MARK OF LOVE (Lovemark #3)

2. Quilla

Chapter 2

Quilla

“Hey,” I called to the onion man selling his bulbs next to me. “What’s going on?”

“Haven’t you heard?” He sent me an annoyed frown for daring to talk to him. “The queen’s visiting today. And I guess she’s decided to come to market.”

“The queen?” I turned curiously, hoping to catch a look for myself.

Melaina and I hadn’t been in the kingdom of Far Shore long—maybe three or four days—but a lot of change had happened here recently it seemed. The whole country was all astir with juicy gossip about it, anyway.

I guess a princess from the neighboring land of Donnelly had overthrown and killed the king and queen here, married the king’s bastard son, and then taken over the rule herself. She was rumored to be young and beautiful and far kinder and more benevolent to the people than the last ruler had ever been. So, the locals weren’t quite sure yet whether to love or hate her. They sure liked to talk about her, though.

The Outer Realms had never had a female govern any of its territories before. That garnered some respect from me right there, but I still wanted to see this girl with my own eyes, because there was no way she could be as spectacularly lovely as everyone made her out to be.

A sudden hush fell over the people, and the crowds automatically parted to let a wave of Far Shore soldiers through the clearing, their weapons held ready at their sides, prepared to protect their leader with violence and their own lives if necessary.

Instantly on edge, I shied a step back before reminding myself it was only High Cliff soldiers who’d ever been sent out to hunt Graykeys down and eliminate them. The army here in Far Shore wouldn’t be so fervent to look for me, and besides, my glamour was holding surprisingly well in this breeze. No one would even know I was a despised Graykey.

Even though it was impossible to see my mark, as I wore long sleeves and had the glamour hiding it, I tucked the inside of my forearm firmly against my rib cage, keeping it held close to my side.

And then, there she was: the new young queen—pale dress fluttering in the wind and long, dark hair flowing behind her. She didn’t ride in a fancy carriage nor was she mounted on a horse, but she walked—f*****g walked—among her subjects as if she were one of them, out for a daily stroll like a normal, average person.

Incredible.

She did seem pretty from here—a perfect, slim but still pleasantly curved form and a mass of dark hair. At least the rumor about her visage didn’t seem to be an exaggeration.

But then I sniffed and rolled my eyes when I saw a High Cliff mark blaring from her temple. Stupid tattoo. It was a custom for all High Clifters to get their fancy mark at birth, but all the thing did was help them recognize their true love at first sight. They didn’t grant people wisdom or strength or even logical thinking. Their only purpose was to find a life partner.

Meaningless, if you wanted my opinion.

So it surprised me to see one on the queen here in Far Shore.

Then again, she was Donnellean-born, and Donnelly had formed an alliance with High Cliff over five years ago when the kings from both realms had joined fidelities with each other by marrying the High Cliff princess off to the Donnelly prince. It made sense that Donnelly would begin to adopt some of High Cliff’s ways, I suppose. Even if their ways were ridiculously idiotic.

The queen had her arm hooked securely to the man at her side as she walked. That must be her husband, the last king’s bastard son. Except she seemed to be dragging him along against his will. When he stopped suddenly, resisting her pull and jarring her to a halt next to him, I frowned curiously and focused on his face.

And I immediately pulled back with a gasp. He bore a High Cliff mark as well.

His mark was a bit more shocking, though. It seemed less likely to me that a Far Shore man—like the king’s bastard—would take on such a richly High Cliff practice. But what did I know? What did it even matter? What I couldn’t get past the most was the disconcerting fact that he seemed to be looking straight at me.

Or maybe I was wrong.

He and the queen weren’t that close to me; they were nearly on the other side of the square, but his attention was definitely focused in this direction, and it felt as if he were peering inside me. Even the onion seller and fishmonger were sending me odd glances, as if they too thought he was staring at me and no one else.

Okay, that couldn’t be good.

I had no idea what this meant, but it made me distinctly uncomfortable. I didn’t want to be on anyone’s royal radar, not even if it was only Far Shore royalty.

A second later, the prince consort spun away and stalked off, literally dragging the queen with him. She must’ve said something to get him to stop because he halted again a moment after that.

When a new man approached them, I realized he’d been walking alongside the two the whole time, keeping to the opposite side of the queen as the other man. I just hadn’t paid him any attention until now.

The new fellow said something to the queen, and she shook her head, appearing confused. So the man slapped the prince’s arm to gain his attention and jostle him from whatever daze had gripped him.

The prince sliced him with a perturbed glower. Uncaring, the second man lifted his hands as if demanding an explanation for his behavior, and the prince turned away again, determined to ignore both the man and the queen as he ran his hands over his face in extreme agitation.

The queen must’ve grown fed up with being left in the dark because she spoke to him with a flurry of flying hands and annoyed yet concerned expressions. But her husband only clutched his head in his hands and looked up toward the heavens as if seeking advice.

The queen kept pestering him, hands on her hips now, like any typical beleaguered wife, until she said something that finally gained a response. He glared at her, spitting something back, and whatever he said caught her completely off guard.

She turned to the other man, sharing a look with him. He seemed equally surprised by whatever the prince had told them. From that point on, the queen and the unknown man seemed to gang up on him with a flood of questions until the prince held up a finger to quiet them.

