But, no it wasn’t real. This was one of her imaginings or a dream. She hugged herself and waited for it to pass.

“Vee, come on.” The hands on her arms felt real enough—strong, firm, familiar.

And warm, so warm—the comforting kind, rather than the iron’s scorching heat.

When she clung to those hands—yes, they still felt real. He helped her across the gap, slid an arm around her waist, gripping the castle wall with the other.

Still real.

Even if it wasn’t, she could pretend. Closing her eyes, she buried her face against his chest. Yes, that smell was right—cinnamon, worn leather, fresh soap.

“Is this real?” His coat’s braid brushed her lips when she spoke. That was an odd detail to imagine.

He squeezed her and pulled away, gaze finding hers. “This is real. I am here. You are free, and we’re going to get away from this place.”

Someone came for her. He came for her. He’d put her here, but now he was …

She shook her head as it began to throb. Too much. This was … And she was so tired. This was no time to focus on how she’d got here, what he’d done. He said she was free, but if they didn’t get away, that freedom would be only temporary.

Lines of worry creased between his eyebrows. “Do you think you can climb down if I help?”

Clenching her jaw, she nodded. If it would get her out of here, she’d dance her way down the bloody wall.

One hand always on her, he helped her descend, steadying her when her legs trembled, lifting over one tricky spot until, at last, her feet were on the ground.

She’d never been so damn grateful for dry land, and a small moan burst from her lips at the feel. No iron. No burning, sucking, weakening iron. She sank against the alley wall and caught her breath.

Her legs trembled, but she managed to undress and quickly wash in a trough at the mouth of the alleyway, while Knigh kept watch. The frigid water barely registered on her already-cold skin. They returned to the alley’s shadows, and he retrieved a duffle bag hidden in a doorway. Teeth chattering, she changed into the clothes he pulled out.

Chemise, stays, stockings, dainty shoes, and a plain gown in dark blue wool. A lady’s clothes. Not an outfit anyone would associate with Lady Vice or any other prisoner.

He also passed her cheese and an apple, which she gobbled up as he laced the stays. The food, oh Lords, nothing had ever tasted so good as that salty cheese and the sweet, sweet apple. The sugar stopped the trembling and gave final confirmation: this was real.