“Then your circle is smaller than you think,” I said.

I pulled away from his grasp and started down the stone hallway, my boots clicking against the marble.

Alexander ran to keep up, his formal dress shoes slipping slightly on the polished floor.

We turned the corner into the long portrait gallery.

The air here smelled of old wax, damp canvas, and the faint scent of rain coming through the high transoms.

My hand instinctively went to my waist, checking for a sidearm that wasn’t there.

I had to rely on my eyes, my training, and my physical leverage.

We reached the heavy oak doors of the King’s private wing.

The royal guard who usually stood watch was absent.

A brass stanchion lay tilted against the wall, its velvet rope pooling on the floor like a dead snake.

“Where is the sentry?” Alexander muttered, his voice tight.

“Neutralized or complicit,” I said. “Keep your distance behind me.”

I approached the double doors of the study, keeping my back flat against the cold stone wall.

A thin sliver of light spilled from the crack between the wood panels.