Just as she’d had to hide everything on the outside of her.

“You would defy the king for me?” she asked.

“Of course.” His brow crinkled. “You’re my sister.” He reached into the pocket of his black jacket and procured a simple white mask. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She took it and tied it around her face, finding comfort for once in the feel of the soft fabric.

Koran led them outside into the darkness of the night. Clouds obscured any stars, but a sliver of moon winked in and out of view.

“I couldn’t bring a carriage because that would attract attention,” Stev explained as Koran retrieved a single horse.

As they rode through the monastery gates and down the hill into the city, Helena glanced back at the monastery, a shadow looming in the night.

She was delivered from her prison, but what about the others? Why were they there?

Something wasn’t right in Madra.

Chapter Fifteen

The day of the princess’ ball dawned bright in Madra, but quickly turned cold as rain clouds moved across the sky. A storm had churned out at sea for days and finally arrived on their shores.

Dell peered up at the swirling darkness blocking the sun. A torrent of rain erupted from the heavens, crashing down on his head.

Madrans ran through the streets in search of cover, but Dell didn’t move.

His sopping clothes stuck to every curve of his body like a second skin and still, his feet remained frozen to the spot.

He had nothing. Not anymore. Maybe he never had—at least not since his mother died.

He hadn’t returned to his family’s estate after the Madran games where he saved the girl who assaulted his brother. Where the world found out he was a Tenyson.

The shopkeepers he’d known for years now treated him as any other merchant—with formality and distrust. They were always wary of those who brought goods to the kingdom and swindled them.

The night before, he’d slept on the deck of one of his family’s ships, but had to leave before the sailors arrived to prepare it to set sail.

The Gaulean ship sat docked in the slip next to it, meaning Princess Camille was still there. A good sign for the royal betrothal, he assumed.

He wouldn’t know. His Knowledge of palace happenings was limited. He hadn’t even spoken to Edmund since the night he’d returned Len to his home.

Dell shook his head, rain streaming down his face as he finally jogged across the road to an alehouse, showcasing its welcome warmth through the open door.

For once, chatter didn’t die down as he entered. Alehouses were the one place people of all stations mixed. Along the far wall, a table of Merchants dressed in their exotic finery bent over a stack of papers between them.