gone since the tete-a-tete with Rafe in the bathing pools. I hadn't seen him since, or much of anyone. I'd kept to my room, waiting for the bruises to fade. Ellyn had dropped by, checking I hadn't found more trouble.
After Rafe's timely appearance at the baths, I'd begun to suspect Ellyn might have Rafe's ear as well as mine. It would explain how Rafe had known where I'd be, and possibly knew more than he should, for someone who'd been hiding for years.
I'd have to be more careful around Ellyn. I should have known better than to make a friend. They were always weaknesses, in the end.
A torchbearer lit the pyre. Flames raced up toward the black skies. Some spluttered under the deluge, but the fire took hold. The crowds parted a little, easing back from the heat, and there, lit by the fire's glow, Rafe stood beside his father, head bowed. The grieving son. The heir. Not so kindly and innocent as I'd been told.
Had he tried to kill Quinton, could he have killed his mother? Why though? What drove him? Who was he, really? So many questions.
Questions were all that the prince ever gave me.
"You're overdue," a gruff, familiar voice rumbled over my left shoulder. I didn't need to look to know who it was. I'd been expecting Jax days ago. I'd been due to meet up with him after I'd first taken Quinton into the gardens as my alibi.
"I've been busy." I flicked my fingers at the constant stream of people marching along the path beside us.
"All the more reason to report." Something cold and hard dug into my lower back. A blade. "Imagine our beneficiary's rage when he heard of the queen's death from careless gossip and not his spy in the heart of their court."
I didn't have to imagine it. I'd felt that rage before, and tucked my mutilated hand out of sight under my folded arm.
"He has waited long enough. Tell me everything you have learned since our last meeting."
"Here? It seems a little exposed—" The dagger's point jabbed deeper. "Fine. The queen was killed, assailant unknown. I was a suspect, spent a night in the dungeon, but managed to escape that unfortunate turn of events and have the king admit to my innocence. You may tell our beneficiary exactly that."
"He's not interested in stroking your ego." "Hm, no, not my ego—"
"Get on with it."
I kept my gaze fixed on the prince and spilled all the secrets I'd collected from the court. Misbehaving lords, families riddled with debt, the child born out of wedlock, the wrong man beaten, how a lady opened her legs for coin, and how another liked to ride her husband like a horse, reins and all. All the dirty little secrets from behind the scenes and between the sheets. I cherished each one, nurtured them, and gave them up to Jax when the time was right.
"Is that all?" Jax grumbled, dissatisfied. "Tits and dicks?"
"Tits and dicks is what the Court of Love is good at." The words had barely left my lips when the blade dug in deeper, piercing skin. I jerked away, but Jax's hand locked on my shoulder, hauling me back. "The king is mine!" I blurted. "I control him. Is that not enough?"
"It's a start. And now the queen is out of play. How fortunate. What of the prince?"
Rafe, ha. Every time Jax asked, and every time I told him the same. The prince remained behind his door. "He continues to hide in his room." I nodded toward the pyre. "This is the first time I've seen him."
"Our beneficiary needs more. The prince is an unknown, and we both know how he dislikes unknowns."
Beneficiary. As though saying his name might summon him beneath this very tree. I shuddered at the thought. "Then perhaps he should come to the Court of Love and speak with Rafe himself."
"Careful, Fool." Jax's warm breath fluttered over my ear. "Or he will come, and sever your tongue as well as your finger."
Prince Rafe chose that moment to look up, right through a gap in the people. His silvery gaze locked on mine. At so far a distance, with a lawn, pathway, and many umbrellas between us, he couldn't have heard my discussion, but his eyes narrowed, as though he knew how I conspired against him.
He likely saw the man standing in shadow close behind me. That razor-sharp mind of his would be working to riddle us out.
I wanted him to see. Although it went against what I should want. That was it, exactly as he'd said. He and I were the same. Both of us were locked in a race to figure the other out first. He knew I wasn't just a fool, and I knew he was so much more than the Prince Behind a Door.
"Our beneficiary wants you to return," Jax said. Ice encased my heart. "What?"
"Close your matters here. You are to return in three days."
Three days… No. It wasn't enough. Three months, three years. It would never be long enough. I couldn't go back. I couldn't step back into darkness when I'd been so long in the light. "There's more to discover, more secrets—"
"No, you've been given his instructions. It's over. All of it. Come home."
Rafe's gaze narrowed further. He'd seen my expression, seen the shock, then the horror. I flung a smile onto my face, but it was too late. Rafe said something to his father, and without waiting for his reply, Rafe swept through the crowd, white cloak bellowing—coming straight for me.
"Go, Jax," I whispered. "Now."
"Three days, Levi."
I glared over my shoulder, fixing the old man in my glare. He was riddled with scars, each one a gift from our beneficiary. Eight short slashes marked his cheek, one for every man he'd killed. I didn't plan to be among them. "I can't go back, it's not done."
"You don't get a choice. Three days." Jax hurried down the slope, unhitched his horse from a fence rail, and swung into the saddle. His mount's hooves still thumped the ground as Rafe marched across the lawn and squared up to me under the tree. Mud sullied his cloak, staining all that pristine white. Such a terrible color to keep clean.
I bowed low. "Prince Rafe."
"Who was that?" He scanned the road, but Jax was long gone. "Who was who?"
"Which one of us is the fool?"
"Oh… that man, just now? Yes, a hapless vagrant, I think. Not of your concern."
"With a horse?" Rafe frowned.
"His only companion. Truly, a sad tale of one man's descent into drunkenness and poverty, his horse his only company."
Rafe huffed. He stumbled some in the mud, stomping on the corner of his cloak, then cursed when he saw the stains. "Your lies insult us both," he snapped.
"Why would I lie about a man and his horse, Your Highness?" I chuckled, drawing several disapproving glares from the passing crowd. Enough to ruffle Rafe's feathers. He noticed Rafe and stepped away from me.
He didn't like to be seen with me. But alone, he was happy enough to get up close and very personal. Interesting.
"Why, indeed." He hesitated, torn between interrogating me further and returning to his father's side, where he should be. "Are you going to lie and tell me how that man didn't threaten you?"
"Threaten me?" I laughed. "I think I would have noticed. He was asking for the way to the inn, you see. That terrible drinking habit—"
"Then I suppose that is not blood there, on your coat?"
I followed his gaze. A dark patch had bloomed through my sodden coat. Now that he'd mentioned it, the burn from the dagger against my back hadn't faded, despite the blade having departed with its owner. "Ah, yes, a fall… earlier. The rain has made the paths treacherous. You should be careful, my prince. Your cloak is already stained. That is the trouble with white, no? So easily sullied."
He glared, all fierce and angry, his cheeks flushed, making those freckles stand out. Rain had plastered his hair to his face and neck. He looked just like he had in the bathing house, damp and hot, although clearly not aroused this time. "You can't help yourself, can you? The lies fall from your lips like rain from the skies."
"I am but an entertainer, a storyteller, an artist, if you will." I bowed again. "If you'll excuse me, I have this evening's passing feast to prepare for."
I left the prince standing alone in the rain and almost made it back to the palace gates without glancing back. Almost. When I did turn, seeking his gaze, he stood with his back to the palace, Rafe, the way of Jax's departure.
Rafe was too quick, too clever, too ruthless. And in three days, I'd have to leave his rotten court for one a thousand times worse.
Three days were not enough to know the Prince of Love. But three days were all I had.
And Jax was right. I didn't have a choice.