"No," Caldan agreed, a strange, almost impressed glint in his eyes. He pushed himself upright, swaying slightly. "They certainly did not." He glanced at his wound again, a thin line of blood steadily seeping through his fingers. "We can't stay here. The guards will be here soon, drawn by the commotion."
"And then what?" Arin challenged, her gaze narrowing. "Do we wait for them to congratulate us on our bravery, Prince? Or will they simply assume I was in league with him?" She didn't trust palace guards any further than she could throw them.
Caldan grimaced. "Neither. There's a hidden passage. Follow me." He turned, moving towards the back of the study, his steps uneven. He pulled at a seemingly innocuous section of the carved oak paneling. With a low groan of ancient wood, a narrow, dark opening appeared, shrouded in shadow.
Arin hesitated for a split second. A hidden passage. Of course, the palace was riddled with them, whispered tales of old escape routes, spy networks, and secret trysts. It was a risk, following him into the dark, but staying here was a greater one. The guards would see a dead assassin and a commoner, and her mother's supposed past would make her the prime suspect.
"Lead the way, Prince," she said, her voice dry. "Just try not to bleed all over the ancient artifacts. I hear they're rather expensive."
He gave a soft, painful chuckle. "My apologies, little rat. I'll endeavor to keep my vital fluids to myself." He stepped into the darkness, his silhouette swallowed by the gloom.
Arin followed, the passage closing behind them with a soft click, plunging them into oppressive darkness. The air was thick with dust and the stale scent of old stone. Caldan's breathing was ragged beside her, the soft squelch of his bloody tunic against his skin the only sound.
"Where are we going?" she whispered, her hand instinctively reaching out, brushing against his arm. His skin was warm, damp with sweat and blood, and she flinched back instantly.
"Up," he gritted out, his voice strained. "To the old observatory chamber. It's rarely used. And it offers a way out." He stumbled, leaning heavily against the rough stone wall.
Arin cursed under her breath. He was bleeding more than he let on. She couldn't let him collapse now. Not when her own life depended on his navigation of these hidden tunnels. She hated it, the reluctant dependence, the unwelcome intimacy of their shared peril.
"Lean on me, you arrogant fool," she muttered, grabbing his good arm and slinging it over her shoulder. His weight was considerable, heavy and awkward against her slighter frame, but her wiry strength held. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tremor of pain that ran through him with each step.
They moved slowly, painstakingly, through the winding, ascending passage. The darkness was absolute, broken only by the faint glow of the prince's heavy signet ring, somehow reflecting what little light might have been in the tunnel. Arin's senses were heightened, each whisper of air, each faint creak of stone, magnified. She could hear the distant shouts of guards from the study they had just left, a growing chorus of alarm that spurred her on.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the passage opened into a vast, circular chamber. Moonlight streamed in through jagged, gaping holes where windows once were, illuminating swirling dust motes and the debris of shattered glass and splintered wood. The wind screamed through the cracks, a mournful, chilling wail that echoed through the desolate space. This was the old observatory chamber, a ghost of its former self, open to the elements.
Caldan stumbled, almost falling, as they emerged into the howling wind. Arin gripped him tighter, guiding him towards a sturdy stone chair, ornate and dust-covered, that stood in the center of the room. She practically pushed him into it, his body slumping with a sigh of exhausted relief.
"Hold still," Arin commanded, her voice sharper than she intended. She reached for his cloak, pulling it away from his wounded side. The dark velvet was soaked, a spreading stain of dark crimson. The sight of it made her stomach clench. It was a deeper cut than she'd thought.
She tore strips from her own tunic, the rough fabric ripping with a harsh sound in the quiet chamber. Her fingers, accustomed to nimble work, moved quickly. She peeled back the fabric around his wound, revealing the jagged gash. It wasn't deep enough to be immediately fatal, but it was ugly, still bleeding freely.
