Page 201 of Immortal Rose

“Lady Foxcourt,” that one started to say, “I’m to accompany you—”

I held up my free hand. “I know the way, thank you.”

Oliver gave me a bewildered, searching look as the guard fell back with a nod. A musky wariness followed in our wake as I guided us farther down the darkened corridor, away from prying ears.

“Is it true?” Oliver whispered. “Was he poisoned?”

It wasn’t hope in his face—not exactly. Something about the wildness in his eyes reminded me of a glass balanced on a table’s edge.

“He was,” I said quietly. “Glenmoor’s gone to ground. He could be anywhere by now.”

“I’m so sorry,” Oliver said, taking that in with a pale face. His expression softened as he gave me a closer look. “Why are you here? Why did you come back?”

“I’m here to deliver the perfume that was commissioned,” I forced myself to say.

“You look like you’re walking to the gallows,” he said, clasping my hand between his. The hallway’s chandeliers drew out the whimsical leaves and roses embroidered onto his jacket with emerald thread. “It couldn’t have waited until after you’d had some rest?”

“It can’t wait.” I breathed out, wishing desperately I could embrace him, anyone, to drive out the chill from my blood. My exhaustion felt so complete just then that I couldn’t bring the sight of him into focus. “Will you come with me?” I whispered. The thought of returning to the servants’ wing alone, finding those traces of Hugh’s essence fouled by the poison . . .

“Of course,” he said, gently tucking my hand in the crook of his arm. “Which way?”

We walked in silence until we reached the central wing. The palace’s staff had busied themselves with the needs of the remaining guests and had begun to gather the wilting flowers. No one paid us any mind as we ascended the grand staircase and made our way to the upper floor. There, we crossed into the servants’ wing.

Oliver’s essence shifted, sweetening to mint as the stress and tension of the moment took hold of him. There was a lick of pepper through the heart of it that might otherwise be excitement in any other scenario. Here, it indicated only nerves.

He refrained from any further questions until we were a few doors away from the King’s sickroom.

“I think it would be best if you waited here,” I said softly, my throat aching.

God, I didn’t want to do this. No matter what the King deserved, I didn’t want to have to be the one holding his life in my hands.

“Oh, right,” Oliver said. “Your cloak—here, let me.”

It felt strangely intimate for any man besides Hugh to be fussing with the fastening of my clothing, even a cloak. I stood, my body tensed like a mouse in the jaws of a cat, until he’d finished tucking the fabric over his arm.

“I’ll be just here,” he said, turning back toward the window.

I swallowed. Nodded. Took a step. Then another.

“Wait, Vi,” Oliver said. “Goodness, you are tired.”

I glanced back, only to find him holding the flacon out to me. I released a shuddering breath.

“Thank you,” I told him, pressing an embarrassed hand to my face. “This shouldn’t take long.”

I wouldn’t stay. I would give Eleanor the perfume to apply and tell her to wait a few hours. And when the King finally shuffled off to his eternal reward, I’d lie and say that the perfume had come too late. I would say that I was sorry, even though I was not.

I raised my hand. Knocked. The moments fractured around me into crystal-bright shards:

Eleanor’s “Enter.” The dawn-lit faces awaiting me inside. The roaring, unbearable heat of the fireplace. The King’s shriveled, unconscious form in that massive bed, as brittle as kindling.

Eleanor was still in her fine gown, and at her look of relief I wanted to sink through the floor and disappear. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Were you able to get . . . ?”

“The nectar?” I breathed out. “Yes—”

The sight of two unfamiliar men brought me up short.

“This is Brighten, the captain of my guard,” Eleanor said, gesturing to the red-haired man. He had posted himself beside the window, his large form braced against it. “And this is the royal physician, Lord Chatford,” Eleanor said, gesturing to him. “Lord Chatford, this is Lady Foxcourt.”