The Rebel Prince (The Season Series #3)

Chapter 39

Cricket song filled the air as I made my way back to Genevieve's house. Clouds glowed silver in the moonlight, blotting out wide swaths of stars. The sentries posted outside barred my way until they recognized me, muttering things about curfews and ill-advised nighttime strolls. Inside, servants cleared the dishes from the dining room, while the floorboards overhead creaked as someone paced.

I made my way up the stairs, headed down the narrow hall towards Beatriz' room until the sound of Genevieve's tinkling laughter gave me pause. The door to her room was open, spilling flickering firelight across the darkened hallway. Her voice prattled on quietly, punctuated with giggles and exclamations.

At the other end of the hallway, where the floorboards creaked, Frederico's muffled voice rose and fell in conversation with more male voices. Certain I wasn't about to walk in on Genevieve and her husband, I made my way towards her door.

Neither she nor Beatriz noticed me as I leaned against the doorframe, taking in the scene of the pair of them. They lay on the bed facing each other and talking in low tones, huddled together like sisters sharing secrets. Genevieve giggled at something Beatriz said.

Not wanting to be branded more of an eavesdropper than I already was, I cleared my throat. Genevieve flew upright, while Beatriz winced as she pushed herself up. She froze when she noticed me. Emotions flitted across her face, too fast to identify, before she dropped her gaze and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. As she moved, the firelight glistened off a pair of earrings I'd never noticed on her before.

"Well, this is a nice surprise. We weren't expecting you until dawn," Genevieve said, her brows high as she glanced at Beatriz' turned back then at me.

"Nisha sends her regards," I said, "And wanted me to remind Beatriz to practice, or she'll challenge me to a duel next time."

It was the wrong thing to say. Beatriz' shoulders slumped, while Genevieve widened her eyes at me, her lips pursed as she shook her head.

I hastily switched tack. "Are those new earrings?"

Somewhat mollified, Genevieve reached over to brush a finger against the teardrop-shaped rubies dangling at Beatriz' earlobes. "Nothing cheers a mood like jewelry," Genevieve said, as she slid across the bed to wrap a protective arm around Beatriz' neck, along her collarbones. "And nothing has cheered my mood more than that Beatriz brought my Coco back to me in one piece. They were a gift to say thank you."

Beatriz' hand came to rest atop Genevieve's arm and my chest constricted. Her arm was bandaged, the one whose gauntlet had stopped Nisha's blade. It took an almighty effort not to cross the room, sink to my knees before her, and inspect her for more damage.

Genevieve, the wicked thing, must have read that all over my face. She yawned dramatically and peeled her arm away from Beatriz. "Ma chère, I'm afraid I must retire if I have any hope of sleeping through your brother's snores. I had such a dreadful time last night, what with all that wind and those shingles..."

Behind Beatriz' back, Genevieve fixed me with a warning look. A look that said that Beatriz was not to be trifled with tonight. But no look was going to keep me from talking to her. From apologizing. From making she sure she hadn't broken beyond repair.

"Of course," Beatriz said, in a quiet, hesitant voice I barely recognized. She rose wearily, with another wince as her un-bandaged hand drifted to her side. I thought of Nisha and how, of all the blows Beatriz had landed, her split lip seemed to be the only injury troubling her while we'd eaten that evening. Perhaps there was more truth in her claim that Beatriz had grown weaker since she'd left for Relizia than I'd believed.

"May I?" I asked, extending my hand towards her.

Beatriz hesitated. Each moment that ticked past chipped away at a part of me that felt fragile enough to shatter. She eyed my hand. Blinked. Her throat bobbed. Finally, she nodded. It didn't feel like much of a triumph when she allowed me to tuck her hand into the crook of my elbow. She hadn't even met my gaze.