Chapter 9:
The Final Confrontation
ONCE AGAIN, Fiona was grabbed roughly by the arm and marched off to a secluded location. There weren’t many party guests in the long hallway, and the elegant dance music from the great hall was only faintly audible. There were two big differences from the last time this happened, though: This time, it was Gordon who grabbed her instead of Caroline, and he held a knife between them.
Caroline had brought the weapon to the ball, concealed in her clothes. The hilt of the small blade was adorned with precious gemstones. It was beautiful, like a work of art, but the tip was sharp and genuine. It would take the wielder only the tiniest bit of pressure to pierce skin. That’s how big of a threat I posed, I guess…
The queen’s royal ball attracted a large attendance of the highest-ranking nobles. Weapons were therefore prohibited, even those that were purely decorative, like a ceremonial sword. The guards were also instructed to keep their swords and guns concealed so as not to spoil the festive mood. Bringing a dangerous item to such a party was considered treasonous. If caught, not only would the weapon-bearer be punished, but their entire house could be prosecuted for it.
If Caroline’s obsession with claiming the title of countess counted as love, then she truly embodied the saying that “love makes fools of us all.”
Fiona met the gaze of another guard, but she couldn’t say a word with the knife pressed into her back. Gordon’s mask was impeccable. He perfectly played the part of a concerned dance partner taking care of a lady who’d taken ill. With her eyes turned forward, Fiona took a deep breath in and out and asked Gordon, “What exactly are you going to do with me?”
“Well,” Gordon said behind her, “I got sick of being under constant surveillance. So I’m going to use you as a hostage and flee this kingdom.”
“What? But aren’t they supposed to release you soon anyway?” Fiona asked. She turned around to look at him, shocked. Gordon had taken a plea bargain; he was under surveillance for now, but eventually, he would regain his freedom. With his counterfeiting scheme exposed, he could never be an art dealer in their kingdom again, but he would be free to return to the neighboring kingdom of his birth. A harsher sentence was not sought for him.
So why break his house arrest?
The corners of Gordon’s mouth turned up, and he chuckled. “You want me to wait for that? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’ll only receive a harsher sentence.”
“It doesn’t matter what I do. It’ll all be hushed up regardless.”
Fiona paused. “What are you talking about?” From his ridiculing tone, it sounded like Gordon believed he would be absolved of any crime and set free. Wait a minute, she thought. Does he have some grounds for this belief beyond the fact that he’s a con man?
Looking back, Gordon had always exhibited the height of arrogance.
“Move,” Gordon said, yanking mercilessly on her arm. Fiona gritted her teeth against the pain and hobbled on, cursing her own inability to escape. She desperately racked her brain, hoping to at least quell her rising suspicion.
Remember, Fiona. Remember everything he did, from the very beginning.
She thought about the counterfeit of her uncle’s work that started it all. His art gallery, full of suspicious paintings. The cryptic letters hidden in the painting frames. His connection to Minister Saquille. The sketchbook in the house where they were keeping Rudolph.
And the only genuine painting in the gallery full of fakes was a beautiful still life of flowers—
“Poiret?” Fiona mused aloud, thinking of the phantom lady artist, the former court painter.
Gordon stopped in his tracks.
If Gordon had ties to Poiret, then did he also have ties to the royal family? The person who was best positioned to have connected Gordon to Minister Saquille was…the king’s brother.
No…not him. He would never…
She thought of the man she met in the palace garden the day she received her royal commendation. Even now, his suntanned skin and the dejected look in his unassuming gaze stood out to her. They’d only spent a short few minutes together, but Fiona couldn’t imagine him as the sort of man who would aid and abet Saquille and Gordon.
But that rose…
The rose he gifted Fiona resembled the Poiret painting too closely to be coincidence.
“Impudent wench.” Gordon shoved Fiona against the wall, trapping her with his arms.
“Ow!”
His bright eyes bore down on her. They caught the light of the lanterns in the hallway, and for just a moment, their dark irises gleamed a deep purple. Fiona could have almost imagined it.
Violet eyes were unique to the royal family.
“Your eyes…their color…”
“Ah, yes. Much as it vexes me, their color changes slightly in artificial light.”
“Gordon…are you Justine Poiret and the king’s—”
“Don’t tie me to either of them!” Gordon’s grip on her tightened harshly. He stood so close that his breath hit her lips. She returned his stare, undaunted. “They disgust me. My mother, this kingdom… I wish it would all just burn to the ground!”
Fiona caught her breath at his anguished, guttural cry. Poiret was exiled from the kingdom on suspicion of espionage, and she received horrible treatment in her homeland once she returned. If the painful life she led resulted in the man standing before her right now…
“Gordon, are you—”
“Fiona!” a voice shouted from the distant end of the hall. Fiona looked sharply and saw Giles running toward her.
Giles!
Gordon cursed under his breath. He opened the closest door to him and shoved Fiona inside, where she tumbled to the floor. Then, he jumped in after her and locked the door barely a second before Giles grabbed the doorknob from the outside.
Giles pounded on the door, and the doorknob turned fiercely, but the door showed no signs of giving. Giles was yelling something too, but the walls and door were so thick, Fiona couldn’t make out what he was saying.
She tried to get up, but the impact from hitting the floor had hurt, and her muscles screamed in protest. She saw her shoes on the floor, far away from her, where they’d slid when she fell.
“That stupid bitch ate up way too much time talking,” Gordon grumbled. “I was going to steal a carriage, but I guess we’ll have to figure something else out.”
“But that’s pointless,” Fiona said. “Someone will come with a key.”
“Doesn’t matter. You want to know what’s pointless? Living. That’s pointless.” Gordon sneered down at Fiona. She finally managed to pull herself halfway off the ground, but then he thrust his knife against her throat while simultaneously loosening his necktie.
“Why did you help Minister Saquille? To get revenge against the crown?” Fiona asked.