distracted, she nodded, biting her lip, almost as though she was on the verge of tears. Swaying, she glanced at all the people huddled together in various groups. Then, lifting her hand in a gesture that seemed a halfhearted wave, she staggered away. She weaved slightly and headed down a winding, cobbled path that led only toward an old stone bench which sat alone in a secluded arbor.
This bench had once been one of his sister Alisa’s favorite places. She’d gone there when she’d needed solitude in order to think. No one had used it since Alisa had gotten married and gone to America with her new husband. Following Willow, he wondered how she’d known how to find it.
With only the full moon shining in the cloudless night sky providing light, she rounded the final bend in the path. Then, smoothing her ruined skirt, she took a seat on the bench. As he came up on her, she gave him a tired smile. “Sorry. I couldn’t bear the smell of the smoke any longer.”
He nodded his understanding. With a sigh, she patted the space beside her for him to drop down next to her.
He did and they sat, shoulders touching, silently contemplating the night. Again he marveled at the way she’d helped for hours, uncomplaining or expecting any kind of preferential treatment normally given to a beautiful woman in a ball gown. A stranger, she hadn’t run from the chaos but rather dove right in to help people she clearly didn’t know.
In short, if he’d thought her amazing before, this was doubly so now. His feelings had expanded to a sort of exhausted wonder. How could she be both so lovely and so … good? Chest tight, he gazed at her, finding her soot-stained face extraordinarily beautiful.
“What time is it?” she asked him, her voice still raspy from the smoke.
He glanced at his watch, unsurprised to find that it would soon be morning, despite the huge moon hanging in the western night sky. “Four a.m. Can you believe the sun will be rising in a few hours?” he mused. “What a night. And I still have to make a statement to the authorities.”
At his words, she inhaled sharply, sitting up straight. “Four?”
Wide-eyed, she pushed to her feet, her movements still unsteady. She glanced at him before looking out at the still-dark forest beyond the castle. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go,” she told him. Was that the faintest note of panic he heard in her voice?
He rose with her, eyeing her curiously. She’d been calm before, in the face of disaster. And now, panicked at the idea of being late, she seemed like a different woman.
“I’ll vouch for you,” he told her. “Sit back down. I’m sure whoever is waiting for you will understand.”
“I doubt it.” Glancing wildly around her, as if she expected someone to jump out of the shadows and grab her, she gathered her shredded composure about her like a cloak. Dipping her chin formally, she mustered up a shaky smile. “It was very nice to meet you, Prince Ruben. I’m sorry that your party didn’t turn out as well as you’d hoped.”
And then, as he tried to process her remark, she leaped away like a wild animal, without a backward glance, and took off running into the dark woods.
Mind muddled with exhaustion, Ruben considered her retreat blankly. What the …? By the time he took a step to follow her, she’d vanished from sight, disappearing into the forest.
But why? The way she’d gone led to nothing but wilderness. The nearest town was in the opposite direction.
From the castle, someone shouted his name. The authorities must have arrived and they needed him to make a statement. Duty called. Reluctantly, he turned and headed back along the way he’d come.
The local police—along with the media—had indeed arrived. Amid the red and blue lights and the flash of cameras, a cluster of reporters had gathered to await the official statement.
Waving at them, Ruben again went looking for his father. Usually the king handled press conferences, though Ruben would do so if needed.
The Captain of the Royal Guard, a large, dark skinned Pack member named Drake, informed him that the king would indeed deal with the press. He’d asked Ruben to tie up any loose ends before he did so.
Though it was nearly morning and he was weary to his bones, Ruben took care of business. While he conferred with palace guards and picked his way through the rubble that had once been the enormous foyer and receiving room of the palace, Willow’s image hovered in the back of his mind. Not the beautiful woman in the beautiful ball gown, but the grimy, soot-covered one who’d so selflessly helped him. Who was she? Where had she come from? And why had she run away?
Had she been frightened, or had her fleeing been something else entirely? He froze as an awful thought occurred to him. Had she known something about the bomb or who had planted it? Had she seen something or was she much more intimately involved? Did she know something about the extremists?
As much as he tried, he couldn’t immediately dismiss the idea. He’d thought he was familiar with every noblewoman around, not only in Teslinko but in the neighboring countries. But he had no idea who she really was, what nationality, or even who her people were.
When he’d first found her, she’d been hiding, keeping to herself, speaking to no one. She’d been practically skulking about. Had what he’d put down to shyness been in actuality an attempt to remain unnoticed?
One thing he knew for certain. When all this was over, he had to find her again.
Finally finished, he straightened his shoulders. Since the press conference would be starting in a few minutes, he turned to go in search of his parents again. As he did, he glanced down. There, among the soot and the rubble, near his feet, something shimmered. He bent, his muscles sore, and picked it up.
A woman’s earring, a dangling pearl, now sullied by ash and soot. An image flashed into his mind of the earring swinging gently as Willow turned her head. The earring was hers. She must have lost it in the craziness after the explosion.
Jaw set, he slipped the jewelry into his pocket. He’d seek Willow out, ostensibly to return her earring. While he was there, he’d ask her to explain exactly why she’d run and what she’d seen.
Kicking off her heels and lifting her sodden, ruined skirt in one hand, Willow took off. She ran, full-out, panic fueling her, grateful for the sudden spurt of energy that enabled her to go. She relished the feel of her legs pounding the earth and the wind whipping her hair, pushing away her weariness. When she reached the veil, she didn’t hesitate, leaping toward the shimmering space as though the hounds of hell followed her.
For all she knew, one of them did.
When she’d discovered the veil, she’d quickly learned not to stay overnight. If she did, too much time passed on the other side. Once she’d come home after spending eighteen hours among the humans, only to learn over a week had passed at home.
She couldn’t chance that happening again. Especially not now, when her parents had warned her that the two princes from EastWard would be arriving by the next day. One of these men—Prince Chad—was to be her betrothed. The other, Prince Eric, would wed her older sister, Tatiana.
There would be a ball—the irony of this didn’t escape her—and she would be expected to make an appearance. As a matter of fact, she’d planned to wear the dress she’d worn tonight, which was now hopelessly ruined.
Once
