My hands shook, and I shoved them underneath my legs to keep Celia from noticing. “Is that your solution?
You’re going to kill Daxton?”
“No,” she said calmly. “You are.”
Chapter 12
According to Celia, the plan was foolproof.
She would take the purple dose near Daxton’s suite and toss the syringe into the small fountain nearby. The evidence would dissolve, she claimed, and no one would be any wiser.
After that, she would stumble around the corner and distract Daxton’s guards. Thirty seconds—that’s all she would have before she passed out, and that was where I came in. While the guards were busy attending to her, I would sneak into Daxton’s room and find a way to give him the fatal dose. Someone had disabled the security cameras, she assured me, and no one would be able to pinpoint it on me. Once I was done, I would sneak back out, get rid of the syringe, and return to my suite to wait for the news of Daxton’s death.
It would look like someone had attempted to poison them both, Celia said. It would take the blame off her, and Knox would vouch for me if it came to it. Augusta would blame some unknown assassin, likely associated with the Blackcoats, and there would be chaos for days.
But Daxton would be dead, and Augusta didn’t have Greyson on a tight leash like she did her son.
“What if I don’t want to?” I said, and Celia gave me a look that could have melted diamonds.
“Whose life do you value more? Daxton’s or Benjy’s?”
And that was the end of the argument.
I still wasn’t convinced it was the best thing to do, though. There had to be another way, one that didn’t involve taking so many chances, but Celia was adamant.
Daxton was due to travel across the country the next day now that lockdown was over, and if I wanted to do this, it had to be now.
“The first time you do something wrong, he’ll murder Benjy,” said Celia. “You know that.”
I did, but that didn’t mean I was ready to kill someone with my bare hands.
I hid behind a corner a few yards from the entrance to Daxton’s suite, which took up two levels of an entire wing on the opposite side of the mansion. As I waited, I clutched the syringe and tried to remember that this was for Tabs and Nina and everyone else who had died because of Daxton. This was nothing more than justice, and if anyone deserved to die for his crimes, it was him. No matter how passionately he claimed he was making the world a better place, when the most I could have hoped for as a III was an early death, I couldn’t see how it was benefiting anyone but those who were lucky enough to be born into a position of power. Or like Benjy, smart enough to earn it. And while I knew better than to think Celia was doing this to help me protect him, I also knew that Daxton had killed her daughter. So far she’d shown remarkable restraint, but it must have been easier to face him knowing this was her plan all along.
Celia’s strangled cry echoed down the corridor, and they were soon joined by shouts from the guards. When I peeked around the corner, I saw two uniformed men hunched over Celia, who lay on the floor shaking violently. Horrified, I stared, forgetting for a moment that my time was limited. What if she wasn’t okay?
No. I had a job to do. Celia would be fine, and even if she wasn’t, she was willing to risk it in order to give me a chance to kill Daxton.
I shook myself out of it and snuck toward Daxton’s door, opening it as silently as I could. Once I slipped into the dark living room, I noticed the light was on underneath an adjacent door. Taking a breath, I knocked.
“Come in,” said Daxton distractedly. If he had any idea about the commotion in the hallway, he wasn’t letting on.
Stepping inside, I glanced around, my grip tightening around the syringe. Daxton sat behind a massive black desk that spanned nearly the entire width of the room. Bookcases as high as the ceiling surrounded us, each shelf packed tightly with volumes that looked like they hadn’t been touched in decades. A pair of fountains trickled on either side of the door, but what caught my eye was the portrait of the entire Hart family hanging on the wall behind Daxton. In the painting, he sat on what could only be called a throne, his wife posed beside him and her hand resting on his. Celia and Augusta stood behind her, and I could almost feel Celia’s hatred through the canvas.
