The World Cannot Know

Chapter 58

Matthew Wild

The morning light crept through the warped shutters of the inn, casting long golden stripes across the wooden floorboards. It was still quiet—too early for most to be awake, but not for me. The scent of smoke and stale ale clung to the air, mingling with the faint traces of ash from the fire still smoldering in the hearth.

Downstairs, I could hear the low murmur of voices—probably the innkeeper and his wife preparing for the day. Clive was at the corner table by the window, sharpening his blade in slow, steady pulls that matched the ticking of the old clock above the mantle. The rasp of steel on stone echoed like a heartbeat.

Arney was sprawled on a bench near the fire, blanket half-draped over him, snoring softly with his mouth open and one boot still on. Alice hadn't come down yet, but I knew she was awake—she'd always been a light sleeper.

I hadn't slept. Not a second. I'd spent the night pacing by the window of my room, then down the hallway, then eventually here—downstairs, at the heart of this quiet little bubble, trying to think of everything and nothing at once.

I'd been pacing near the hallway, heart too unsettled, thoughts spinning with every step Sebastian took farther from me. It had been two days since he left, and every hour dragged like a blade across stone.

Alice was the first to notice the rider.

She stood up slowly, one hand dropping to the dagger at her hip as a black horse trotted through the trees. The rider—lean, cloaked, hood pulled low—slowed as he approached. I moved toward him just as Alice did, tension coiling in my gut.

"Easy," the rider said, raising a gloved hand. "Message for Matthew."

Alice's eyes flicked to me.

"From who?" I asked.

"Prince Sebastian," the rider said, and handed me the sealed letter.

My fingers trembled just slightly as I broke the wax. His seal—a hawk and crown—had been pressed hard into the dark red. It was still warm from the heat of the rider's body.

I stepped back, letting the words spill open into the morning air.

Matthew—
If you're reading this, I'm already inside the capital. We reached the castle just before nightfall. Things are worse than we feared. Gregory is making his move, and the king—he's not seeing clearly.

Louie is in danger. We believe Gregory will make a play for the throne, and he won't hesitate to remove what stands in his way.

I'm sending Louie to you. Tonight. He's being smuggled out under Hector's guard. Katharina doesn't know—yet. I'm trusting you, because there is no one else I'd entrust with this. Not just as an uncle, but as someone who loves him as a piece of me.

Take him somewhere safe. Keep him hidden.

I will come for you both.
—S

I stared at the page, the words sinking into me like stones in water.

Alice stepped closer. "What does it say?"

I handed her the letter, jaw tight. "He's sending Louie here. Tonight."

"What?" Her voice sharpened. "Is he mad?"

"He's desperate," I said. "And he trusts me."

Throne had wandered over by now, reading over Alice's shoulder with a low whistle. "So, the royal brat's coming to live with us. Fantastic."

"He's a child, Throne," I snapped. "And he's not the problem. Gregory is."

Alice folded the letter, tucking it into her belt. "If they're moving Louie here, we need to be ready. We'll need a safehouse—somewhere off the main roads. Maybe by the old mill?"