Elle led Fidele through the snow, winding her way around the gardens. She teared up when the big gelding affectionately nudged her.
The courtyard buzzed with soldiers. Elle saw a flash of a Ranger uniform, one of her fellows was leading a tied and gagged assassin off, a squad of soldiers trailing behind them.
“Elle?”
Elle turned to the chateau front door. Oliver stood on the top steps, his mask gone and his face bright with joy.
“It is you! Elle!” Oliver whooped, throwing himself down the first stair.
He was stopped by Emele, who hauled him back by the collar of his jacket. The ladies maid was truly lovely. Her skin was smooth like porcelain, her features were fine and perfectly proportionate, and her eyes were fastened on Elle.
“Elle?” Emele said. Her voice was just how Elle imagined it, soft and warm. The ladies maid traced Elle’s uniform, and unlike Oliver she understood its implications. “You lied?”
“It’s not what you think,” Elle said.
“You’re a Ranger. Were you tasked with infiltrating the chateau?”
“No, breaking my leg was an accident,” Elle said.
“What else did you lie about?” Emele demanded.
“Nothing.”
“I can’t even begin to believe that. Is your name even Elle?”
“It is. Emele, you’re jumping to conclusions. I—,”
“Jumping to conclusions? You are a lapdog of the Crown,” Emele said, her words as painful to Elle as a hot brand. “Your duty is to lie. I can’t even be sure I know you! Does His Highness know?”
“He does now.”
“Then you have broken his heart, lapdog. Everything you did was a lie!”
“Get your head on straight, Emele,” Elle snapped. “If it was a lie you wouldn’t be able to speak to me right now.”
Emele shook her head and backed up to the Chateau doors. “Do not talk to me. Come, Oliver. Let’s go inside.”
“Elle?” Oliver ventured, straining against Emele when she tried to pull him along.
Elle offered the stable boy a weak smile.
“Don’t,” Emele thundered before pushing Oliver away. When the groom was safely stowed inside, Emele turned back to face Elle one more time. “I liked you, Elle. You were my friend. How could you do this to His Highness?”
“I didn’t do anything. I genuinely love him. Emele, you have to believe me.”
Emele shook her head. “No, I don’t. I would never believe someone who could lie to His Highness,” she said before also slipping inside, shutting the doors behind her.
Elle clenched her eyes shut and bit her tongue to keep from crying. “I knew this is what would happen,” Elle said. “I knew it, but it’s worth it. They’re free now. Severin is free, Emele is free. I just want them to be happy.”
Fidele lipped Elle’s hair, jolting her back to the present. “Right, let’s get you stabled,” she said, leading Fidele towards the barn.
She glanced over her shoulder, just in time to see Oliver pressed against a window pane. The small groom waved before he was yanked away from the window by an adult.
Two weeks later Elle was in the palace to hand in her last report detailing the assassination attempt against Severin to Farand —the head Ranger who reported directly to Prince Lucien.
Severin and his household had returned to the palace. Banquets and balls had been thrown every day since Severin’s homecoming. Elle had seen only glances of him, and nothing at all of his servants.
Elle trekked across the courtyard wearing a black cloak over her Ranger uniform. The hood was pulled up, and she almost missed the tentative call.
“Elle?”
Elle turned to see Oliver, holding Fidele’s reins and standing under the stable overhang to escape the falling snow.
Elle smiled, heartened that at least one of Severin’s servants hadn’t rejected her. “Hello, Oliver.”
Oliver beamed. He took a step forward but stopped when Severin said, “Thank you, Oliver, you may return indoors.” The tall prince stepped out of the shadows of the barn to take Fidele’s reins. He was dressed for riding, wearing black boots, leather gloves, and his shiny hair was pulled back in a straight, orderly ponytail.
Oliver sketched a bow to Severin before he scurried back inside the stable, leaving Severin and Elle alone.
Severin stared at Elle with flat, lifeless eyes. The warmth Elle had grown accustomed to was gone. There was nothing there except for distrust and aversion.
Elle hesitated before she curtsied.
“Your pony has been brought to the stables.”
Elle looked up from her curtsy. “Pardon?”
“Your pony has been brought to the stables,” Severin repeated, his voice cold and impersonal.
“Do you mean Rosemerry?” Elle asked.
Severin briefly flattened his lips. “Yes.”
“You’re still giving him to me?”
“I do not go back on my word, even to those who are dishonorable.”
Elle flinched, but said nothing to defend herself.
“Was there anything you didn’t lie about? You obviously aren’t an indentured servant. I imagine your family doesn’t live in the country—if you even have a family.”
Elle swallowed and kept her chin up.