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“Hey.” Micah tugs gently on my sleeve. “How do you know where we’re going?”
“The king commissioned me for a project last year.”
He blinks up at me. “He did?”
“Aye.”
“What kind of project?”
“A set of decorative iron gates for the palace gardens.” My fingers tighten gently around his. “He wanted something elaborate. Vines, flowers, the royal crest—all forged by hand.”
“And that gave you access to the palace?”
“For a few days.” I shrug. “I had to meet with the palace steward, take measurements, inspect the grounds, make sure everything fit properly.”
Micah raises an eyebrow. “So you know your way around?”
I give him a small grin. “I know enough.”
We continue down the corridor, our footsteps muffled by the embroidered rug beneath our boots. The farther we get from the ballroom, the quieter the palace becomes.
The carved stone walls give way to dark wooden paneling. Gold sconces cast flickering pools of light across the floor, illuminating portraits of long-dead kings and queens.
I stop at the end of the corridor. Two enormous stone lions flank a set of dark oak doors, their mouths open in silent snarls.
Micah nearly walks into my back.
“What is this?” he whispers.
“The king’s office.”
Micah’s eyes widen beneath his mask. “What?!”
I reach for the door handle and give it a tug. Just as I expected, it’s locked.
Micah grabs my arm. “Alright, see? It’s locked. Now we can go.”
I chuckle softly. “Relax. I came prepared.”
I reach inside my coat and pull out a small metal pick.
His eyes drop to it, then slowly rise to mine. “No way.”
Ignoring him, I crouch in front of the door. My knees crack loudly enough that Micah winces.
“Keep watch,” I murmur, sliding the pick into the keyhole.
Micah gives a disgruntled huff before crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze darts nervously down the corridor, checking for guards.
I focus on the lock.
The mechanism is old. Complicated, but nothing I haven’t dealt with before. I carefully work the pick between the pins, feeling for each one.
Click.
I pause and adjust.
Click.