The queen and the other man shared another look, and something familiar and cohesive passed between them. I frowned, beginning to wonder just who this second male was.

That’s when I realized…

Among the gossip I’d heard, a third person was mentioned quite often in relation to the new queen. She’d come to Far Shore with a bodyguard and personal protector, an ex-High Cliff soldier who she’d made captain and leader of her armies. He was rumored to be at her side as much as her husband was.

I swallowed uneasily, realizing he must be the High Clifter. But when I scanned his features, I paused. He didn’t have a mark on his temple. Not like the queen and her hus—aw, s**t.

I’d had it backward. The High Cliff bodyguard must be the man the queen had dragged into the market by the arm, and her husband—the prince consort—must be this second guy I hadn’t noticed on her other side.

Returning my gaze to the troubled man—the High Clifter—I fell back a step when I realized he was motioning distractedly in my direction. The queen and her husband immediately whirled and scanned the market until they too were looking at me.

Yeah, this really wasn’t good.

Why in God’s name was a High Clifter talking about me?

Growing agitated, I checked my surroundings for the closest escape. Because it was past time to go. I seized loaves of bread by the armfuls and blindly shoved them back into my sack.

Breathe, I ordered myself. Just slow down and breathe. I was supposed to be a decrepit old man here; I couldn’t move too quickly. I couldn’t ruin the disguise. Couldn’t let anyone find out what I was.

My hands were slippery with nervous sweat as they clutched the handgrips of the trolley, and I shoved the bumbling contraption into gear, nearly tripping and falling flat on my face when I pushed one way and the crooked wheel tried to make the cart go another. Stupid f*****g wheel. I was going to have a word with Melaina about such a shoddy purchase. If this barrow got me killed, I was so haunting her ass for the rest of eternity, and not in a nice way.

Refusing to look over my shoulder and reveal just how spooked the three royals had me, I corrected my steering and shuffled along, forcing myself to go as slow as was speedily possible.

That’s when I heard it.

“Sir?” someone shouted from behind me.

No! No, no, no, no, no.

It was him. The High Cliff killer. I couldn’t tell you how I knew, but I knew. He was calling to me—no, he was chasing me down.

His voice was definitely closer when he added, “Sir, wait!”

Fucking hell.

I plowed forward, ignoring him, and bumped into a couple who’d been innocently meandering down the street right into my path. Dammit, I was never going to get through this crowd with a freaking pushcart without being caught by him.

Mumbling an apology, I bullied my way past and then startled more people into diving out of my way as I charged forward. And all the while, the hairs on the back of my neck heated with intensity, telling me the High Clifter was gaining ground.

That’s it. This trolley sucked anyway. Abandoning it and the bag of bread with it, I darted to the right, going faster than I should. Someone had left a green scarf draped over a stool I was passing by, so I snagged it up, flipping it around as I ran—I mean, as I hobbled—and I pulled it over my head like a cloak.

Hiding my face, I stopped worrying so much after that about how fast I was walking, and I seemed to make space between me and my pursuer.

Something told me he was still back there, though, and when I glanced over my shoulder, I caught sight of him again, confirming my fears.

“Jesus.” Was he some kind of bloodhound? The scarf should’ve lost him from my trail.

When I spotted someone remove their straw hat up ahead and set it down on a fence post beside them, I lost the scarf and veered that way, nicking the hat next.

That didn’t help either. The man behind me seemed to know my next move before I even made it. He followed me around buildings, through people, and caught on whenever I doubled back again.

He always found me.

There was just no way to escape him.

I was going to need assistance.

Melaina would no doubt skin my hide for ruining what hopefully wouldn’t be her only chance to meet with the jeweler, but it couldn’t be helped. I raced full speed ahead toward the narrow alley where our horses were tied and waiting.

Glancing over my shoulder as the opening of the backstreet approached, I hissed a curse when I spotted the High Clifter still back there and coming this way. His tracking skills and persistence were eerie as hell.

I waited until the last second to dart into the alley, painfully bashing my shoulder on the corner of a building as I went, and I nearly wept joyous, relieved tears when I saw Melaina still there, waiting outside for an audience with the jeweler. Thank God.

She jumped up from the broken wagon when she saw me, gasping with immediate indignation.

“What the hell did you do this time?” she demanded, already accusing me of causing whatever problem had befallen me. “You had one job! Jesus, stop breaking character. Old men don’t run that nimbly.”

“High Cliff soldier,” was all I could gasp as I fled right past her, racing toward my horse that was still saddled and ready for any kind of hasty departure we might encounter—exactly like this one, in fact. “Hot on my trail.”

“Holy f**k. Go, then!” Melaina ordered, shooing me along before glancing around the alley, only to snag up a discarded cast iron skillet that had been lying among strewn trash. Clutching it to her chest with both hands like a weapon, she ducked into the shadows of a recessed doorway and called, “I’ll take care of him and meet you at our spot.”

I didn’t even glance her way as I called, “Deal,” and grasped the reins of my horse before flinging myself into the saddle.

“Hey!” a voice yelled from the opening of the alley.

It was him.

My heart lurched into my throat as I wheeled the horse around and charged toward the opposite opening, and we took off, galloping to freedom.

Which left the High Clifter far behind.

And me safe from execution or capture one day longer.