We only stopped when we ducked into the shadowed back entrance of the inn, locking the heavy door behind us.
I leaned against the wall, breathing hard, blood trickling from a shallow cut across my ribs.
Lucas braced himself beside me, grinning wildly, blood dripping from a nick along his jaw.
"Got it?" he asked, voice rough.
I pulled the sealed letter from my cloak, holding it up between two fingers.
The King's brother's signature glinted in the dim light.
Lucas laughed under his breath — a low, wicked sound.
"Well, storm girl," he said, voice dark with satisfaction.
"Looks like we just stole a kingdom's death warrant."
The sealed letter lay between us on the battered table.
The wax gleamed in the firelight.
A simple crest — Lord Everan's personal sigil — pressed into the blood-red seal. I sat stiffly in the chair, the shallow cut along my ribs burning with every breath, but I kept my focus on the letter.
