Eilika fled into the dim-lit corridor, her breath coming in ragged hitches as the golden light of the ballroom faded behind her. She stopped at a secluded bend of the hallway.
"Why did I run away?" she murmured, pressing a trembling hand over her lips as if she could still feel the phantom pressure of the kiss. "What must the Duke think of me? It wasn't my doing... It was that clumsy couple. I should have stood my ground. I am truly a fool."
She leaned against the cold stone wall, trying to steady her racing heart, when a low whisper drifted from around the corner. Eilika froze, her instincts screaming at her to remain silent.
"Did you finish the work?" a sharp voice demanded. "Make sure it fails. There can be no room for error."
"Don't worry, sir," a second later, a voice replied. "I've taken care of it. By tomorrow morning, the newspaper headlines will be filled with the sudden demise of the Duke."
Eilika's eyes widened in fear. 'They are going to kill Damian.' Her mind whirled with frantic questions. 'What did they mean by 'making it fail'? The car? A bridge?'
"The remaining reward will be granted to you once the news is confirmed," the first man added.
Desperate to put a face to the treachery, Eilika peeked around the corner. She squinted through the gloom, but all she could discern were the silhouettes of two men, their backs turned to her as they stood shrouded in the palace shadows.
"Why did you run away?"
Damian's deep voice shattered the silence right behind her. Eilika gasped, spinning around with lightning speed. Before he could utter another word, she lunged forward, pressing her small hand firmly over his mouth to stifle his voice.
"Who's there?" the man in the shadows barked, his voice laced with sudden suspicion.
Panic flared in Eilika's chest. She didn't have time to explain. She grabbed Damian's wrist, her grip surprisingly fierce, and hauled him in the opposite direction. Spotting a heavy door, she ducked inside, pulling him into the darkness of an unused storage room.
She kept her arms braced against his chest, her heart drumming against her ribs. She didn't dare look at him. Instead, she kept her head tilted toward the small, high window next to them, watching the hallway through the glass to see if their pursuers had followed.
After a minute of silence, when no footsteps echoed outside the door, Eilika finally dared to look at him. In the glimmer of the light from outside filtering through the high window, she met his icy blue orbs, which were narrowed in sharp scrutiny. Realizing how intimately she was still pressed against him, she recoiled, her back hitting a dusty shelf.
"Forgive me. I—I didn't mean to be so forward," Eilika stammered, her hands dropping to her sides.
"What was that? Why did you drag me into a broom closet?" Damian asked in a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in the small space.
"I heard two men... They were talking about hurting you," Eilika whispered.
"What?" Damian's frown deepened.
"I couldn't see their faces, only their backs in the dark. I didn't know what to do," Eilika said, her eyes searching his for any sign of belief. "Should I have confronted them? Should I have called the guards?"
"No," Damian said sharply, stepping closer until he loomed over her. "What did you exactly hear?"
"'Make sure it fails. There can be no room for error.' They want to hurt you, Damian. I-I mean, Duke." She corrected herself.
Damian's frown deepened as he considered the possibilities. If they spoke of failure, his mind immediately went to the motorcar. It was a perfect target. But who possessed the audacity to strike at him?
Beside him, Eilika's face was pale with genuine concern. "You should inform your personal bodyguard," she suggested breathlessly. "Perhaps we can head home in a carriage instead? What do you think?"
"Were the words you heard directed specifically at me?" Damian asked, ignoring her suggestion for the moment.
"They said 'The Duke'," Eilika stated. "You are the only Duke here tonight, are you not?"
"Yes. Sylvian has not been granted his title yet," Damian muttered, his eyes darting to the door. He brushed a speck of lint from his sleeve with a look of pure distaste. "Let us get out of here. I cannot stand the dust in this place."
Before Eilika could even adjust her gown, Damian grasped her wrist in a firm grip and swept out of the storage room. He moved with long strides and hurried. Eilika found herself nearly running to keep up, her slippers clicking rapidly against the stone, but she kept her complaints to herself. Experience had taught her that a man like Damian had little patience for feminine frailty.
"Are we not returning to the ballroom?" she asked, her voice hushed. "Does the Duke not need to bid farewell to the Crown Prince?"
"No. You vanished so abruptly that I had already made my excuses," Damian answered without looking back.
"But why are we taking this path? The grand entrance is the other way," she noted, noticing the corridors becoming narrower and less ornate.
"Because I do not wish to be seen," Damian replied shortly. "Now, stay quiet, Eilika, and simply walk with me."
She pursed her lips, determined to be the stoic wife he demanded, but as they rounded a sharp corner, a sudden, sharp pain flared in her ankle. "Ahhh!"
Damian stopped instantly, turning to find her hunched over, clutching the shimmering silk of her gown while trying to steady her heel.
"What happened?" he inquired with a suspicion and impatience.
"Nothing. It is nothing. Let us go," Eilika insisted, swallowing the pain. Damian gave a hum and resumed his pace, but within three steps, he heard the uneven rhythm of her gait. He glanced back to see her teeth gritted, visibly limping to match his speed.
"You're really something, aren't you?" Damian asked, scooping her up in his arms in a bridal style.