Jameson, Daxton’s elder son, stood at his other side, his chin raised with pride. He was handsome—much more handsome than Greyson, who lingered nearby, smaller than he was now. But the most surprising part of the portrait was Lila, who stood on the fringes of the frame, her blond hair perfectly curled and her expression matching her mother’s. She hated the family as much as Celia did, and I still didn’t understand why. Was she parroting her mother? Following in her footsteps? Or was there a reason no one had explained to me—a reason Lila had risked her life for the people beneath her?
I opened my mouth to greet Daxton, but he held up a finger and looked down into a screen on his desk.
“Yes, I realize that, Creed,” he said. “Do remind the other ministers that even though they outnumber me, I outrank them, and their privilege is granted at my pleasure. If they do not like the allocation of funds for the next quarter, there are dozens of others who would be happy to sign their name in exchange for the title of minister.”
“Of course,” said a man—Knox’s father. “I will let the council know. Thank you for your time, Prime Minister.”
Daxton waved his hand over the monitor, and it went dark. He straightened, and a poisonous smile spread across his face. “Ah, Kitty. I see you’ve been released.”
“Yeah, they told me lockdown was over.”
“Did you see the present I left you?” he said, and I hesitated.
“You mean Benjy?”
“Indeed. And how is your little friend?”
I pressed my lips together. Talking to Daxton about him seemed wrong, like I was somehow tainting Benjy.
“He’s good, I think. And don’t worry,” I added. “I’m not going to tell him who I am.”
“Of course you won’t. You’re far too smart for that.”
Daxton slipped around the desk and stopped in front of me, his expression a mockery of sympathy. “It’s such a terrible thing, being separated from the one you love.
After my wife died…” He sighed and cupped my cheek.
“Well, I’m afraid I’ve never been the same.”
I glanced up at the portrait. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”
“It was,” he murmured, closing the distance between us. “I would have done anything to get her back, but that isn’t how the world works, now, is it?”
It seemed to me that that was exactly how the Harts’ world worked, but I didn’t dare say it. I clutched the syringe. He was close now, and all it would take was one stab.
“Tell me, Kitty,” he said, his mouth inches from mine.
I could smell garlic on his breath. “Now that you have what you want so badly, how do you intend to thank me for it?”
“With words,” I said. “I’m your niece, Daxton.”
“You’re not my niece,” he said, running a hand down my arm. I shrugged it off, and he set it on my waist instead. “Lila was always so beautiful. When Mother told me her plan, I was so certain we would never find someone who could pull her off, but here you are. So like her in every way. She refused me, too, you know.”
He traced my lips with his fingertip, and I had to clench my jaw to stop myself from biting him. “Is that why you killed her, you sick bastard?”
Daxton chuckled. “Of course not. I would hardly go to all this trouble for something I could have any time I wanted.”
His hand slipped under my shirt, brushing against Lila’s butterfly tattoo. My resolve hardened, and before I could second-guess myself, I kneed him hard between the legs.
Daxton doubled over, grunting in pain. “You stupid bitch,” he wheezed. “You just earned your boyfriend a death sentence.”
I uncapped the syringe. “The only person dying today is you,” I said, and I jammed the needle in the side of his neck and pressed the plunger.
What are you doing?
Benjy’s voice echoed through my mind, and for a split second, I couldn’t breathe.
I wasn’t a killer. Doing this made me no better than Daxton, and I hated him too much to want to be anything like him.
He went rigid in my arms. I grabbed his neck to hold him steady as I yanked the needle out and threw it aside, but it was too late. Half the dose was gone.
There was something else, too. Underneath my hand, where his VII tattoo faded into his tan skin, I felt ridges— But not a VII.
Instead they were in the shape of a single V.
I stumbled backward. Daxton touched the spot on his neck where I’d injected the poison, and when he pulled away, a bead of blood stained his finger. “What did you—”
He hit the floor with a thud, and panic seized me. Half a dose. Would it be enough? I had no idea, but I couldn’t bring myself to finish him off.
My heart pounded. He wasn’t Daxton Hart. He’d been Masked, like me, and all this time, he wasn’t the real prime minister.
