Page 80 of Reaper’s Curse

“No, Winter.”

My mouth dropped open at the casual slip of the prince’s name from Neive’s lips.

“The Crown… I don’t want to lose…”

“You will not lose your position. I will make sure of that.”

“Like you did with Camilla?” Neive’s retort all but hissed through the air.

I bit down on my lip at the seamstress’s name. I had already deduced that the woman had been excused from her employment at the palace, but the words in the next room made the affair sound scandalous.

“That was different.” Winter lowered his voice. “It was.” His voice rose an octave as if trying to convince a skeptical Neive. “Are you carrying my child?”

He spoke the question so low he practically whispered it, but with me straining, ear pressed to the door, I caught the barely there words.

The receiving room fell silent, and the noiseless moments dragged for endless minutes. Long enough that I began to worry they had managed to leave without a sound.

But then, Neive said, “The curse.”

“You would have been showing before we all got stuck in time, so I think you’re safe.” His delivery carried an air of boredom mixed with frustration.

I threw my hand over my mouth to muffle my gasp. Lucas had mentioned Winter’s more liberal days, but hearing it discussed in whispers brought the image of that Winter into more vivid color. Had Winter and Neive had a serious secret relationship? Or had it been a fling? A one-night stand?

“So, as you can see, different situations entirely. He was the heir apparent,” he said, talking about his brother and the relationship he’d obviously had with Camilla, “and I am but the spare. The Crown carries far fewer concerns about my whereabouts than it did with his unsanctioned procreation.”

I wasn’t so sure Winter’s assessment of his grandmother was accurate, but I wasn’t going to correct him. And I definitely wasn’t going to admit to listening in on their conversation.

“You’re right, of course,” Neive said. “My apologies.”

“There is no need, my dear friend. We understand each other. That is all that matters.”

I shifted to abandon my post (my eavesdropping) and get dressed for the day, but then the sound of the front apartment door opening stilled my motion. The door closed with a thunk, and footsteps moved briskly into the room. Then they faltered.

“Dear sweet gods,” Lucas said with overzealous surprise. “What are you doing in here?”

“I owed her an apology,” Winter replied.

“Damn straight,” Lucas blurted. “And then some. I can’t remember the last time I saw you so crazed.”

Silence. The only sound was the flutter of crow wings on the terrace.

“Is it true?” Neive asked. “Were you really that high? And off her magic?”

“No,” Winter said. “You do not understand, and we shall not speak of it.”

“You could help us understand,” Lucas countered.

“I said no,” Winter reiterated. “Now do your jobs.”

A moment of silence followed the order, then the soft clanging of dishes. The sounds suggested breakfast had been delivered and would be sitting there waiting for me, getting cold.

Steeling my determination, I quietly pushed away from the door, snagged Chace’s letter from beneath the bedding, and marched into the bathroom.

In the privacy of the wash space, with the door closed and the water running, I read his message.

Beautiful Black Bird,

Please…please, avoid the invisible winds beyond the walls of your cage. Forgo outdoor flight and stay safe on your perch until the caw of the crow tells you otherwise.