With these shoes, he’d wanted to tell Len she could be anyone she wanted to be. She could run away from the palace. She could run toward it. Her life was her own. The only thing that decided her fate was the direction she pointed her shoes in.

Freedom. Such a simple thought, yet so complicated for them both.

The shoes weren’t complete. He’d only carved the shape of one and had yet to add any embellishments to give it the beauty Len deserved.

Who was he kidding? She’d probably never receive it. He was now a prisoner more than ever before. Would they ever let him go?

And Len… if he couldn’t save her, she’d have her fate rest with that of the royal family’s and he didn’t like their odds.

He tucked the half-carved wood back into his pocket where it lay heavy against his heart, an idea as hopeless as his current state.

With a sigh, he rested his head back against the rounded surface of the barrel and let his eyes slide shut—not out of exhaustion, but only the weariness of failure.

A thud sounded against the door and his eyes snapped open.

The lock rattled, the sound of scraping metal ringing loud in his ears, filling his mind with one thought. Escape.

Were his brothers already returned from the ball? How long had it been? They’d come back to torture him with their cruelty. Or had they come to retrieve their powder?

The door swung open and a wide-shouldered man peered in, the moonlight casting him in a glow. Tattoos snaked up his thick neck, stopping below a square jaw.

His lips set in a grim line.

Dell waited, refusing to shift his eyes away from the man. If this was Ian’s punishment, he’d take it. And then one day, he’d get his revenge.

“Dell Tenyson?” the man asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Let’s get this over with.” Dell narrowed his eyes. “Do what you came here to do.”

The man descended the stairs slowly, stopping in front of Dell. His tattoos were more visible now, marking him as mercenary. Even his brother wouldn’t seek a mercenary. If they didn’t take the job you offered, they were notorious for the harsh treatment they’d give those who sought them in the mountains.

Ian may plan treason against the king, but that couldn’t be mistaken for bravery. He was a true weasel.

Another face appeared at the door above, and it took Dell a moment before relief crashed into him.

“Mari?” he asked, flicking his eyes from her to the imposing man in front of him.

“Dell, dear.” She shook her head. “Look at the trouble you’ve gotten yourself in now. Come on now… we have to go.”

Dell scanned the cellar with its exploding contraband one last time before following the mercenary up the steps.