Once Upon a Broken Heart (Once Upon a Broken Heart)

Evangeline wasn’t scared. She was terrified. A shuddering breath of broken white puffs escaped her lips as she reached the outskirts of Wolf Hall and took in its snow-white stones and pointed tower caps. For an icy moment, she couldn’t move. Her entire body tightened with memories of Apollo. Of how he’d scaled these walls to climb into her chamber and then held her all through the night. She could still see his broad smile on the day of their wedding and his heartbreak on that night when he’d died.

With another burst of white breath, she forced her legs to move forward.

Step.

Breathe.

Duck.

Dart toward hidden door.

Prick finger.

Open door.

Enter passage.

She tried to take one step at a time and not to think about how the corridors of Wolf Hall were wider and brighter than she remembered, and how anyone who stepped inside would be sure to spot her immediately, scurrying about like a frightened mouse. Fortunately, most inhabitants of Wolf Hall were currently occupied with supper, and she just needed it to stay that way a while longer.

She was almost at her old bedchamber next to Tiberius’s former room, and she desperately hoped it was the same suite he was using now.

Her hands grew damp with sweat, making it difficult to pull one glove off and bare her fingers as she reached the door that she needed to open.

Another drop of blood.

Another undone lock.

Another small surge of victory as she stepped inside the darkened room. The fire was out, the candles unlit, but she detected whiffs of smoke and musk and soap, telling her that someone had been living there.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim, allowing her to make out the hulking shape of the bed. She’d hoped to find a nightstand beside it, something that Tiberius would be sure to see before retiring. But there wasn’t a bedside table.

She’d have to settle for either the low table in the sitting area, where there was a line of bottles of liquor, or the vanity. If it had been Apollo, she would have chosen the vanity. But for Tiberius, the table where he kept his libations seemed best.

Her hands shook as she unwrapped the bottle of curiosity. Then she rapidly set it on the table and fled the room before she could be tempted to drink it.

It all took under a minute. She was terrified and she was quick, but she wasn’t quick enough. She heard the footsteps as soon as she was in the too-bright hall.

And then she saw her—Marisol.

Evangeline felt an almost childlike fright, as if she were watching a monster rather than just another girl her age.

Marisol was looking at something in her hands as she turned a corner, cheeks flushing prettily and beribboned braids of light brown hair shining under the torchlight. Her dress was the color of spun gold. The overskirt had an impractical train, and gilded ribbons crisscrossed over the bodice, matching the bands in her braids and the cuffed bracelets decorating her arms in an intricate lattice pattern. She already looked like a princess.

Run.

Leave.

Get out.

A hundred variations of the same thought raced through Evangeline’s head. If she ran, she might beat Marisol. Her stepsister’s lovely gown with its princess train wasn’t designed for running.

But Evangeline didn’t move fast enough. In her split second of indecision, in the moment when she looked Marisol over, taking in her happiness instead of choosing to flee, Marisol looked up. “Evangeline?”

It had felt like a long hall before, but clearly it was not. Within a heartbeat, Marisol was there, hugging Evangeline as if they shared blood rather than betrayal. She didn’t seem to notice that Evangeline stiffened, every muscle tensing all the way to her clenched hands.

“I’m so relieved you’re all right,” Marisol gushed. “I’ve been terribly worried—but we can’t talk here.” Marisol let go of Evangeline to open the door to Evangeline’s former bedchamber.

“Hurry! My guards are just around the corner.” Marisol waved a slender arm, frantic, as a single lock of hair fell out of its coiffure. If she was acting, it was a flawless performance.

“Evangeline, hurry—if the guards catch you, even I won’t be able to help you. Tiberius is convinced you murdered his brother.”

Boot steps thundered closer. If the guards found Evangeline dressed like a stylish assassin and scowling at the queen-to-be just outside the prince’s room, they would not only arrest her, they might suspect that Evangeline had done something nefarious. If they were smart, they’d search Tiberius’s room, find the bottle with the antidote, and there was a chance they’d be compelled to drink it instead, ruining her plans.

Evangeline knew she couldn’t trust Marisol, but she had no choice except to follow her stepsister into the suite, warm from a hearth that appeared to have been recently lit with a fire.

The room was just as Evangeline remembered, with hand-painted paper on the walls, a fireplace made of crystal, and an enormous princess bed. The only difference was the scent of vanilla and sweet cream, which told her this was Marisol’s room now.

At least she looked a little abashed.

“Tiberius wanted me close to him—his rooms are just next door.” Marisol worried her lower lip between her teeth. “We’ll have to get you out of here before he comes back. I can put you in one of my gowns. It will be a little small for you, but you’ll blend in better.”

Marisol pursed her lips as she looked over Evangeline’s leather boots, her short, tiered skirt, and her lacy I’m-off-to-meet-a-vampire corset, and Evangeline would have sworn there was a flicker of jealousy, as if now Marisol wished to be a fugitive instead of a princess. It was the sort of look Evangeline would have disregarded before. Something there and then quickly hidden before it was found, as if Marisol didn’t even wish to acknowledge it. But Evangeline couldn’t ignore it.

She had been wrong to think she could just drop off the cure for Tiberius and then wait from a distance until she learned if it worked or not. That would never be answer enough. She needed to know why Marisol had done all of this.

“Why are you helping me?”

A tiny line formed between Marisol’s thin brows, but Evangeline swore her skin went pale. “Did you think I would betray you?”

“I think you already did. I finally figured out that the cookbooks on your night table were really spell books.”

“It’s not what you think,” Marisol cut in.

“Stop lying to me.” It took everything Evangeline had to keep her voice low so that the guards outside wouldn’t hear. “I saw your spell books. I know you gave Tiberius a love potion just like the one you gave to Luc.”

Marisol’s jaw went slack, her shoulders fell, and she stumbled back, spine hitting one of the bed’s posters as she shook like a ribbon blown by the wind, undone by this single accusation.