Was he dead? A second passed, and his chest rose and fell. Not yet. Half a dose wasn’t enough, and no matter who he was, when he woke up, they wouldn’t bother sending me Elsewhere. They would finally have a reason to execute Lila. Would they kill Celia, too, and Knox?
And what about— A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead. If Daxton woke up, he would kill Benjy. I needed to give him the rest of the dose.
I glanced around, searching for the syringe. Where was it? I dropped to my hands and knees, searching the lush carpet, but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere.
The fountains. I rushed to the nearest one. The syringe lay inside, already half dissolved. I scooped the remains out, but it was too late. The poison was gone.
No. No, no, no. I rushed to Daxton’s side. His breaths came slowly and laboriously, but he was still alive. My eyes fell on a throw pillow on a couch nearby. I could smother him. It would only take a minute, and then he wouldn’t be a threat anymore. It was my only option.
I tried to cross the room, but my feet were glued to the floor. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be like him. They’d taken everything from me already—I couldn’t let them take this last piece of my humanity, as well. III or not, I was better than that. I was better than him, whoever he was.
Shouts from the hallway echoed through the room.
I’d waited too long. The guards who were dealing with Celia would undoubtedly have called in reinforcements by now, and I was trapped.
Frantically I searched the ceiling. In the corner I spot- ted an air vent the size of the one in my suite, and I didn’t waste any time. Hopping over the impostor’s body, I scrambled onto the massive desk, knocking over a stack of books in the process. With any luck, they’d blame the mess on him.
Using one of the sturdy bookcases, I climbed to the ceiling and knocked the cover out of place. I had just enough room to squeeze through it, and with so much adrenaline pumping through my veins, I had no trouble at all lifting myself up into the ceiling. After covering the vent once more, I collapsed in the tunnel, breathing heavily. I was safe.
But not for long.
I slipped back into my suite as I silently berated myself for ever trusting Celia. Her plan hadn’t been foolproof; a million things could’ve gone wrong, and at least two did. The guards arrived faster than she’d anticipated, and I hadn’t had the courage to kill him—whoever he really was. I’d backed out, and for that, my life might be forfeit.
Less than a minute after I’d thrown what was left of the syringe into the toilet and sank onto the sofa, I heard shouts coming from the hallway. A pair of guards burst into the room, but unlike my first night in Somerset, they didn’t try to drag me off to the safe room.
“What’s going on?” I said, but neither of them answered. Moments later Knox strode in, his mouth set in a thin line.
“Knox?” I said. He offered me his hands. I took them, and I couldn’t hide how badly mine trembled.
“It’s your mother,” he said. “The doctors think she’s been poisoned. She’s been taken to the infirmary.”
That was all? Nothing about Daxton? “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. But there’s something else.”
I held my breath. If he was dead, I would be directly responsible for it. But if he wasn’t…
“It’s the prime minister.” Something in his eyes flashed.
“He’s also been poisoned.”
I opened and shut my mouth. Did Knox know that Daxton had been Masked, too? Did Celia know? Did Greyson?
“Is he—is he still…?” I said shakily.
Knox nodded, and I clutched his hands to keep from swaying. The guards stepped closer, but Knox shook his head, and they moved back. They were here to protect me now, but the moment Daxton woke up and revealed I was the one who’d tried to kill him, they would come for me and Benjy.
I must have looked as hysterical as I felt, because Knox guided me back onto the sofa and knelt next to me.
“Lila,” he said, and even though I was dizzy with fear, I made myself look at him. “It’s all right. Your mother’s going to be okay. And Daxton…” He paused, and his expression hardened. “I promise you that everything will work out.”
He knew something had gone wrong. He had to, be- cause Daxton wasn’t dead. And no matter how stupid I’d been letting Celia talk me into this mess to begin with, I wasn’t about to tell Knox what had happened. If he knew Daxton was Masked and discovered I’d found out— “Think you can make it to the infirmary?” said Knox, and I nodded. Lila would be expected to visit her mother even though I wanted to stay as far away from Daxton as possible.