Instead, it only seemed to buck wildly. That’s when his hands slipped and he fell, landing hard on his behind with a groan. Something wet and sticky soaked through his clothes. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look, it’s only water, nothing but a pool of water.

Nearby footfalls made him freeze. They were originating from one of the corridors, the same that Lord Stapleton had disappeared into. They were coming closer.

There was no time to dwell on the blood on his clothes, or his first failed attempt to climb to freedom—no time for anything but quick and decisive action. He leapt to his feet and threw himself onto the rope, which again began its swinging dance meant to dislodge him. He squeezed it with his hands and feet, waiting for a painfully long few seconds until it calmed. And all the while, those heavy footsteps echoed closer.

He started to climb, hand over hand, sliding his crossed feet behind him. He refused to look down, refused to do anything but focus on the repetition of his movements, the sound of his breathing, the pull of his muscles.

“Your Majesty, sorry to interrupt, but I’ve brought you your tea—”

Tomas heard the teacup shatter, heard the pounding of the large man’s running feet, heard his shout, “Someone help! Please, someone help!” heard the groaning of the throne room doors being dragged open by the guards who’d heard their lord’s cry. And then:

“He’s getting away! And for Narcissi’s sake, get a healer!”

Tomas didn’t look back, even as the rope jolted and wriggled. Someone else was climbing. Could he cut the rope? With what? His teeth? He didn’t have so much as a knife to do the job, for one of the requirements of his visit was that he enter Drouin unarmed.

Finally, he risked a glance behind him, breath catching in his chest when he saw how close his pursuer was. He’d already cut the distance in half, climbing at least twice as fast as him, despite the added weight of his armor. The soldier said nothing when their eyes locked, but Tomas could see the determination in that look.

“Go,” he urged himself, looking upward. He was perhaps three quarters of the way to the top, and yet it felt like an insurmountable distance, what with his strength already flagging, his sweat-soaked grip struggling to find purchase on the rough rope even as it bit into him.

His pursuer’s speed wasn’t helping matters.

He climbed, sensing the guard getting closer. Refusing to make it true by confirming it with a look back. He was almost there, the rays of sunlight warming his skin directly through the jagged hole in the glass roof.