Page 75 of Gilded Curses

If they decided to go into the bathroom, not only would they rip her out of this room and away from her newfound mission, but they’d also sound the alarm, and the whole castle would be searching for Orin.

They’d take all her friends from their rooms and parade them through these halls to face whatever horrible fate awaited them. It couldn’t happen. Not now. Not when she felt like she might be onto something, and Orin was seeking a way out.

Finally, the guards leaned back from the doorway, and Aurora edged back. One of the guards pulled the door closed, and the key turned in the lock again.

Sahira’s shoulders slumped in relief, and she almost crumpled to the ground with the tray in hand. Instead, she carried it over to the bed and set it on the mattress before going to turn off the water.

She shouldn’t waste time eating, but she hadn’t had anything since this morning, and the smell wafting from the platters caused her stomach to rumble. Lifting the lid from the one on the bed, she removed a piece of bread, slathered it in butter, and replaced the top.

Biting into the bread, she returned to where she thought her spot was on the floor. With no way to mark where she left off, she couldn’t be sure where she stopped and couldn’t risk missing anything.

With a sigh, she moved closer to the wall. Sahira was sure she’d already searched this section, but as disheartening as it was to redo what she’d already done, she recast her silencing spell, stuck the bread in her mouth, got back on her hands and knees, and started examining it again.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Orin retreated from the dining hall as he once again shut down his concerns over Sahira. He wouldn’t get anything done if every part of him continued to scream for him to return to her.

If they brought food to the rooms, Sahira would figure out how to outsmart them. If she didn’t, he’d soon learn about it, as everyone in this castle would tear it apart in search of him.

He had to remain focused on his mission, and right now, he still had time before Desmond and Sheree left the unusually subdued dinner. Conversations swirled around the table, but they weren’t as boisterous as normal, and Desmond scowled at his plate as he stabbed at a piece of meat.

Orin smirked as he realized the poor, golden twat was still in a foul mood over not only losing his bet but being one-upped. That alone was worth his hand.

When dinner was over, he could follow Desmond and Sheree to their rooms. He doubted they surrounded themselves with guards while inside their rooms. But before that could happen, he required a weapon.

Staying close to the wall, Orin avoided the servants hurrying from the kitchen to the dining hall and back again. He followed them to the kitchen; it wasn’t as good as a sword, but a carving knife would work.

When the hall ended, he emerged into the sprawling kitchen with its cathedral ceiling and beams stretching from wall to wall across the room. Like almost everything else in this bland, sterile place, gold flecked the white beams.

Multiple pots boiled in the five fireplaces lining the back wall. The steam rising for them coiled up the chimneys as it drifted away. The fires beneath crackled as the cooks scampered from the stove to the fires and back again.

The place was a beehive as the workers sought to sate their queen. They had to realize they’d never satisfy the insidious bitch they served.

Orin flattened himself against the wall to avoid someone accidentally bumping into him. He crept along the wall until he spotted a carving knife on a butcher block.

He made sure nobody was nearby to bump into him when he moved and that no one was heading for the carving station before stepping away from the wall. Before he lifted the knife off the block, he rested his hand on it and enshrouded it in shadows.

Once it was hidden, he slipped the knife from the counter and left the room. Keeping to the wall, he returned to the main dining room as the night started winding down.

The servants placed trays before the Elite and removed the tops to reveal the strawberry-covered desserts beneath. The Elite’s murmured conversation swirled around the room, but no one laughed, and the wine didn’t flow as freely as they ate.

Orin was impatient for it all to end so he could get on with this, but the clock ticked away another hour before they removed the desserts. It was nearing ten when Desmond rose earlier than he normally did.

As he stood, he knocked over his wine goblet. A male servant scurried forward to clean up the mess; Desmond smacked the man in the back of the head, sending him spiraling onto the table.

Orin stiffened over the unnecessary abuse as a hush descended on the room. Desmond grasped the man by his nape, lifted him off the table, and threw him on the floor.

“Useless,” he muttered as the room held their collective breaths. “Throw him in the dungeon.”

“No!” the servant cried.

As the guards descended on him, the servant’s fingers clawed at the floor as he attempted to escape. “No!” he screamed when the guards each grabbed a limb and carried him from the room.

His screams rebounded down the hallways as they dragged him away. No one in the room dared to breathe as Desmond glowered at them.

Still seated at the table, Sheree smirked into her wine before setting the goblet down and rising. Orin stroked the handle of his knife as the servant’s screams faded. Now he had confirmation that most of those in the dungeon didn’t belong there, but he couldn’t do anything about it now.

Desmond would pay soon. He’d make sure of it.