To Run and Hide

Part 8: Spywork

"Ilaria, you're going to need to sit down for this one," I ordered. Ilaria frowned at the tone - servants weren't meant to speak to their superiors that way, I recalled, and winced. Nothing more than another incident in my portfolio of cringe-worthy incidents.

Ilaria, nevertheless, sat down. Her elegant green gown flowed around the chair, and I felt a small twinge of envy at the graceful rustle of fabric, and the perfect fan of her skirt around her crossed ankles.

"Go on." She commanded, her hazel eyes nevertheless curious.

"Okay, promise me one thing - don't talk at all through this. Hear me out."

"I promise."

I explained the story from top to bottom, omitting no details. I knew it was best for everyone to be on the same page here. Ilaria just stared at me in shock, her eyes widening.

"This is true?" She asked.

"All of it." I answered. I waited for her to propose a plan, anything to take away from the mess we had just found ourselves in.

"Let's go find Darius. If what you found is the truth, then - then he should know. He needs to know."

We glided down staircases and turned around banisters, walked down lonely corridors and crept through fussy sitting rooms. How Ilaria knew where to go, I had no idea. Eventually we reached a polished oak door. Ilaria didn't bother to knock before barging in. The room was a study, and across the desk Darius glared at his younger sister.

"Might I ask why you chose to disturb me at this moment?" He inquired slyly, before his eyes flicked to me.

"Carmyn," He stated, surprised, emotion clouding his handsome features.

"Settle down, boyo," Ilaria commanded, stepping to sit down in one of the two leather chairs across the desk. She indicated for me to take the other one, but I remained standing.

"So what you're telling me is that there is a plot going on in the castle, under the Astor's own noses, surrounding the assassination of my betrothed Ophera and Baron Overton's daughter Fiorella marrying me." Darius said in utter disbelief, eyebrows raised. He looked away from me at the mention of Ophera. Was he thinking of her, up on the roof? My eyes drifted to a painting of a young woman on the wall. She had brown skin and curly black hair, and was wearing a silken purple dress, her dark eyes alight in joy. Who she was, I had no idea. Ophera, I thought. She's probably Ophera.

My heart fractured as the siblings continued to talk. I wondered if Darius had ever thought of Ophera and compared her to me. Silly girl, the darkness whispered in my ear. Do you really think Prince Darius, the Prince Darius Astor of Trona, would ever catch feelings for a girl like you? A servant, worth no more than the dirt beneath his boot.

Ilaria and Darius's arguing intensified, and I finally tuned in again.

"We can't jeopardise an alliance! Baron Overton his powerful - he mightn't use your claims against me, but he could just as easily wield it against you and Carmyn," Darius yelled

"We can't jeopardise our international alliance. Are you saying he's more powerful than me? We can handle the complications this might have for us, and we have Yvaine," Ilaria retorted. Darius shuddered at the thought of Yvaine, and I wasn't surprised. The only female royal warrior permitted in the palace, she was legendary far and wide for her fierceness. Nevertheless, the young prince continued to talk.

"Remember, he can send you to a temple. You'll be a priestess, never to be heard of again - you'll never see Yophiel again,"

"Don't you dare utter his name. He and I are none of your business, and it shall remain that way. Agreed, princeling?" My ears pricked up once again at Ilaria's words. Who was this Yophiel? And why was the princess so protective of him?