As she worked, her fingers brushed against his skin. It was warm, surprisingly so, and a jolt, sharp and unexpected, shot through her. A spark, like flint on steel. She flinched, pulling her hand back for a split second, a tremor running through her. He didn't. His gaze, though clouded with pain, was fixed on her, unwavering.
"Still hate me, little rat?" Caldan's voice was a low rasp, a faint smirk playing on his lips, despite the pain.
Arin's head snapped up, her eyes flashing. "More than ever, Prince. You bleed like a common man, and that's the only satisfaction I'm getting from this." She resumed her task, binding the wound tightly, her movements precise and firm.
"Then why did you save me?" he pressed, his voice softer now, almost a whisper, yet it cut through the howling wind.
She didn't answer. The question hung in the air, unanswered, thick with unspoken meaning. What was she supposed to say? That she didn't want him to die? That some twisted, inconvenient part of her couldn't bear to see him fall? It was easier to ignore it, to focus on the task at hand.
*~*
The wind howled through the broken observatory chamber, a relentless, mournful cry that seemed to amplify the silence between them. Outside, the first faint hint of dawn was bleeding across the eastern sky, painting the clouds in bruised purples and grays. Inside, the chill was biting, but Arin felt a different kind of heat radiating from Caldan, a simmering intensity that matched her own.
He shifted in the stone chair, his gaze still fixed on her. "You never answered my question, Arin." His voice was low, rough, but steady now that the immediate pain had subsided. "Why did you save me?"
Arin turned away, walking to the shattered window, her back to him. The sky was a pale canvas, waiting for the sun's brutal brush. "It was instinct," she mumbled, her words snatched by the wind. "Self-preservation. Dead princes mean more trouble than living ones, even ones as infuriating as you."
"A convenient excuse," Caldan scoffed, a dry, humorless sound. "But you chose to dive. You chose to fight. A commoner, facing a trained assassin, for a prince you claim to despise. There was no 'self-preservation' in that, little rat. Only recklessness. And… something else."
She spun around, her eyes blazing. "Don't analyze me, Prince! Don't pretend you know what drives me. You know nothing of my life, nothing of what it takes to survive in the dirt and grime you so comfortably look down upon." Her voice was a low, dangerous growl.
He pushed himself up from the chair, a slow, deliberate movement that spoke of pain contained. He walked towards her, his limp barely perceptible, his presence filling the shattered space. "Perhaps not of your dirt and grime," he admitted, his voice strangely calm, "but I know a survivor when I see one. And I know a lie when I hear it."
Arin laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "You're full of pretty assumptions, aren't you? What makes you so certain?"
"Your eyes," he said simply, his gaze unwavering, piercing through her carefully constructed defenses. "They burn with a fire I understand. And that fire, Arin, doesn't allow for convenience. It demands conviction."
She felt a surge of rage, hot and irrational. He saw too much. He knew too much. He was digging, always digging, at the very foundations of her being. "You think you understand me?" she spat, her hands clenching into fists. "You, a spoiled prince who's never known a day of hunger or fear that wasn't of his own making? You understand nothing!"
He closed the distance between them, stopping just a few feet away. His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, held hers captive. "I understand what it means to be hated for what you are, little rat. I understand the weight of a name, a legacy that curses as much as it blesses. I understand the hunger for something more."
"You understand nothing!" she repeated, her voice rising, a desperate cry against his relentless probing. He was too close, his raw, male presence overwhelming her senses. The smell of his blood, the earthy scent of him, filled her nostrils. She saw the light sheen of sweat on his brow, the dark stubble along his jaw, the raw intensity in his gaze.
Without thinking, driven by a sudden, overwhelming need to strike back, to break the hold he had on her, Arin lashed out. Her fist connected with his jaw, a sharp crack that echoed in the silent chamber. It wasn't a strong punch, not one meant to inflict real damage, but it was sudden, unexpected, and it carried all the venom of her frustration.