far from Fier. He’d track her down. If she and Bertie were found among the Lydians, her grandfather would happily use the incident as an excuse to start another war.
As she’d told Prince Luke, her reasons for staying were complicated. Even she didn’t fully understand her grandfather’s determination to keep her. But she knew the trouble that would follow if she fled. Better that she and Bertie suffer than all of Lydia.
Evelyn reached the bottom of the stairs in silence. The dungeon was too quiet. Torchlight flickered around the corner; otherwise she might have thought the dungeon empty. Cautiously, she stole a glance into the low-ceilinged space beyond.
Ropes bound her little brother’s arms behind his back. He lay on his side on the floor, his face turned away from her toward the wall. She stared for a moment, willing the twelve-year-old to move, to breathe, anything to reassure her he was alive.
Unable to see any signs of life, she took a tentative step forward.
A heavy hand shot out from the shadows, grabbing her by the wrist, pulling her against the cold wall.
Evelyn gasped.
Bertie rolled toward her, his eyes first surprised, then defeated. A rag in his mouth kept him from speaking, but his expression told her he wished she hadn’t come.
Omar chuckled, his rotten breath uncomfortably close to her face. “Figured you’d come looking for him. You know why he’s here, don’t you? You know he helped the prisoner escape.”
“Prisoner?” Evelyn tried to sound confused. Her grandfather hadn’t made it widely known that he’d imprisoned Prince Luke, though even the serving girls had figured out what he’d done.
“Don’t play stupid with me. Now that I’ve got you, we’re going to go wake up the king. He needs to know what you two have been up to.”
Across the room, Bertie’s eyes widened and he made desperate noises with his throat, but his bonds held him tight. He couldn’t help her.
With Omar’s grip digging into her shoulder, Evelyn had no choice but to go back up the stairs as he guided her. King Garren always hated bad news. But more than that, he hated being awakened in the middle of the night.
She was a little surprised that he hadn’t made good on his threat of marrying her to Omar already, though he’d muttered something once about political usefulness, which made her suspect the cunning king hoped to find a match for her that would benefit him more. After all, as the king’s granddaughter, she could technically be considered a princess—but that was only if the king acknowledged her. As always, it would come down to whatever fit his schemes.
But even her grandfather’s craftiness couldn’t compete with his anger.
Evelyn turned at the top of the stairs, headed in the direction in which Omar pointed her. She had no choice but to pray with her eyes wide open, watching for any chance to escape. Even as she did so, she prayed silently that Prince Luke would make haste. If her grandfather sent a party after him on horseback, the Lydian prince would need a solid head start to make good his escape.
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