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I lean forward slightly, hand resting on Carson’s seat. “She killed him before we got there. Not just because he was going to rape her, but because it was a direct violation of your command.”
Arianette has been loyal to Timothy from the beginning. From that night in the forest, to the hospital, and now, unmasked with no title.
Timothy nods, eyes on the protest. “It doesn’t matter how Armand died. Trudie would still be out for blood. She spent her life getting him out of trouble and sending him away whenever the consequences got too close. I saw a bit of myself in her parenting, having gotten Remy out of a scrape or two, so I did her a favor by allowing him to enter as a Baron. Now she smells weakness—me exposed, off the throne—and she’s circling. But death is the one problem she can’t fix, no matter how loud she gets. And we have bigger problems than a grieving mother.”
“You think she knew you would be at the performance?” Hunter asks.
“Undoubtedly, which is why she’d choose tonight for a protest. It’s the first night I’ve been in public since I was unmasked. What better time to cause a scene.”
I can’t tell if Timothy is bothered or not, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before. Outside the car, the crowd surges a little as someone near the stage chants Armand’s name. Carson’s hands tighten on the wheel. His eyes flick between Timothy and me in the rearview mirror.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks as the press of bodies grows thicker near the crosswalk.
Timothy’s gaze stays fixed on the protest for another few seconds, but something in his expression changes. His eyes move from the signs to the hotel, then toward the streets branching away from the university.
His fingers tap once against his thigh before he says suddenly, “Let me out.”
Hunter leans forward. “What?”
“There’s something I need to do. You guys head to the theater.” He looks over at Carson. “Drop me off over there, just behind the pillar.”
I stare at him. “You’re not coming?”
His jaw tightens. “No.”
The answer lands wrong. Tonight is supposed to be simple. We get to the performance, we keep our phones on silent, and we let Sofia walk into the trap while Ashby and the others watch from every angle. Timothy isn’t needed to make any of that happen–he just needs to be there for Arianette. His only fucking job is supporting her.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I challenge. “You can’t just take off like this.”
“I can and will.” His tone is cold, but he does add, “I have a feeling there’s something I’ve overlooked.”
Hunter shifts in his seat. “Where?”
“Saint Mary’s.”
That gets my attention.
“Now?” I snap. “Can’t it wait a few hours? Ari is gonna be–”
“I know. Tell her I’m sorry.” He slides his phone into his pocket and reaches for the door handle. “This is just something I need to do.”
The SUV hasn't even come to a complete stop before Timothy opens the door. Carson curses and brakes harder, but Timothy is already stepping onto the pavement.
“Timothy. You can’t just walk off like this. It’s dangerous and may risk our entire plan and–”
“DK,” he says, glancing down at me through the open door. “You may be King, but you’re not my King.”
Then he slams the door. Out the window I watch him disappear toward the side street, his suit cutting through the crowd until the darkness swallows him.
Hunter exhales beside me. “That can't be good.”
“No,” I say, watching the place where Timothy vanished. “It fucking isn't.”
Full truth? Ballet isn't really my thing.
I tried. I really did.
For the first hour I've watched people leap around in tights while the program tells me they're harvesting crops, falling in love, or whatever the hell they're supposed to be doing. I don't get it.
