Finding Her Magical King novel · Chapter 18 of 24

Chapter 18: Hostage

The note was waiting on the pillow when I woke.

It was written on palace paper in a neat, round hand.

The letter in exchange for Mrs. Briggs. The old cell. Come alone, Miss Wickham.

If you do not, she is dead by breakfast.

Anselm was asleep beside me, warm and breathing.

I looked at him for as long as I dared.

Then I took my mother's letter from the cardigan and slipped out of the bed.

He did not wake.

I left a note of my own, and I locked the door behind me.

The corridor was empty.

I did not wake Ivor, because Ivor would be shot.

I walked to the north tower alone.

The cell was as I had left it.

The stone bench, the drain, the broken chain still lying where it fell.

Maeve sat on the bench with her wrists tied in front of her and a bruise darkening one cheek.

Thrale stood beside her in his grey coat, peeling an orange.

Four of the iron guard stood against the walls.

"There she is," said Thrale warmly. "Come in, my dear. Shut the door."

"Are you hurt?" I said to Maeve.

"I've run a motel for thirty years," she said. "I've been hit by better."

"Don't talk," said one of the guards, and raised his hand.

I felt the cold in me lurch.

"Don't," I said. "Don't touch her."

"Then give me the letter."

I took it out.

It was soft and pale, white at the edges, and I held it up so he could see it.

"What do you want with it?" I said.

"To burn it." He ate a segment of orange.

"You have been rather careless with the cure, you know."

"Without it, you hate them forever, he dies on schedule, and the regency is secure."

"I won't give it to you."

"No," he agreed. "That's why I brought her."

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